To leave the sick to suffer and die alone is the unforgivable sin

I still held out hope. As I packed up my PPE, I held out hope that the study medications my dad was receiving would kick in. I knew logically that things were slowly sliding downhill and away, but I clung to the science I thought I knew. His oxygenation could be supported. His fever could be treated. His kidney failure could be managed. He would turn around. He had to. My dad’s normally powerful voice was faint and interrupted by the need to breathe faster and faster. I told him I loved him and that he would get through this. He just had to keep fighting and know that his family was there with him, even as he lay alone in his hospital bed. We sent him pictures on his phone and messages of hope. I needed to be there. To hold his hand. To be his support.

My dad was a proud husband, father and the quintessential Papa to his four grandchildren. He played softball, racquetball and bowled with friends. He had a quiet presence that was felt when he walked into a room.

His demeanor engendered love from all those he touched, and his sense of humor and humility made those around him better. Two years ago, just as COVID-19 exploded across the world and our country, he and my mom became two of the first people to get sick from this awful disease. Being a primary care physician, I tried to make decisions on an illness I didn’t understand. I monitored his fever curve and his oxygen levels, trying to figure out the next best step. After five days of worsening symptoms, I made the decision to have him brought by ambulance to the hospital. He called me at midnight. He was scared. He was alone.

By Day 5 of his hospitalization, his oxygen levels hovered near 90% with supplemental oxygen. His typically voracious appetite was reduced to forcing down a hard-boiled egg in the morning and some applesauce in the evening. I called two to three times a day for updates since nobody could be there. Medical professionals entered the room for short periods and only if absolutely necessary to save on protective equipment. I made the decision that I needed to get there. I wasn’t going to let him be alone anymore. He needed to know how much we loved him.

As I packed the PPE I was certified to use and had used to see my own patients with COVID-19,

I felt a glimmer of hope. Even if I could do nothing other than to be by his side, I was going to do this. I had discussed my plan with my multiple colleagues, including the chief of staff at another hospital. I called the hospital’s chief of staff to confirm that my plan was acceptable. As I left my office, my phone rang. It was the chief of staff from the hospital my dad was in. I was not allowed to visit. Their hospital policy had no exceptions. As I pleaded my case, my hope started to fade. I felt my blood drain as my heart rate increased. I could not get in. My dad died four days later, alone on a ventilator, connected to tubes and machines surrounded by strangers in the ICU.

Many families have had this story play out. Almost 1 million U.S. citizens have died from COVID-19, and early on, many died alone like my dad. We need to understand how important the human connection is to not only life, but to death as well. Families and loved ones need closure. They need each other, and they need to process death to be able to move forward. As the COVID19 story unfolds, we don’t know what the next chapter holds for us, even as we hope that the pandemic will continue to wane. We need to prioritize families, and we need to allow them to be with each other, now that we have the tools to protect them. We have to allow loved ones to visit their sick family members. We have to learn from our mistakes. We can do better and avoid repeating this unforgiveable sin.