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Can ‘big’ be healthy? Yes – and no
While many people were committing to their New Year’s resolutions to lose weight, in January 2020 Cosmopolitan UK magazine released covers portraying 11 women of different shapes and sizes, with the headline, “This is healthy!” Each version of the cover features one or more of the 11 women wearing athletic gear and makeup, some of whom are caught mid-action – boxing, doing yoga, or simply rejoicing in being who they are. Seeing these, I was reminded of a patient I cared for as an intern.
Janet Spears (not her real name) was thin. Standing barely 5 feet 3 inches, she weighed 110 pounds. For those out there who think of size in terms of body mass index (BMI), it was about 20 kg/m2, solidly in the “normal” category. At the age of 62, despite this healthy BMI, she had so much plaque in her arteries that she needed surgery to improve blood flow to her foot.
Admittedly, whenever I had read about people with high cholesterol, type 2 diabetes, or atherosclerosis, I pictured bigger people. But when I met Ms. Spears, I realized that one’s health cannot necessarily be inferred from physical appearance.
As a bariatric surgeon board certified in obesity medicine, I’ve probably spent more time thinking and learning about obesity than most people – and yet I still didn’t know what to make of the Cosmopolitan covers.
I saw the reaction on Twitter before I saw the magazines themselves, and I quickly observed a number of people decrying the covers, suggesting that they promote obesity:
Multiple people suggested that this was inappropriate, especially in the context of the COVID-19 pandemic and the fact that people with obesity are at risk for worse outcomes, compared with those without obesity. (As an aside, these comments suggest that people did not read the associated article, which is about fitness and body image more than it is about obesity.)
Does size reflect health?
Putting the pandemic aside for a moment, the question the magazine covers raise is whether physical appearance reflects health. That’s what got me thinking about Ms. Spears, who, though appearing healthy, was sick enough that she needed to have major surgery. This whole conversation hinges, of course, on one’s definition of health.
A common knee-jerk response, especially from physicians, would be to say that obesity is by definition unhealthy. Some researchers have suggested though that a segment of people with obesity fall into a category called metabolically healthy obesity, which is typically characterized by a limited set of data such as cholesterol, blood sugar, and blood pressure. Indeed, some people with obesity have normal values in those categories.
Being metabolically healthy, however, does not preclude other medical problems associated with obesity, including joint pain, cancer, and mood disorders, among other issues. So even those who have metabolically healthy obesity are not necessarily immune to the many other obesity-related conditions.
What about body positivity?
As I delved further into the conversation about these covers, I saw people embracing the idea of promoting different-sized bodies. With almost two thirds of the U.S. population having overweight or obesity, one might argue that it’s high time magazine covers and the media reflect the reality in our hometowns. Unrealistic images in the media are associated with negative self-image and disordered eating, so perhaps embracing the shapes of real people may help us all have healthier attitudes toward our bodies.
That said, this idea can be taken too far. The Health at Every Size movement, which some might consider to be the ultimate body-positivity movement, espouses the idea that size and health are completely unrelated. That crosses a line between what we know to be true – that, at a population level, higher weight is associated with more medical problems – and fake news.
Another idea to consider is fitness, as opposed to health. Fitness can be defined multiple ways, but if we consider it to be measured exercise capacity, those who are more fit have a longer life expectancy than those with lower fitness levels at a given BMI. While some feel that the Cosmopolitan covers promote obesity and are therefore irresponsible, it’s at least as likely that highlighting people with obesity being active may inspire others with obesity to do the same.
Now let’s bring the pandemic back into the picture. As much as we all wish that it was over, with uncontrolled spread in every state and record numbers of people dying, COVID-19 is still very much a part of our reality. Having obesity increases the risk of having a severe case of COVID-19 if infected. Patients with obesity are also more likely than those without obesity to be hospitalized, require intensive care, and die with COVID-19.
Guiding the conversation
Pandemic or not, the truth is that obesity is related to multiple medical problems. That does not mean that every person with obesity has medical problems. The musician Lizzo, for example, is someone with obesity who considers herself to be healthy. She posts images and videos of working out and shares her personal fitness routine with her millions of fans. As a physician, I worry about the medical conditions – metabolic or otherwise – that someone like her may develop. But I love how she embraces who she is while striving to be healthier.
Most of the critical comments I have seen about the Cosmopolitan covers have, at best, bordered on fat shaming; others are solidly in that category. And the vitriol aimed at the larger models is despicable. It seems that conversations about obesity often vacillate from one extreme (fat shaming) to the other (extreme body positivity).
Although it may not sell magazines, I would love to see more nuanced, fact-based discussions, both in the media and in our clinics. We can start by acknowledging the fact that people of different sizes can be healthy. The truth is that we can’t tell very much about a person’s health from their outward appearance, and we should probably stop trying to make such inferences.
