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faveficarchive · 5 years ago

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Requiem for a Bitch

Part 5 of Vivian Darkbloom’s White Trash series

By Vivian Darkbloom

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: Gabrielle’s other sister comes into town and stirs up as much trouble as possible.

I’m gonna put a CW here for people who may need it: there’s absolutely homophobia in this story, and also just keep in mind that this story is honestly really true to the culture represented, and the times.

"She would of been a good woman," the Misfit said, "if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life."

—Flannery O'Connor, "A Good Man is Hard to Find"

1. Stroll Around the Grounds Until You Feel at Home

It was a joke.

This was what she thought at first. The matron came in, and said that she would be released in a week. Sure, there would be meetings with the therapists, and the medical board, and all that, but it was pretty much a done deal. State cutbacks, the matron said. And you're an adult now. You don't need a waiver from your parents. You're free. Isn't it nice? You can get a job and an apartment and a boyfriend and you can wear whatever you want and do whatever you want and watch whatever you want on TV without Cindy Sue Deaver going nuts if it's not Full House and you can eat whatever you want and rest assured that there aren't behavior-modifying drugs in it—or are there? And the windows didn't have bars on them unless you ended up living in a real crappy, scary neighborhood. And nobody's telling you what to do. Right? Unless it's a boss or a government or a landlord.

Was the outside world really so different? she wondered. She would find out.

So they gave her money for the bus and food, and new clothes. She had to wear something "nice." Although how a beige skirt from Sears and an white blouse yellowed with age qualified as nice, she had no way of imagining. Maybe fashion had changed radically in the last 15 years, and Sears was now on par with Calvin Klein and Jordache.

The world was indeed a scary place.

She didn't say goodbye to anyone, and flipped the finger to the matron and wished death, famine, and endless curses among various inhabitants, including those who thought they had reformed her, had changed her somehow. They hadn't. Stupid fucking doctors. She dragged a small suitcase, filled mostly with packs of cigarettes and soap and towels and other stuff she swiped from the supply closet before leaving.

The bus stop was in front of some ghostly crafts store haunted with the remains of faddish hobbies. It was hot and in a fit of pique she ripped off the nylons she was wearing with the skirt, oblivious to the looks from the old lady in the crafts store, and tossed them in the trash. She rarely copped to emotions other than homicidal, spiteful glee, but she had to admit she just a bit curious to see home, and how everything had changed, and—most of all—how they would all react to her being back.

She shrugged in answer to this conversation in her head, and lit a cigarette. The bus lumbered to the curb, its doors opened, and she climbed in, glaring at the driver, daring the old man to say anything about "no smoking."

*****

The bus let her out about three blocks from Bob's Garage, near the outskirts of town. She walked lazily down familiar streets—too familiar, she thought with disappointment. All this time, and nothing's really changed. Well, what the hell did you expect? So if that's true, Purdy—the damn idiot—should still be working at the garage. And if he's still there...the thought trailed off, mercifully. She just couldn't think about it all right now.

Nonetheless, curiosity won out, and she found herself at the garage, on the pretext of getting a Coke from the machine outside. Then she walked into the dark cavern of the garage. A pair of blue-jeaned legs sprawled out from under some ancient car. Before she could announce her presence, a pair of arms grabbed her from behind.

The world whirled around her, and she found herself sitting atop a metal tool chest and face to face with a grinning, gum-chewing, blue-eyed, androgynous angel wearing a baseball cap backward. "Hiya, baby," the Angel said, declaring her gender in a low but decidedly feminine purr.

Before she could say anything, the Angel devoured her mouth with a greedy kiss, resplendent with lots of rolling tongue, breath, and moistness. Frantic at being kissed by this freak (yes, a freak, and no, I'm not enjoying this, I can't be), she placed her hands on the hard shoulders facing hers and shoved violently.

Contact was broken. The Angel was momentarily thrown off her Zen High Horse. "What's wrong, baby? Don't pay no attention to Purdy." The dark head bobbed in the direction of the legs under the car.

"Don't pay no attention to me," Purdy echoed from under the vehicle.

It was then that she realized that she was now chewing the Angel's gum. "Ack!" she cried, and spat, sending the little gum projectile through the air and onto the dark, greasy floor.

