Op-Ed: The pandemic, Hurricane Ian and me — a doctor whose friends say I have PTSD
I’ve had a pretty good life, considering how it has been since 9/11.
I’m 30-plus years old, married to a wonderful woman, have a 2-year-old daughter and a son who is 2-and-a-half, and a very active family life. We live in North East Ohio, where there is no shortage of things to appreciate in life.
Here’s looking at you, Ohio State!
What I haven’t done in the last 20 months, even though I’ve done virtually nothing else, is feel like a normal person.
I’ll take it.
On Wednesday, as the COVID-19 pandemic hit its zenith, I went home from work to see my father, who is in his 90s and has a bad heart.
I thought it would be good to spend a day with him.
How do you tell a 90-year-old man you are an outlier in your life and you think his days may be numbered?
So, after work, I hopped in a rental car and left for Columbus.
I drove around all night, passing gas stations, convenience stores and, eventually, casinos — one of the few places open in this pandemic.
Once I finally made it to Columbus, I walked toward my father’s apartment in the West Village area.
It was early Wednesday morning, and his apartment building is not open to visitors — it is like an emergency shelter.
Inside, he kept his door locked, and I entered his apartment through an open doorway.
He lived alone.
His furniture, including his recliner, was neatly arranged on his floors and it looked exactly like he left it.
As I admired the view of his old living room and kitchen, I felt a sadness for him. The man he is, the man he would have been, was gone so long ago.
I could hear the buzz from the slot machines.
“Are you here for a visit?” I asked him.
He replied, “No, no. I