In the initial month of New York’s reopening, I found myself sanctimonious as I walked by large unmasked groups huddled into makeshift sidewalk bars and restaurants. I felt visceral disgust as I read news and saw pictures of people across the country ignoring evidence-based scientific guidelines. As a newly minted doctor, beginning the job as COVID-19 ravaged New York in April, I felt entitled to my anger: I lost five of the first 10 patients for whom I cared. As cases began to ramp up again across the country, I wondered, had the people going to pool parties and brunches learned nothing from what we had gone through?
But also, as a doctor, I knew I had to reframe my thinking. While I haven’t yet cared for anyone who has openly admitted to being crammed together with friends at a bar, if cases climb again in New York, I well could. My outrage would have ramifications for the care of these would-be patients. Health providers’ internalized moral biases about other drivers of poor health—such as addiction, obesity, homelessness, and tobacco use—have repeatedly been shown to affect the quality of care provided. As I tried to find empathy for potential future patients, I realized that rising case counts really aren’t the fault of individuals behaving recklessly.
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