Assessment of health is most accurately judged by each person with their medical team, not by observers who use media images as part of their own propaganda machine, pushing one extreme view or another. As physicians, we have the opportunity and the responsibility to support our patients in the pursuit of health, without shame or judgment. Maybe that’s a New Year’s resolution worth committing to.
Arghavan Salles, MD, PhD, is a bariatric surgeon.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
While many people were committing to their New Year’s resolutions to lose weight, in January 2020 Cosmopolitan UK magazine released covers portraying 11 women of different shapes and sizes, with the headline, “This is healthy!” Each version of the cover features one or more of the 11 women wearing athletic gear and makeup, some of whom are caught mid-action – boxing, doing yoga, or simply rejoicing in being who they are. Seeing these, I was reminded of a patient I cared for as an intern.
Janet Spears (not her real name) was thin. Standing barely 5 feet 3 inches, she weighed 110 pounds. For those out there who think of size in terms of body mass index (BMI), it was about 20 kg/m2, solidly in the “normal” category. At the age of 62, despite this healthy BMI, she had so much plaque in her arteries that she needed surgery to improve blood flow to her foot.
Admittedly, whenever I had read about people with high cholesterol, type 2 diabetes, or atherosclerosis, I pictured bigger people. But when I met Ms. Spears, I realized that one’s health cannot necessarily be inferred from physical appearance.
As a bariatric surgeon board certified in obesity medicine, I’ve probably spent more time thinking and learning about obesity than most people – and yet I still didn’t know what to make of the Cosmopolitan covers.
I saw the reaction on Twitter before I saw the magazines themselves, and I quickly observed a number of people decrying the covers, suggesting that they promote obesity:
Multiple people suggested that this was inappropriate, especially in the context of the COVID-19 pandemic and the fact that people with obesity are at risk for worse outcomes, compared with those without obesity. (As an aside, these comments suggest that people did not read the associated article, which is about fitness and body image more than it is about obesity.)
Does size reflect health?
Putting the pandemic aside for a moment, the question the magazine covers raise is whether physical appearance reflects health. That’s what got me thinking about Ms. Spears, who, though appearing healthy, was sick enough that she needed to have major surgery. This whole conversation hinges, of course, on one’s definition of health.
A common knee-jerk response, especially from physicians, would be to say that obesity is by definition unhealthy. Some researchers have suggested though that a segment of people with obesity fall into a category called metabolically healthy obesity, which is typically characterized by a limited set of data such as cholesterol, blood sugar, and blood pressure. Indeed, some people with obesity have normal values in those categories.
Being metabolically healthy, however, does not preclude other medical problems associated with obesity, including joint pain, cancer, and mood disorders, among other issues. So even those who have metabolically healthy obesity are not necessarily immune to the many other obesity-related conditions.
What about body positivity?
As I delved further into the conversation about these covers, I saw people embracing the idea of promoting different-sized bodies. With almost two thirds of the U.S. population having overweight or obesity, one might argue that it’s high time magazine covers and the media reflect the reality in our hometowns. Unrealistic images in the media are associated with negative self-image and disordered eating, so perhaps embracing the shapes of real people may help us all have healthier attitudes toward our bodies.
That said, this idea can be taken too far. The Health at Every Size movement, which some might consider to be the ultimate body-positivity movement, espouses the idea that size and health are completely unrelated. That crosses a line between what we know to be true – that, at a population level, higher weight is associated with more medical problems – and fake news.
Another idea to consider is fitness, as opposed to health. Fitness can be defined multiple ways, but if we consider it to be measured exercise capacity, those who are more fit have a longer life expectancy than those with lower fitness levels at a given BMI. While some feel that the Cosmopolitan covers promote obesity and are therefore irresponsible, it’s at least as likely that highlighting people with obesity being active may inspire others with obesity to do the same.
Now let’s bring the pandemic back into the picture. As much as we all wish that it was over, with uncontrolled spread in every state and record numbers of people dying, COVID-19 is still very much a part of our reality. Having obesity increases the risk of having a severe case of COVID-19 if infected. Patients with obesity are also more likely than those without obesity to be hospitalized, require intensive care, and die with COVID-19.
Guiding the conversation
Pandemic or not, the truth is that obesity is related to multiple medical problems. That does not mean that every person with obesity has medical problems. The musician Lizzo, for example, is someone with obesity who considers herself to be healthy. She posts images and videos of working out and shares her personal fitness routine with her millions of fans. As a physician, I worry about the medical conditions – metabolic or otherwise – that someone like her may develop. But I love how she embraces who she is while striving to be healthier.
Most of the critical comments I have seen about the Cosmopolitan covers have, at best, bordered on fat shaming; others are solidly in that category. And the vitriol aimed at the larger models is despicable. It seems that conversations about obesity often vacillate from one extreme (fat shaming) to the other (extreme body positivity).