The dark Angel was grinning at her again. Furious, she smacked the creature—hard—across the face.

Purdy groaned, whether from arousal or empathy, it could not be discerned.

It was like bitch-slapping a rock. The baseball chapeau didn't even budge. And the woman laughed heartily. "You're pretty feisty today, Gabrielle," she growled pleasantly, maneuvering an oily hand under the Sears skirt.

Somehow she escaped these foul attentions—she managed to worm around the tall woman and bolted for the exit. She snatched her suitcase from outside, and ran down the street.

Gabrielle?

The name reverberated like an engine gunned over and over.

My sister is a dyke now? Well, now, that's definitely new.

It was an intriguing homecoming for Hope Hockenberry.

*****

Scant seconds after Hope's sudden departure from the garage, Purdy deemed it safe to emerge from his grimy underworld, where he had found himself getting steadily aroused. He had calmed himself with visions of Johnny Cash nude, and was now ready—and curious—to face the world. "What the hell was that about?" he remarked to Zina as he wheeled himself out from the car.

He stood up and saw the firefighter absently rubbing her tingling cheek. She shrugged, took off her cap, thus liberating the rest of her long hair. "I dunno. She gets awful fruity during this time of the month, if you know what I mean." Zina carefully avoided any blatant mention of tampons, menstruation, blood, female cycle, uterus—knowing that Purdy was indeed like all men and crumpled at the mere mention of the female reproductive cycle and its attendant paraphernalia.

"Before, during, and after, it seems like," he muttered. He sighed, and wiped his hands with a rag. "Anyway, thanks for helping me here, with this one." Purdy nodded at the car. "Appreciate it."

"No problem. I was dyin' to get under that hood for a long time."

"Bet you've used that line before."

She laughed, and straddled her Harley. "Later," she said with a kickstart.

2. The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Mane

The salon was called the "The Clip Club," its original owner being a disenchanted lesbian exile from Staten Island. But now the shop had passed into the hands of a permanently bitter middle-aged gay alcoholic who had never been out of Olympus County. Nonetheless, it was the best hairdressers' in the area, and Gabrielle had been getting her bangs and split ends trimmed there ever since she'd been out of high school and had finally wearied of Lila's jagged little cuts.

Hair freshly shampooed, the little poet waited patiently for her regular stylist while reading Redbook or, more precisely, carefully examining a photo layout of the latest lingerie styles for the fall. Finally, she felt a comb running through her damp locks.

"Shirley, I just need everything trimmed—" Gabrielle looked up, and jumped violently. Her regular hairdresser was not in front of her; rather, Natalie—she of the Shimmy Shack and dubious academic reputation—stood before her, twirling a pair of scissors. And dropping them, thus narrowly missing her own sandalled foot. Natalie hopped awkwardly, then grinned sheepishly. "Hi, Gabrielle."

"Uh, hi, Natalie." Her skin crawled. "Where's Shirley?"

"Trying to cash her girlfriend's welfare check."

"Again? Like she needs another tattoo!"

"Yeah. Anyway, she's out the rest of the day. But I just started working here!" Natalie smiled proudly.

"When?"

"Yesterday, in fact. And, um, I'm free now, so I could do you." The ex-professor wiggled her eyebrows.

"I dunno, Natalie. It's been a while since I've let anyone else cut my hair." Protectively she clutched a sheaf of her blonde hair. She wouldn't even let Zina trim her hair. Especially not switchblade-enamored Zina.

"Come on, Gabrielle. I'm trying to behave myself now. I'm not stripping, I'm not harassing anyone. I mean, look at me. I'm just trying to make a living here." She pouted in a fairly effective manner. "I think everyone deserves a second chance, don't you?" she threw in plaintively.

Oh damn. Gabrielle's shrug was more of a massive, neurotic body twitch. "Yeah, I guess." Can't argue with that. It wouldn't be fair. Zina got a second chance, and a third, and a fourth, and then a lot of parole time. "Okay, Natalie," she sighed.

The former stripper grinned with delight. "Wonderful!" She walked behind Gabrielle, and gently ran her hands through the poet's wet hair. "I really appreciate this," she purred.

"No problem." Gabrielle shifted nervously in her seat. "I just want it trimmed, okay?"

