To health care workers in the COVID era, holidays mean death, and we knew Omicron was coming before it had a name. The wave caused by this variant has barely begun, rapidly gathering steam, and we are exhausted, attempting to pull from reserves badly drained by earlier surges.
The anger of the nurses, myself included, surged along with the patient population. Rage seeped along the halls of the intensive care unit, burned in the quick conversations in the medication supply room, and settled around all of us as we tried to keep our heads above water for yet another push of the pandemic that had turned so many of us into open wounds. I was angry at everything: angry at the systemic failures of the government to act, angry at the individuals who treated COVID as a joke and angry at the disinformation that ushered in more death.