Although it may not sell magazines, I would love to see more nuanced, fact-based discussions, both in the media and in our clinics. We can start by acknowledging the fact that people of different sizes can be healthy. The truth is that we can’t tell very much about a person’s health from their outward appearance, and we should probably stop trying to make such inferences.
Assessment of health is most accurately judged by each person with their medical team, not by observers who use media images as part of their own propaganda machine, pushing one extreme view or another. As physicians, we have the opportunity and the responsibility to support our patients in the pursuit of health, without shame or judgment. Maybe that’s a New Year’s resolution worth committing to.
Arghavan Salles, MD, PhD, is a bariatric surgeon.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
While many people were committing to their New Year’s resolutions to lose weight, in January 2020 Cosmopolitan UK magazine released covers portraying 11 women of different shapes and sizes, with the headline, “This is healthy!” Each version of the cover features one or more of the 11 women wearing athletic gear and makeup, some of whom are caught mid-action – boxing, doing yoga, or simply rejoicing in being who they are. Seeing these, I was reminded of a patient I cared for as an intern.
Janet Spears (not her real name) was thin. Standing barely 5 feet 3 inches, she weighed 110 pounds. For those out there who think of size in terms of body mass index (BMI), it was about 20 kg/m2, solidly in the “normal” category. At the age of 62, despite this healthy BMI, she had so much plaque in her arteries that she needed surgery to improve blood flow to her foot.
Admittedly, whenever I had read about people with high cholesterol, type 2 diabetes, or atherosclerosis, I pictured bigger people. But when I met Ms. Spears, I realized that one’s health cannot necessarily be inferred from physical appearance.
As a bariatric surgeon board certified in obesity medicine, I’ve probably spent more time thinking and learning about obesity than most people – and yet I still didn’t know what to make of the Cosmopolitan covers.
I saw the reaction on Twitter before I saw the magazines themselves, and I quickly observed a number of people decrying the covers, suggesting that they promote obesity:
Multiple people suggested that this was inappropriate, especially in the context of the COVID-19 pandemic and the fact that people with obesity are at risk for worse outcomes, compared with those without obesity. (As an aside, these comments suggest that people did not read the associated article, which is about fitness and body image more than it is about obesity.)
Does size reflect health?
Putting the pandemic aside for a moment, the question the magazine covers raise is whether physical appearance reflects health. That’s what got me thinking about Ms. Spears, who, though appearing healthy, was sick enough that she needed to have major surgery. This whole conversation hinges, of course, on one’s definition of health.
A common knee-jerk response, especially from physicians, would be to say that obesity is by definition unhealthy. Some researchers have suggested though that a segment of people with obesity fall into a category called metabolically healthy obesity, which is typically characterized by a limited set of data such as cholesterol, blood sugar, and blood pressure. Indeed, some people with obesity have normal values in those categories.
Being metabolically healthy, however, does not preclude other medical problems associated with obesity, including joint pain, cancer, and mood disorders, among other issues. So even those who have metabolically healthy obesity are not necessarily immune to the many other obesity-related conditions.
What about body positivity?
As I delved further into the conversation about these covers, I saw people embracing the idea of promoting different-sized bodies. With almost two thirds of the U.S. population having overweight or obesity, one might argue that it’s high time magazine covers and the media reflect the reality in our hometowns. Unrealistic images in the media are associated with negative self-image and disordered eating, so perhaps embracing the shapes of real people may help us all have healthier attitudes toward our bodies.
That said, this idea can be taken too far. The Health at Every Size movement, which some might consider to be the ultimate body-positivity movement, espouses the idea that size and health are completely unrelated. That crosses a line between what we know to be true – that, at a population level, higher weight is associated with more medical problems – and fake news.
Another idea to consider is fitness, as opposed to health. Fitness can be defined multiple ways, but if we consider it to be measured exercise capacity, those who are more fit have a longer life expectancy than those with lower fitness levels at a given BMI. While some feel that the Cosmopolitan covers promote obesity and are therefore irresponsible, it’s at least as likely that highlighting people with obesity being active may inspire others with obesity to do the same.
Now let’s bring the pandemic back into the picture. As much as we all wish that it was over, with uncontrolled spread in every state and record numbers of people dying, COVID-19 is still very much a part of our reality. Having obesity increases the risk of having a severe case of COVID-19 if infected. Patients with obesity are also more likely than those without obesity to be hospitalized, require intensive care, and die with COVID-19.
Guiding the conversation
Pandemic or not, the truth is that obesity is related to multiple medical problems. That does not mean that every person with obesity has medical problems. The musician Lizzo, for example, is someone with obesity who considers herself to be healthy. She posts images and videos of working out and shares her personal fitness routine with her millions of fans. As a physician, I worry about the medical conditions – metabolic or otherwise – that someone like her may develop. But I love how she embraces who she is while striving to be healthier.