"Uh-huh." The tips of Natalie's fingers gently scraped against Gabrielle's temple. Then the soft pads began working their magic in earnest, exuding a delicate, massaging pressure that made the poet's body tingle and puddle into mushy nothingness.

"Feel good?" Natalie's voice dropped an octave, and Gabrielle's flooded senses grabbed at the deep tones like a life preserver, mistaking the huskiness for Zina's own rich burr.

"Mmmm, yeah, baby." Gabrielle's own voice fell into a low Austin Powers intonation.

"I knew you'd like that." The voice burrowed into even sweeter depths.

Before Gabrielle knew it, someone sounding like Barry White was telling her that she needed a new hairstyle: "Uh-huh. Child, I bet you've had this same style since you were in middle school. And all through high school. Didn’t you? You had this hairstyle when you smoked your first joint. You had this hairstyle when you flunked your first French test. You had this hairstyle when you lost your virginity to that boyfriend of yours in the bed of his pickup truck, with your head banging against the thin dirty blanket where his dog usually slept and which barely cushioned the metal, in time to the AC/DC blaring from the tape deck while you were secretly thinking of Kate Jackson. Am I right or am I right, girlfriend?"

*****

As Gabrielle exited the salon, she couldn't stop running her hands through her hair: It was so…short. She had awakened from a brief, bleary state of unconsciousness to the sight of herself, in the mirror, with this dashing little pixie haircut. "I only know one style," Natalie had said afterward, in an attempt at an apology, and pointed feebly at her own head.

Gabrielle rushed down the sidewalk in an anxious haze. How I love your hair, Zina had mumbled the other night. It was the closest thing to poetry her taciturn lover had ever uttered, and there weren't even no metaphors or similes or even' fuckin' adjectives for Christ's sake but it's all I got, and now it's gone!

When she reached the garage, Purdy was sitting in his "office," watching baseball. "Purdy!" she shouted. He jumped, and started to rummage through a desk drawer.

"You damn idiot, I'm not a mugger," she snapped. "And if I were, you'd be dead by now."

He stared at her. "Gabrielle? What the hell happened to your hair?"

"I got it cut," she said defiantly, as if it had been a premeditated plan of action.

"Huh," Purdy mused. That was quick. She went, got her hair cut, and changed her clothes, he thought, taking in the short tresses, the baggy jeans, the Carhart jacket. "You're really goin' whole hog into the lesbian look, huh?"

"Not quite," she muttered. She had drawn a mental line in the sand at those funny sandals. "Where's Zina?"

"She's gone."

"Dammit, she was supposed to wait for me!" Gabrielle fumed. "I need her for the video store."

"For Blockbuster? Why?"

"Not Blockbuster. We don't go there. Cyrene says it's an evil corporation."

He frowned, confused. "If you don't go to Blockbuster…" he trailed off. And his eyes widened. "Oh Jesus," he whispered. "You don't go to…"

"Yes," replied Gabrielle solemnly. "We go to Him."

He was the Sarcastic Hippie Video Store Guy, who worked at the tiny video store in town which seemed to have no name (unlike the Clip Club). But it didn't matter, because everybody knew who Sarcastic Hippie Video Store Guy was and where he worked.

Gabrielle hated going to the "independent" (as Cyrene called it) video store by herself, because Sarcastic Hippie Video Store Guy always delighted in giving her a particularly hard time; however, he wouldn't dare do so when she was accompanied by Zina, who once, in a shameless show of prowess, bit the head off a cardboard display of Billy Crystal.

And now she had to face Him all alone.

*****

Gabrielle spent several minutes working up the courage to approach Him all by her lonesome. She cruised the dusty aisles, pretending to look for something else in addition to the box she already clutched. She cast a glance at Him. His hippie head was bent and He looked engrossed in the copy of Spin on the counter, but she knew Him. She knew He was just trying to fake her out. He was watching her every move.

She stood at the counter, and carefully shoved the empty video carton in his direction. He did not look up.

"Long week, no see," He drawled.

Gabrielle said nothing.

Head still down, He continued: "Wild Things again?"

"No." She kicked herself mentally for responding to Him. Don’t encourage Him, that’s what Zina always said.

"Or is it a hard core night? Or how about that Rashomon of the modern day porn, The Sapphic Schoolgirls of Sydney?"

