Z20.822: WINNER of the Scribe Pandemic Writing Contest

Content warning: COVID-19, death, quarantine, isolation, racism 

Discretion Advised. 

 

By: Riyadh Ally

Z20.822 

Tick-tock, tick-tock, another tick-tock,

The ball drops and we start to talk.

Excited to see a new decade has started,

Promising hope for a future uncharted.

 

I’m checking my phone for daily news,

But it’s flooded with political views.

Wait, something is brewing across the seas,

And has hospital staff posting their pleas.

 

Yet, people are commenting “it’s nothing new,”

“Just a different strain of flu.”

I tell myself that we will be fine,

Despite this early warning sign.

 

January ends – the semester starts,

My schedule filled with science and arts.

February’s here, then my birthday!

So far, so good. Everything’s okay.

 

Press conferences say we shouldn’t panic,

That all these reports are too dramatic.

Little is done to stop the spread,

While other countries are counting the dead.

 

I keep going to big lectures and reviews,

Listening to my peers discuss issues.

Class is over, now it’s time for work,

As an EMT in the City of New York.

 

Time flies and headlines flow,

“Coronavirus is continuing to grow.”

Now it’s March and we’re finally worried,

Our measures to stop it suddenly hurried.

 

I arrive to class early and get myself seated,

When a classmate shouts, the governor tweeted!

“Tomorrow, schools will have to close.

What do we do now?” Nobody knows.

 

Tomorrow, I’m waiting hours in line,

Reading the shortages off of a sign.

“The following items are now sold out,”

Is anything left? I have some doubt.

 

Hours later, I receive a call,

“How would you like to see it all?”

If you’re not feeling unwell,

We need people in New Rochelle.

 

I’m considering what to say.

Frankly, I want to stay away.

But, I’m not one to run from danger,

Send me there; I’ll help our neighbor.

 

When I return back home to Queens,

I’ll scrub my things and quarantine.

Keep my family from my breath,

I might be carrying certain death.

 

April is here, bringing the worst,

And I’m out responding in Elmhurst.
Suddenly we’re hit with cardiac arrests

Doing compressions on so many chests

 

Seeing families that one day awoke

To find their loved one having a stroke.

Dispatch says “Diff breather, diff breather”

Another one coughing and running a fever

 

They’re saying farewell to loved ones knowing

They might not return from where they are going

Telling patients and families “We’ll take care of you”

Thinking “I wish there was more we could do.”

 

Constantly reading new guidelines and reports,

Symptoms appearing of all different sorts.

Now I’m hearing you lose smell and taste,

Can’t let my old hot sauce go to waste

 

How else will I know if I am infected

When everything comes up as “Covid suspected.”

It’s impossible to know, so how do you cope?

Other than constantly scrubbing with soap.

 

“I’m supposed to go home at 10 PM… Now, 12 AM… Now, 2.”

I’m staying extra late to help! Put me back in queue.

Tomorrow I’m up early to join my classes via Zoom,

Watching lectures in pajamas from the confines of my room.

 

This cycle is repeating, day after day,

Time keeps speeding right through May.

It’s finals week – let’s write, write, write,

Tomorrow I’m staffing the antibody site.

 

Shortly thereafter, I’m contacted by,

A scientist who says “I think you’re our guy.”

“We’d really like to hear your suggestions,

To keep people safe from Covid infections.”

 

Summer is busy between Covid and courses,

And spending my time creating resources

Because other students face educational inequity,

But they’re deserving of learning like you and me.

 

Speaking of injustice; there are national fights,

And heated conversations about civil rights.

Can’t others see that the system has flaws?,

When “Suffocation to death” is allowed by our laws?

 

And let’s not forget the anti-Asian hate,

Despite strong efforts trying to abate,

Over a century of persecution and unconscious bias,

Today we’re shouting that HATE IS A VIRUS!

 

Come on racism, get with the times,

We won’t tolerate more hate crimes!

We’ll stand up for each other, regardless of whether

Our skins look different; we’re in this together.

 

Summer is over, now fall is here.

I’m back to being a Peer Counseling volunteer,

But despite the fact we’re back to school,

My stethoscope remains a frequent tool.

 

Class is in session, my home is marked yellow,

“Second wave! Second wave!” headlines bellow.

Back on the ambulance, I resume my routines,

There’s no time to stop, it’s hit Jamaica, Queens.

 

Family, friends, and old neighbors pass,

Only allowed to see them through glass.

It’s tempting to hold my loved ones tight,

But because of this virus, that’s not all right.

 

I’m honestly blessed that I made it so far,

Without getting Covid; it’s kind of bizarre.

My coworker says “Don’t question fate,”

But sadly those words reached me too late.

 

It’s hard to say when; my case is intriguing,

I suddenly awoke with muscles fatiguing.

Remember that hot sauce I mentioned before?

Suddenly I can’t taste anymore!

 

I’m feeling a fever and coughing a lot.

Uh-oh, I think I know what I’ve caught.

Covid might just be the contagion,

Luckily I’ve been in self-isolation.

 

Boy, I feel like I’ll die in this room,

Laying in bed, awaiting my doom.

Words can’t describe how much I suffered,

But after some time, I fully recovered.

 

Around this time, we got the news,

A vaccine has been granted emergency use.

One dose, two dose, both were injected,

I shared my experience of getting protected.

 

One year after New Rochelle,

We’re still surviving collective hell.

Now I’ve stepped up to give vaccines,

At local PODs throughout Queens.

 

Each person gets temperature-checked,

Filling out paperwork until we inject,

A dose of vaccine, inoculating hope,

To everyone down at the end of their rope.

 

Now they’re talking about a new strain,

It’s easy to wonder if it’s all in vain.

But it’s not! We continue to improve,

Forward is the way we’ll move!

 

To those we lost, near and far,

You’re our heroes – shining stars.

It’s been a journey for us all,

We will win. Covid will fall.

 

 

Picture courtesy of Macaulay Art Tank