Most of the critical comments I have seen about the Cosmopolitan covers have, at best, bordered on fat shaming; others are solidly in that category. And the vitriol aimed at the larger models is despicable. It seems that conversations about obesity often vacillate from one extreme (fat shaming) to the other (extreme body positivity).
Although it may not sell magazines, I would love to see more nuanced, fact-based discussions, both in the media and in our clinics. We can start by acknowledging the fact that people of different sizes can be healthy. The truth is that we can’t tell very much about a person’s health from their outward appearance, and we should probably stop trying to make such inferences.
Assessment of health is most accurately judged by each person with their medical team, not by observers who use media images as part of their own propaganda machine, pushing one extreme view or another. As physicians, we have the opportunity and the responsibility to support our patients in the pursuit of health, without shame or judgment. Maybe that’s a New Year’s resolution worth committing to.
Arghavan Salles, MD, PhD, is a bariatric surgeon.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
Volunteering during the pandemic: What doctors need to know
A couple of weeks ago, I posted a silly picture of myself with one N95 mask and asked the folks on Twitter what else I might need. In a matter of a few days, I had filled out a form online for volunteering through the Society of Critical Care Medicine, been assigned to work at a hospital in New York City, and booked a hotel and flight.
I was going to volunteer, although I wasn’t sure of exactly what I would be doing. I’m trained as a bariatric surgeon – not obviously suited for critical care, but arguably even less suited for medicine wards.
I undoubtedly would have been less prepared if I hadn’t sought guidance on what to bring with me and generally what to expect. Less than a day after seeking advice, two local women physicians donated N95s, face shields, gowns, bouffants, and coveralls to me. I also received a laminated photo of myself to attach to my gown in the mail from a stranger I met online.
Others suggested I bring goggles, chocolate, protein bars, hand sanitizer, powdered laundry detergent, and alcohol wipes. After running around all over town, I was able find everything but the wipes.
Just as others helped me achieve my goal of volunteering, I hope I can guide those who would like to do similar work by sharing details about my experience and other information I have collected about volunteering.
Below I answer some questions that those considering volunteering might have, including why I went, who I contacted to set this up, who paid for my flight, and what I observed in the hospital.
Motivation and logistics
I am currently serving in a nonclinical role at my institution. So when the pandemic hit the United States, I felt an immense amount of guilt for not being on the front lines caring for patients. I offered my services to local hospitals and registered for the California Health Corps. I live in northern California, which was the first part of the country to shelter in place. Since my home was actually relatively spared, my services weren’t needed.
As the weeks passed, I was slowly getting more and more fit, exercising in my house since there was little else I could do, and the guilt became a cloud gathering over my head.
I decided to volunteer in a place where demands for help were higher – New York. I tried very hard to sign up to volunteer through the state’s registry for health care volunteers, but was unable to do so. Coincidentally, around that same time, I saw on Twitter that Josh Mugele, MD, emergency medicine physician and program director of the emergency medicine residency at Northeast Georgia Medical Center in Gainesville, was on his way to New York. He shared the Society of Critical Care Medicine’s form for volunteering with me, and in less than 48 hours, I was assigned to a hospital in New York City. Five days later I was on a plane from San Francisco to my destination on the opposite side of the country. The airline paid for my flight.
This is not the only path to volunteering. Another volunteer, Sara Pauk, MD, ob.gyn. at the University of Washington, Seattle, found her volunteer role through contacting the New York City Health and Hospitals system directly. Other who have volunteered told me they had contacted specific hospitals or worked with agencies that were placing physicians.
PPE
The Brooklyn hospital where I volunteered provided me with two sets of scrubs and two N95s. Gowns were variably available on our unit, and there was no eye protection. As a colleague of mine, Ben Daxon, MD, anesthesia and critical care physician at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn., had suggested, anyone volunteering in this context should bring personal protective equipment (PPE) – That includes gowns, bouffants/scrub caps, eye protection, masks, and scrubs.
The “COVID corner”
Once I arrived in New York, I did not feel particularly safe in my hotel, so I moved to another the next day. Then I had to sort out how to keep the whole room from being contaminated. I created a “COVID corner” right by the door where I kept almost everything that had been outside the door.
Every time I walked in the door, I immediately took off my shoes and left them in that corner. I could not find alcohol wipes, even after looking around in the city, so I relied on time to kill the virus, which I presumed was on everything that came from outside.
Groceries stayed by the door for 48-72 hours if possible. After that, I would move them to the “clean” parts of the room. I wore the same outfit to and from the hospital everyday, putting it on right before I left and taking it off immediately after walking into the room (and then proceeding directly to the shower). Those clothes – “my COVID outfit” – lived in the COVID corner. Anything else I wore, including exercise clothes and underwear, got washed right after I wore it.