She did not respond to this taunt, and was unsure of how much longer she could hold out.

"If I recall correctly, you’ve rented that one 23 times in the last three months."

Employing the use of her middle finger, she flicked the video box so that it rolled over right onto Spin, or more specifically, a big color photo of Korn.

He stared at it. "Beaches," he murmured aloud. Finally, he turned his blue eyes to her. And smiled. Was it a genuine smile? Or another smirk? It was hard to tell, his face was so obscured by the dark, shaggy beard. He leaned toward her, over the counter, as if ready to divulge a confession. "Every time I see this movie, I cry like a baby," he whispered in her ear.

She blinked, still wary of him. "Really?" she asked cautiously.

He nodded. She thought his eyes glistened with unshed tears. He was squishing his lips together and frowning like Tom Hanks. "Really."

Gabrielle was amazed. He is human after all! She laid a hand on the soft fur of his forearm. At that moment he reminded her of the cocker spaniel she had when she was 7. "Why? Tell me," she urged gently.

He sniffled a little. "I don’t know if I can."

"Maybe you’ll feel better if you tell me." She squeezed his arm.

He took a deep, steadying breath. "Because every time I see it, I realize how fucked up Barbara Hershey’s career is."

Gabrielle saw the triumphant Gotcha! in his eyes, and she took the video box and rapped him—but not terribly hard—on the skull with it. "You asshole."

He straightened, startled. "Violence is not the way, Miss Hockenberry."

"You want violence? I’ll give you violence. I’ll go home and tell my girlfriend you bugged me and she’ll twist you into a pretzel. How’s that for violence?"

Girlfriend? Not…Her! He blurted fearfully, "You mean the Kansas City Bomber?" He had taken to calling Zina that ever since she came into the store one day wearing roller blades, which lead to a discourse upon the classic Raquel Welch vehicle and how it was the cornerstone of her career and undervalued for its campiness, which lead them to stare at him with even greater incomprehension than usual. He waved a hand of surrender at Gabrielle. "Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Jeez." He took the carton, padded into a back room, and reemerged with the videotape. After opening the black box and checking it, he handed it to her.

"Thanks," she grunted.

"Look, I’m glad you’re at least renting something different, y’know?" he said. "It’s a shitty movie, but who knows, maybe in good time you’ll work your way up to better, more ambitious things. Like Orson Welles. Or foreign films. Stuff like that."

"Well," she hesitated. "I’d like to."

He actually looked pleased. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she echoed brightly. Zina would hate it, but there was always NASCAR.

He scrutinized her while scratching his beard. "Hey, I tell you what. I’ll make a list for you, of films I think you should see. Nothing too avant-garde or anything like that, but just some basic classics that you familiarize yourself with. And I’ll give a discount card you can use for renting these movies. How does that sound?"

Gabrielle stared at him, touched. Wow, he’s not so bad after all! "Thank you, Sarcastic Hippie Video Store Guy!"

Ooops.

His expression was something between a wince and a smirk. "Um, my name's Eli. Okay?"

3. Gabrielle: The Other Other Other White Meat

When Gabrielle entered the house, her first instinct was to bolt upstairs and hide in her study room for about a year, until her hair grew out. She was about the make a mad dash for the stairs when Zina emerged from the kitchen. "Hey," the firefighter greeted, blue eyes focused on the Rolling Rock bottle, "thought that was you."

The young poet and perennial student-teacher felt the sarcasm blooming within her, and even though something within her tried to staunch it, nothing could prevent its fleur du mal, a smart-ass remark, from emerging. "Yeah, I guess it could only be me, or the serial killer who has keys to our house."

It was a terrible mistake, for it drew Zina's attention from green bottle to green eyes. And the hair. Chewing her lip, Gabrielle braced for the worst.

"Your hair. You got it cut."

Gabrielle wondered if Zina got her talent for Stating the Obvious from watching—and listening to—TV sports announcers. She nodded, not sure how to read the paling color of the firefighter's blue eyes. Zina circled her like a farmer checking out a steer at the state fair. It'd been a long time since her girlfriend had really scoped her out like this and, she had to admit, she was having trouble breathing, in a good kind of way. "Well," she asked slowly, "do you like it?"

