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Every month More Voices invites readers to contribute short nonfiction prose pieces of 40 to 400 words on a healthcare theme.



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Sarah Stumbar ~

COVID-19 changes everything--even, or especially, love. It demands that we love differently, and in new ways. For me, this is what #loveinthetimeofcovid19 looks like.

My husband, Lunan, and I are both doctors. Lunan, a urologist, is completing his final year of training in New York City, and I am a family-physician educator at a medical school in Miami.

We are living separately this year--one of the many sacrifices we've made in pursuing our medical training over the past twelve years. Since August, he and I been traveling back and forth to see each other two or three times per month. Now we're not sure when we'll be together again--and for us, that has been the most painful and personal part of the daily reality of COVID-19.

I love being a family physician and caring for my patients, but the mobile health center where I work was shut down this week as we transitioned to telehealth. Without personal protective equipment, we couldn't safely care for our patients within our clinic's tight confines.

My patients are nearly all uninsured; the majority are immigrants, and they are usually hard to contact, given the uncertainty of their phone plans. A lot of my time is spent managing the so-called social determinants of my patients' health--giving them referrals for food assistance, social-work support and immigration counseling--and helping them with their anxiety and depression, which are exacerbated by their difficult lives.

Over the past few weeks, many of my patients have suffered panic attacks brought on by the stress of the COVID-19 pandemic. Their pain and fear are unimaginable. I wonder how, with their pay-by-the-minute cell phones, they will manage with telemedicine. I hope they don't feel like I'm abandoning them.

I also spend much of my time teaching medical students, and I love working with them as they get ready to be doctors. This past week, the medical school where I work celebrated Match Day--the culmination of years of education and hard work, when medical students across the country find out where they'll be heading for their next stage of training.

But this year, COVID-19 meant we had to celebrate in a new way.

This year, Match Day took place in a socially distanced parking lot, because we couldn't let our students totally miss this rite of passage. The students' cars snaked toward a tent, where they were handed an envelope with their match results via an extender pole held out by the Dean. The five faculty members in attendance stood spaced out throughout the parking lot, cheering for the students as they honked their car horns and yelled for a few seconds, then drove away.

I choked back the tears as I remembered my own Match Day celebrations, full of love and hugs from my parents and boyfriend and shared joy with my medical-school roommate, an anesthesiologist and intensivist who's now on the frontlines of COVID-19 in Boston. Every year I cry on Match Day--but this year I cried a little more, thinking of what our students had missed.

Lunan and I speak more often now, during the heartbreak of COVID-19. He spent last week as the urologist on call at his hospital, seeing patients coming into the emergency room with kidney stones and bladder perforations and other emergent issues. (Yes, "normal" emergencies continue even in the midst of this pandemic.) My usually quiet, focused husband called me after every patient consult, every visit to the hospital's inpatient floors, every stent placement or small surgical procedure.

Each time the phone rang, I'd answer and hurriedly ask, "What's wrong?"

The fear was palpable. He'd pause, then say, "I just need to know you're still there."

He called me when he found an N-95 mask that he decided to save just for his visits to the ER, where his patients sat among other, coughing patients waiting to be seen. He called me when one of his patients with a bladder problem was determined to be at high risk for COVID-19 and got tested. He thought he'd worn a mask every time that he'd seen this patient, but could we really be sure? In the midst of social distancing, we reached out to one another, desperate to remain connected across physical space.

This is what #loveinthetimeofcovid19 looks like. We have given twelve years of our lives to our joint medical training. We are committed to our patients, and to each other, above all else. But nothing remains the same.

This is our own small story, two doctors in the midst of a pandemic. We are changing, as love itself has to change. There are more calls, more video chats; we miss each other viscerally. And we are waiting for what it will be like after the first, acute crisis of COVID-19 has passed.

Right now, there is only life before COVID-19 and life with COVID-19; there is no clear after. But I know that love will still be there, on the other side.

And I'm already thinking of how great that first hug is going to feel.

See a photo of Sarah and Lunan FaceTiming one another

About the author:

Sarah Stumbar is an assistant professor of family medicine and the assistant dean of clinical education at Florida International University Herbert Wertheim College of Medicine in Miami, FL. She loves to write, travel and explore new places on foot. "Encouraged by my mom, I started writing when I was a little girl. Writing deepens my understanding of the world and allows me to more deeply connect to my patients' stories."

Story editor:

Diane Guernsey


# Marianne Lonsdale 2020-04-04 10:04
Your story was fascinating to me. I'm so glad you wrote and shared it. My best to you, your husband and your patients.
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# Julie Evans 2020-04-02 10:44
Sarah this a wonderful portrait of a healer. Your writing revealed the layers of love that a call to medicine involves. You brought your students, the faculty, your husband and your own deep inner life to this story. I wish you the courage it takes to live a meaningful life.
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# Martina 2020-04-01 13:20
Thanks for this beautiful and REAL post. Thanks for your love and your courage, and your caring for each other, to help giving each other courage. I am so hopeful that this plague will help people see that we need universal national healthcare, to cover your patients, the most vulnerable: all the most vulnerable everywhere. Thank you.
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# David Flaccus 2020-04-01 12:56
Thank you, Sarah. I was very moved by your description of your love, your life, your fears. Courage! Ca ira bientôt mieux! Monsieur Flaccus
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# D. Williams-Camps 2020-04-01 09:19
Thank you for sharing your story, thank you and your husband for your sacrifice. It is a blessing to have someone to call and make sure YOU are still there, someone who LOVES YOU. May GOD continue to bless you both.
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# Karen DeBonis 2020-04-01 07:49
Thank you for sharing your story, Sarah, and for all the high-risk work your husband, especially, is providing.
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# Pris Campbell 2020-04-01 07:34
Thank you for your story. Dealing with the. virus is painful enough, but throw in the separation and it’s so much harder.
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# Cynthia Erickson 2020-04-01 06:56
Hi Sarah. I am so proud of you and your husband. Your story brings understanding to what doctors are going through. I am so sorry that this mess is separating you and your husband now when you need each other the most. You have come so far since Berkeley. Love you and support you
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# Maggie Mahar 2020-04-01 01:00
At the end of a dfficult day
your story made me feel so much better.

It is wonderful to know that there are still couples like you out there.

Your story made me smile out
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# Warren Holleman 2020-04-01 00:47
Thank you for sharing about your careers and your live during this epidemic. It’s helpful to hear how other couples are managing. So many couples are separating, in various ways. Knowing we are not “alone” in being alone is helpful!
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# Teresa Ferrari 2020-04-01 00:55
For your husband. The best is what you are already doing, caring for other people when so many are too afraid to do so. When Florence Nightingale founded the Art of Modern Nursing (meaning nursing outside the home) she did so in the midst of an epidemic in the Crimean War. She did not fear for her safety nor that of her nurses. They had no real sanitation measures with them. Yet, she enlisted the help of those less ill to help clean and organize the place the very ill were being cared for. Those less ill got better by helping. The ill were aided by cleanliness, the warmth of a caring individual, fresh air & sunshine. We tend to forget some of the basics. Even in these orders, humans must get some sunshine. Viruses do not like heat and light. Let us not forget what ‘else’ we can offer. You are doing fine work and I send you warm and well wishes.
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