At the hospital, I would change into scrubs and leave my COVID outfit in a plastic bag inside my handbag. Note: I fully accepted that my handbag was now a COVID handbag. I kept a pair of clogs in the hospital for daily wear. Without alcohol wipes, my room did not feel clean. But I did start to become at peace with my system, even though it was inferior to the system I use in my own home.
Meal time
In addition to bringing snacks from home, I gathered some meal items at a grocery store during my first day in New York. These included water, yogurt, a few protein drinks, fruit, and some mini chocolate croissants. It’s a pandemic – chocolate is encouraged, right?
Neither any of the volunteers I knew nor I had access to a kitchen, so this was about the best I could do.
My first week I worked nights and ate sporadically. A couple of days I bought bagel sandwiches on the way back to the hotel in the morning. Other times, I would eat yogurt or a protein bar.
I had trouble sleeping, so I would wake up early and either do yoga in my room or go for a run in a nearby park. Usually I didn’t plan well enough to eat before I went into the hospital, so I would take yogurt, some fruit, and a croissant with me as I headed out. It was hard eating on the run with a mask on my face.
When I switched to working days, I actually ordered proper dinners from local Thai, Mexican, and Indian restaurants. I paid around $20 a meal.
One night I even had dinner with a coworker who was staying at a hotel close to mine – what a luxury! Prior to all this I had been sheltering in place alone for weeks, so in that sense, this experience was a delight. I interacted with other people, in person, every day!
My commute
My hotel was about 20 minutes from the hospital. Well-meaning folks informed me that Hertz had free car rentals and Uber had discounts for health care workers. When I investigated these options, I found that only employees of certain hospitals were eligible. As a volunteer, I was not eligible.
I ultimately took Uber back and forth, and I was lucky that a few friends had sent me Uber gift cards to defray the costs. Most days, I paid about $20 each way, although 1 day there actually was “surge pricing.” The grand total for the trip was close to $800.
Many of the Uber drivers had put up plastic partitions – reminiscent of the plastic Dexter would use to contain his crime scenes – to increase their separation from their passengers. It was a bit eerie, but also somewhat welcome.
New normal
The actual work at the hospital in Brooklyn where I volunteered was different from usual practice in numerous ways. One of the things I immediately noticed was how difficult it was to get chest x-rays. After placing an emergent chest tube for a tension pneumothorax, it took about 6 hours to get a chest x-ray to assess placement.
Because code medications were needed much more frequently than normal times, these medications were kept in an open supply closet for ease of access. Many of the ventilators looked like they were from the 1970s. (They had been borrowed from the Federal Emergency Management Agency.)
What was most distinct about this work was the sheer volume of deaths and dying patients -- at least one death on our unit occurred every day I was there -- and the way families communicated with their loved ones. Countless times I held my phone over the faces of my unconscious patients to let their family profess their love and beg them to fight. While I have had to deliver bad news over the phone many times in my career, I have never had to intrude on families’ last conversations with their dying loved ones or witness that conversation occurring via a tiny screen.
Reentry
In many ways, I am lucky that I do not do clinical work in my hometown. So while other volunteers were figuring out how many more vacation days they would have to use, or whether they would have to take unpaid leave, and when and how they would get tested, all I had to do was prepare to go back home and quarantine myself for a couple of weeks.
I used up 2 weeks of vacation to volunteer in New York, but luckily, I could resume my normal work the day after I returned home.
Obviously, living in the pandemic is unique to anything we have ever experienced. Recognizing that, I recorded video diaries the whole time I was in New York. I laughed (like when I tried to fit all of my PPE on my tiny head), and I cried – several times. I suppose 1 day I may actually watch them and be reminded of what it was like to have been able to serve in this historic moment. Until then, they will remain locked up on the same phone that served as the only communication vehicle between my patients and their loved ones.
Dr. Salles is a bariatric surgeon and is currently a Scholar in Residence at Stanford (Calif.) University.
A couple of weeks ago, I posted a silly picture of myself with one N95 mask and asked the folks on Twitter what else I might need. In a matter of a few days, I had filled out a form online for volunteering through the Society of Critical Care Medicine, been assigned to work at a hospital in New York City, and booked a hotel and flight.
I was going to volunteer, although I wasn’t sure of exactly what I would be doing. I’m trained as a bariatric surgeon – not obviously suited for critical care, but arguably even less suited for medicine wards.
I undoubtedly would have been less prepared if I hadn’t sought guidance on what to bring with me and generally what to expect. Less than a day after seeking advice, two local women physicians donated N95s, face shields, gowns, bouffants, and coveralls to me. I also received a laminated photo of myself to attach to my gown in the mail from a stranger I met online.
Others suggested I bring goggles, chocolate, protein bars, hand sanitizer, powdered laundry detergent, and alcohol wipes. After running around all over town, I was able find everything but the wipes.