In lieu of a verbal response, Gabrielle found herself quite literally head over heels, flung over a shoulder, and staring, upside-down, at the disintegrating tag of Zina's Levis as she was hauled up the stairs.

*****

"Comfy?" asked the firefighter.

Gabrielle pulled tentatively on the handcuffs which bound her wrists to the bedpost. Goddamn Minya. Why did she have to give these to Zina? "Yeah, I think I'm fine." Her lover had interrupted some promising foreplay to clap the cuffs on her.

"Good," Zina purred, then barked: "Now spread 'em!"

And Gabrielle did. The tip of the strap-on dildo lingered near her opening, like an unctuous, falsely modest houseguest who was secretly dying to stay for weeks, sleep in late, smoke all of your stash, permanently stain the sheets, and eat all the food in the house. But after much flailing of hips and shameless begging, Gabrielle welcomed the dildo with a graciousness that combined aspects of Donna Reed, Martha Stewart, and Doris Day.

She was close—extremely close—when Zina stopped thrusting for a moment. "Did you hear a car outside?"

"Huh? No, no. Baby, whoever it is, they'll go away," she panted.

The firefighter frowned. Her senses were on alert. "Maybe it's my mother...shit, she'll just come in, if she has her keys." Zina scowled at the insanely aroused Gabrielle. "Or if you left the door unlocked again."

"I did not leave the door unlocked!" Gabrielle snarled. However, she was terribly unsure of that fact. "Zina, please!"

"All right, all right." She picked up the pace once again, and Gabrielle's eager hips followed suit. The poet's orgasm began to build, but, once again, Zina was the school bully who smashed it to bits like an unwieldy Lego tower. "Dammit!" yelled Gabrielle, her body convulsing. "Now what?"

"I swear someone is in the house. I thought I heard something on the stairs!"

"Zina, it's probably just your mom and she knows better by now than to come into our bedroom!"

"No, she doesn't! She always forgets!" The last incident had been particularly bad, and left Cyrene babbling about a "primal scene."

"Oh God, who cares?" Gabrielle shouted. She grabbed Zina's mane of black hair in her teeth and gave a savage yank, forcing her lover's gaze back to her own. Releasing the hair with a pfft, she continued: "She's seen us fucking, and so have Hank, Ed, Effie, Boris, Lao Ma, Ming Tien, and even my idiot sister! Everyone has seen us fucking because of that stupid videotape!"

"Gabrielle?"

"What?" shrieked the poet in sheer exasperation.

"Have your parents seen us fucking?"

Gabrielle followed Zina's glance over to the bedroom door...which was now open. The doorframe held both her parents. Both squat little Hockenberrys looked stunned.

The firefighter answered her own question. "Guess they have now."

"Hi, Momma," Gabrielle offered the feeble greeting.

*****

Zina sat morosely on the steps. Down the hall, Gabrielle was stationed outside the bathroom door. Her mother was barricaded inside said room, wailing uncontrollably. The poet's attempts at comfort and reason were lost in the maelstrom of grief for Gabrielle's presumed heterosexuality. Mrs. Hockenberry was a one-woman wake for perceived normalcy.

The firefighter resigned herself to the fact that the old lady would probably be in there all night, since she was so close to a toilet anyway, and probably left her extra pair of Depends in the pickup. So Zina ambled downstairs, in search of a beer, and curious as to what Gabrielle's laconic father was doing down there. Since his wife had locked herself in the room, he had only muttered, "For Christ's sake, Hermione," and wandered off downstairs.

Hockenberry pere had his bulk spread out comfortably in the couch, watching pro wrestling on TV. Zina saw nothing of her lovely girlfriend in either parent, and began to wonder if the lumpy couple had somehow conceived Gabrielle through a happy accident involving test tubes and Chemical X, as if she were one of the Powerpuff Girls.

Her arrival and observation of him did not go unnoticed. His eyes, actually made more attractive by the glow of the TV, studied her with awe.

Zina indulged in her usual gesture of discomfort: She rubbed the back of her neck. "Wanna beer?" she asked Mr. Hockenberry.

He nodded. She padded out to the kitchen, and returned with two Rolling Rocks. She handed him one. As he mumbled " 'preciate it," she sat down next to him.

He appraised her again. "Yer pretty," he mumbled.

