There is an organized line wrapping around the hospital and spilling into the sidewalk as we approach the start of our 07:00am shifts. We attempt to maintain six feet’s distance from the person in front of and behind us, as we methodically march in one by one. I used to wait until the last minute to scurry through those front doors at the start of a shift. Now, as I wait in line, I perseverate on those precious 15 minutes of sleep. When the time comes I walk through the revolving door to avoid contact with any door handles. I present my ID to two uniformed security guards who give me the nod of approval, unphased by my large yawn or the bags slowly accumulating under my eyes. I am next greeted by workers dawned head-to-toe in PPE including large, wrinkled gowns, N95 respirator masks, and clear goggles allowing for their eyes to peep through--the only identifying part of their wardrobes. As I approach one she reflexively raises her thermometer to my forehead to screen my temperature. As soon as it beeps I am cleared for stage three, where a woman is waiting to hand me a mask. “Wear this all day,” she says. “As you won’t be given another.” I don my uniform and report for duty.