Just as others helped me achieve my goal of volunteering, I hope I can guide those who would like to do similar work by sharing details about my experience and other information I have collected about volunteering.
Below I answer some questions that those considering volunteering might have, including why I went, who I contacted to set this up, who paid for my flight, and what I observed in the hospital.
Motivation and logistics
I am currently serving in a nonclinical role at my institution. So when the pandemic hit the United States, I felt an immense amount of guilt for not being on the front lines caring for patients. I offered my services to local hospitals and registered for the California Health Corps. I live in northern California, which was the first part of the country to shelter in place. Since my home was actually relatively spared, my services weren’t needed.
As the weeks passed, I was slowly getting more and more fit, exercising in my house since there was little else I could do, and the guilt became a cloud gathering over my head.
I decided to volunteer in a place where demands for help were higher – New York. I tried very hard to sign up to volunteer through the state’s registry for health care volunteers, but was unable to do so. Coincidentally, around that same time, I saw on Twitter that Josh Mugele, MD, emergency medicine physician and program director of the emergency medicine residency at Northeast Georgia Medical Center in Gainesville, was on his way to New York. He shared the Society of Critical Care Medicine’s form for volunteering with me, and in less than 48 hours, I was assigned to a hospital in New York City. Five days later I was on a plane from San Francisco to my destination on the opposite side of the country. The airline paid for my flight.
This is not the only path to volunteering. Another volunteer, Sara Pauk, MD, ob.gyn. at the University of Washington, Seattle, found her volunteer role through contacting the New York City Health and Hospitals system directly. Other who have volunteered told me they had contacted specific hospitals or worked with agencies that were placing physicians.
PPE
The Brooklyn hospital where I volunteered provided me with two sets of scrubs and two N95s. Gowns were variably available on our unit, and there was no eye protection. As a colleague of mine, Ben Daxon, MD, anesthesia and critical care physician at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn., had suggested, anyone volunteering in this context should bring personal protective equipment (PPE) – That includes gowns, bouffants/scrub caps, eye protection, masks, and scrubs.
The “COVID corner”
Once I arrived in New York, I did not feel particularly safe in my hotel, so I moved to another the next day. Then I had to sort out how to keep the whole room from being contaminated. I created a “COVID corner” right by the door where I kept almost everything that had been outside the door.
Every time I walked in the door, I immediately took off my shoes and left them in that corner. I could not find alcohol wipes, even after looking around in the city, so I relied on time to kill the virus, which I presumed was on everything that came from outside.
Groceries stayed by the door for 48-72 hours if possible. After that, I would move them to the “clean” parts of the room. I wore the same outfit to and from the hospital everyday, putting it on right before I left and taking it off immediately after walking into the room (and then proceeding directly to the shower). Those clothes – “my COVID outfit” – lived in the COVID corner. Anything else I wore, including exercise clothes and underwear, got washed right after I wore it.
At the hospital, I would change into scrubs and leave my COVID outfit in a plastic bag inside my handbag. Note: I fully accepted that my handbag was now a COVID handbag. I kept a pair of clogs in the hospital for daily wear. Without alcohol wipes, my room did not feel clean. But I did start to become at peace with my system, even though it was inferior to the system I use in my own home.
Meal time
In addition to bringing snacks from home, I gathered some meal items at a grocery store during my first day in New York. These included water, yogurt, a few protein drinks, fruit, and some mini chocolate croissants. It’s a pandemic – chocolate is encouraged, right?
Neither any of the volunteers I knew nor I had access to a kitchen, so this was about the best I could do.
My first week I worked nights and ate sporadically. A couple of days I bought bagel sandwiches on the way back to the hotel in the morning. Other times, I would eat yogurt or a protein bar.
I had trouble sleeping, so I would wake up early and either do yoga in my room or go for a run in a nearby park. Usually I didn’t plan well enough to eat before I went into the hospital, so I would take yogurt, some fruit, and a croissant with me as I headed out. It was hard eating on the run with a mask on my face.
When I switched to working days, I actually ordered proper dinners from local Thai, Mexican, and Indian restaurants. I paid around $20 a meal.
One night I even had dinner with a coworker who was staying at a hotel close to mine – what a luxury! Prior to all this I had been sheltering in place alone for weeks, so in that sense, this experience was a delight. I interacted with other people, in person, every day!
My commute
My hotel was about 20 minutes from the hospital. Well-meaning folks informed me that Hertz had free car rentals and Uber had discounts for health care workers. When I investigated these options, I found that only employees of certain hospitals were eligible. As a volunteer, I was not eligible.
I ultimately took Uber back and forth, and I was lucky that a few friends had sent me Uber gift cards to defray the costs. Most days, I paid about $20 each way, although 1 day there actually was “surge pricing.” The grand total for the trip was close to $800.