"Thanks." She paused. "So's Gabrielle." But that goes without saying since you caught me boinking her, doesn't it?

"Ain't no skin off my ass," he continued. With only four more words, he would break a personal lifelong record for number of phrases spoken in one day.

She nodded.

"I still like her best," he confided. The record thus broken, the factions of his brain that encouraged language usage broke out the Asti Spumanti, peanuts, and noisemakers.

Zina smiled. "Me too."

"Lila's just dumb, like me, and Hope's plain crazy, like her ma. But Gabrielle ain't like anyone else."

So true, thought Zina. She started to raise the bottle to her lips, but stopped abruptly. Wait a damn minute. She stared at him. "Who's Hope?"

*****

Hours passed before Mr. Hockenberry finally rolled on the couch and announced he was going home, without his hysterical wife. Then Gabrielle came downstairs and threw herself on the couch. "My mother's asleep in the bathtub."

"I bet if you run the shower, that'll wake her up."

"You're not being real helpful, Zina. This whole night has been a disaster. I didn't get to watch Beaches, my parents saw us having sex, they know I'm gay, my mom is freaked out and living in our bathroom, and to top it all off I didn't come."

"Poor baby." The firefighter smirked, then guffawed.

Gabrielle glared at her, having expected a modicum of sympathy. "What is wrong with you?"

"I'm gonna tell ya what is wrong: What got here is a failure to communicate," Zina drawled in her best Strother Martin-Cool Hand Luke tone.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Zina chuckled, shaking her head in amazement. "This is so cool. It's great." Gabrielle looked at her, puzzled. Zina put her beer on top of coffee table, more specifically, on top of the TV Guide.

"Hey, watch it! You'll get it all wrinkly!" the poet cried. When Zina failed to react, she moved the bottle off the guide.

The firefighter ignored this. "Listen, it's like we're in one of those parallel universes, like in Star Trek. 'Cause this time you're the one with the crazy, fucked-up secret in her past, not me." She giggled again. "This is so great. This time I get to be self-righteous hag." The firefighter bit her knuckle in mock melodrama and worked up little ponds of glistening crocodile tears in both eyes. "How could you keep a secret from me, Gabrielle! After all the underwear we've shared!"

Catching on, the poet gasped. "You know about Hope," she breathed. It was her one dirty secret, aside from shoplifting at K-Mart in the 7th grade.

"Yeah, that's right, baby. Your daddy told me about your twin, Hope." Zina guzzled her beer with relish.

Gabrielle was mystified. "He did? But why? Hell, Daddy only says about three words a day, and they're usually, 'where's dinner, woman?' "

"That's why they came here tonight, Gabrielle. 'Cause of your sister. They wanted to tell you she's out of the loony bin."

"Fuck!" Gabrielle exclaimed in a panic. She bounced around on the couch nervously. "I...shit, Zina, she hates me. Is she in town? Do they know?"

"They don't know yet." Zina stroked her chin thoughtfully, the gesture a result of witnessing Artie stroke his goatee for years on end. "Did you show up at the garage today?"

"Well, yeah, but you were gone when I got there. Why?"

"Uh-huh. Was this before or after your haircut?"

"After." Gabrielle went slack-jawed. "Oh my God. She was at the garage?"

"Yep," the firefighter confirmed. "I reckon it was her."

Zina found her Nine Inch Nails t-shirt in Gabrielle's hot, angry hands. "Did you fuck around with my sister?"

"Gabrielle, knock it off! I was in the garage, for Christ's sake. Purdy was right there. Look, I just kissed her, 'cause I thought she was you." Mock indignant, she straightened her t-shirt. “Sure explains the reaction I got."

"Oh boy, she must have freaked."

"She did. She smacked me."

With a squirm and a lustful growl, the poet affirmed this: "You're very smackable, you know?" Gabrielle's thwarted libido was drawing up a petition for another crack at Zina.

"Save it for after we sandblast your mother outta the bathroom." Zina picked up the Rolling Rock and took a pull on it. She rubbed the cold green bottle with her thumb. "So, uh..." She shrugged nervously. "Why'd your sister end up in the sany-tarium?"

"Cause she's an evil bitch, that's why," muttered Gabrielle darkly. "She..." the poet swallowed nervously, and Zina took her hand and squeezed it gently.