Many of the Uber drivers had put up plastic partitions – reminiscent of the plastic Dexter would use to contain his crime scenes – to increase their separation from their passengers. It was a bit eerie, but also somewhat welcome.
New normal
The actual work at the hospital in Brooklyn where I volunteered was different from usual practice in numerous ways. One of the things I immediately noticed was how difficult it was to get chest x-rays. After placing an emergent chest tube for a tension pneumothorax, it took about 6 hours to get a chest x-ray to assess placement.
Because code medications were needed much more frequently than normal times, these medications were kept in an open supply closet for ease of access. Many of the ventilators looked like they were from the 1970s. (They had been borrowed from the Federal Emergency Management Agency.)
What was most distinct about this work was the sheer volume of deaths and dying patients -- at least one death on our unit occurred every day I was there -- and the way families communicated with their loved ones. Countless times I held my phone over the faces of my unconscious patients to let their family profess their love and beg them to fight. While I have had to deliver bad news over the phone many times in my career, I have never had to intrude on families’ last conversations with their dying loved ones or witness that conversation occurring via a tiny screen.
Reentry
In many ways, I am lucky that I do not do clinical work in my hometown. So while other volunteers were figuring out how many more vacation days they would have to use, or whether they would have to take unpaid leave, and when and how they would get tested, all I had to do was prepare to go back home and quarantine myself for a couple of weeks.
I used up 2 weeks of vacation to volunteer in New York, but luckily, I could resume my normal work the day after I returned home.
Obviously, living in the pandemic is unique to anything we have ever experienced. Recognizing that, I recorded video diaries the whole time I was in New York. I laughed (like when I tried to fit all of my PPE on my tiny head), and I cried – several times. I suppose 1 day I may actually watch them and be reminded of what it was like to have been able to serve in this historic moment. Until then, they will remain locked up on the same phone that served as the only communication vehicle between my patients and their loved ones.
Dr. Salles is a bariatric surgeon and is currently a Scholar in Residence at Stanford (Calif.) University.
A couple of weeks ago, I posted a silly picture of myself with one N95 mask and asked the folks on Twitter what else I might need. In a matter of a few days, I had filled out a form online for volunteering through the Society of Critical Care Medicine, been assigned to work at a hospital in New York City, and booked a hotel and flight.
I was going to volunteer, although I wasn’t sure of exactly what I would be doing. I’m trained as a bariatric surgeon – not obviously suited for critical care, but arguably even less suited for medicine wards.
I undoubtedly would have been less prepared if I hadn’t sought guidance on what to bring with me and generally what to expect. Less than a day after seeking advice, two local women physicians donated N95s, face shields, gowns, bouffants, and coveralls to me. I also received a laminated photo of myself to attach to my gown in the mail from a stranger I met online.
Others suggested I bring goggles, chocolate, protein bars, hand sanitizer, powdered laundry detergent, and alcohol wipes. After running around all over town, I was able find everything but the wipes.
Just as others helped me achieve my goal of volunteering, I hope I can guide those who would like to do similar work by sharing details about my experience and other information I have collected about volunteering.
Below I answer some questions that those considering volunteering might have, including why I went, who I contacted to set this up, who paid for my flight, and what I observed in the hospital.
Motivation and logistics
I am currently serving in a nonclinical role at my institution. So when the pandemic hit the United States, I felt an immense amount of guilt for not being on the front lines caring for patients. I offered my services to local hospitals and registered for the California Health Corps. I live in northern California, which was the first part of the country to shelter in place. Since my home was actually relatively spared, my services weren’t needed.
As the weeks passed, I was slowly getting more and more fit, exercising in my house since there was little else I could do, and the guilt became a cloud gathering over my head.
I decided to volunteer in a place where demands for help were higher – New York. I tried very hard to sign up to volunteer through the state’s registry for health care volunteers, but was unable to do so. Coincidentally, around that same time, I saw on Twitter that Josh Mugele, MD, emergency medicine physician and program director of the emergency medicine residency at Northeast Georgia Medical Center in Gainesville, was on his way to New York. He shared the Society of Critical Care Medicine’s form for volunteering with me, and in less than 48 hours, I was assigned to a hospital in New York City. Five days later I was on a plane from San Francisco to my destination on the opposite side of the country. The airline paid for my flight.
This is not the only path to volunteering. Another volunteer, Sara Pauk, MD, ob.gyn. at the University of Washington, Seattle, found her volunteer role through contacting the New York City Health and Hospitals system directly. Other who have volunteered told me they had contacted specific hospitals or worked with agencies that were placing physicians.
PPE
The Brooklyn hospital where I volunteered provided me with two sets of scrubs and two N95s. Gowns were variably available on our unit, and there was no eye protection. As a colleague of mine, Ben Daxon, MD, anesthesia and critical care physician at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn., had suggested, anyone volunteering in this context should bring personal protective equipment (PPE) – That includes gowns, bouffants/scrub caps, eye protection, masks, and scrubs.
The “COVID corner”
Once I arrived in New York, I did not feel particularly safe in my hotel, so I moved to another the next day. Then I had to sort out how to keep the whole room from being contaminated. I created a “COVID corner” right by the door where I kept almost everything that had been outside the door.
Every time I walked in the door, I immediately took off my shoes and left them in that corner. I could not find alcohol wipes, even after looking around in the city, so I relied on time to kill the virus, which I presumed was on everything that came from outside.
Groceries stayed by the door for 48-72 hours if possible. After that, I would move them to the “clean” parts of the room. I wore the same outfit to and from the hospital everyday, putting it on right before I left and taking it off immediately after walking into the room (and then proceeding directly to the shower). Those clothes – “my COVID outfit” – lived in the COVID corner. Anything else I wore, including exercise clothes and underwear, got washed right after I wore it.
At the hospital, I would change into scrubs and leave my COVID outfit in a plastic bag inside my handbag. Note: I fully accepted that my handbag was now a COVID handbag. I kept a pair of clogs in the hospital for daily wear. Without alcohol wipes, my room did not feel clean. But I did start to become at peace with my system, even though it was inferior to the system I use in my own home.
Meal time
In addition to bringing snacks from home, I gathered some meal items at a grocery store during my first day in New York. These included water, yogurt, a few protein drinks, fruit, and some mini chocolate croissants. It’s a pandemic – chocolate is encouraged, right?
Neither any of the volunteers I knew nor I had access to a kitchen, so this was about the best I could do.
My first week I worked nights and ate sporadically. A couple of days I bought bagel sandwiches on the way back to the hotel in the morning. Other times, I would eat yogurt or a protein bar.
I had trouble sleeping, so I would wake up early and either do yoga in my room or go for a run in a nearby park. Usually I didn’t plan well enough to eat before I went into the hospital, so I would take yogurt, some fruit, and a croissant with me as I headed out. It was hard eating on the run with a mask on my face.
When I switched to working days, I actually ordered proper dinners from local Thai, Mexican, and Indian restaurants. I paid around $20 a meal.
One night I even had dinner with a coworker who was staying at a hotel close to mine – what a luxury! Prior to all this I had been sheltering in place alone for weeks, so in that sense, this experience was a delight. I interacted with other people, in person, every day!
My commute
My hotel was about 20 minutes from the hospital. Well-meaning folks informed me that Hertz had free car rentals and Uber had discounts for health care workers. When I investigated these options, I found that only employees of certain hospitals were eligible. As a volunteer, I was not eligible.
I ultimately took Uber back and forth, and I was lucky that a few friends had sent me Uber gift cards to defray the costs. Most days, I paid about $20 each way, although 1 day there actually was “surge pricing.” The grand total for the trip was close to $800.
Many of the Uber drivers had put up plastic partitions – reminiscent of the plastic Dexter would use to contain his crime scenes – to increase their separation from their passengers. It was a bit eerie, but also somewhat welcome.
New normal
The actual work at the hospital in Brooklyn where I volunteered was different from usual practice in numerous ways. One of the things I immediately noticed was how difficult it was to get chest x-rays. After placing an emergent chest tube for a tension pneumothorax, it took about 6 hours to get a chest x-ray to assess placement.
Because code medications were needed much more frequently than normal times, these medications were kept in an open supply closet for ease of access. Many of the ventilators looked like they were from the 1970s. (They had been borrowed from the Federal Emergency Management Agency.)
What was most distinct about this work was the sheer volume of deaths and dying patients -- at least one death on our unit occurred every day I was there -- and the way families communicated with their loved ones. Countless times I held my phone over the faces of my unconscious patients to let their family profess their love and beg them to fight. While I have had to deliver bad news over the phone many times in my career, I have never had to intrude on families’ last conversations with their dying loved ones or witness that conversation occurring via a tiny screen.
Reentry
In many ways, I am lucky that I do not do clinical work in my hometown. So while other volunteers were figuring out how many more vacation days they would have to use, or whether they would have to take unpaid leave, and when and how they would get tested, all I had to do was prepare to go back home and quarantine myself for a couple of weeks.
I used up 2 weeks of vacation to volunteer in New York, but luckily, I could resume my normal work the day after I returned home.
Obviously, living in the pandemic is unique to anything we have ever experienced. Recognizing that, I recorded video diaries the whole time I was in New York. I laughed (like when I tried to fit all of my PPE on my tiny head), and I cried – several times. I suppose 1 day I may actually watch them and be reminded of what it was like to have been able to serve in this historic moment. Until then, they will remain locked up on the same phone that served as the only communication vehicle between my patients and their loved ones.
Dr. Salles is a bariatric surgeon and is currently a Scholar in Residence at Stanford (Calif.) University.