"C'mon, you can tell me," the firefighter encouraged her gently.

Gabrielle squirmed uncomfortably, then snuggled closer to her lover for comfort. "She...she tried to throw me in the barbecue pit when we were little. She had me trussed up to a stake and covered in sauce and everything." She shuddered at the memory. "Thank God Daddy wasn't drunk that day."

"Huh. Wow." For Zina, this explained her companion's perpetual dislike of barbecue. But how come she doesn't like coleslaw?

"That was the last straw. Up until then, it had just been minor things, things you pretend were an accident. Like shoving me in front of the school bus. Trying to sell me to a motorcycle gang. Shit like that."

A memory scratched eagerly at the back door of Zina's mind. She rubbed her jaw nervously. "Hey, what motorcycle gang was that?" Gabrielle looked at her, horrified. "It wasn't Hogs and Harlots, was it?"

Gabrielle went pale.

Zina grinned in her charmingly dopey fashion. "I coulda been your first."

"That's just great," snarled the poet sarcastically.

"Yep." She smirked proudly. "I was always head of the line."

*****

At the near-empty counter of the town’s lone diner sat Hope, picking at a ham-and-egg sandwich and ignoring a cup of coffee. A cigarette proved to be a larger temptation than the greasy items before her, and she lit up. Before long she noticed a crazy-looking woman with big crazy brown eyes and big crazy blonde hair was sitting next to her and staring. In a real crazy way.

"The brat smokes," murmured the blonde woman. "Will wonders ever cease?"

"Get outta my face," snarled Hope.

"Tough talk without your bitch girlfriend to back you up," retorted the blonde.

Hope groaned, realizing that—of course—she was being mistaken for her sister once again. "Look, I'm not Gabrielle. Okay?"

"You've been reading Sybil again, dear? Which personality are you today? The crossdressing kindergarten teacher? The kleptomaniac who bites her nails?"

The ex-mental patient flicked cigarette ash in the lap of her tormentor. Callie screeched. "Why you little—" before she could finish the sentence or lay a hand on Hope, the latter had slapped her across the face, the crack echoing in the vast mid-morning emptiness of the formica-laden diner.

The waitress, sitting alone at the other end of the counter, perked up a little.

Callie saw stars and touched her burning cheek. Wow. She blinked through the tears in her eyes. It isn't the brat! "Who are you?" she whispered in awe.

"Hope. I'm Gabrielle's sister. I've been away for a while, but I'm back." Ash dribbled onto her unappetizing breakfast, which made it look heavily peppered.

"Hope," Callie repeated. "I'm Callie." Hope. Hope is a woman named Hope. I'm hopeless about Hope.

"I'd say it's nice to meet you, but it's too early and I'm too pissed off."

"Yeah. That's okay, Hope. So...just got into town, hmm?"

Hope nodded. She stared at the dismal sandwich before her, shrugged, and took a huge bite of it.

Wow. Now here's someone who doesn't give a crap about what anyone thinks. "Got a place to stay?" asked Callie.

"No," Hope grunted sullenly. "My parents won't let me stay with them. Fucking assholes."

Is it possible to fall in love within the span of five minutes, after someone has slapped you silly and repulsed you by eating something undeniably gross? Elizabeth Taylor knew it to be true, this magnetic, sudden rush of love that overwhelmed common sense, good taste, and all concepts of decency. And Callie, off her meds, thought so as well. It's funny, the person I love most in the world and the person I hate most in the world look the same!

Idly, Callie pressed a leg against Hope's. "Well, I'd be happy to let you bunk over at my place. Um, there's only one bed, though...."

Hope, slurping coffee, nearly spat it all over the counter. "What the fuck? Is every woman in this town a lesbo now? Instead of the Stepford Wives, you're all Stepford Dykes?"

The waitress looked rather intrigued at this notion.

Callie hastily withdrew her lunging, lustful thigh. "Um, no, don't be silly!" She gulped—a Plan B would be necessary in this seduction. "I'm a minister of God, for heaven's sake!" Plan B being a good bottle of tequila and Artie.

"Fine," said Hope, finishing off the sandwich with one last large, feral bite, as Callie marveled at the capacity of her mouth. "So I'll take the bed, you take the floor."

*****

Zina lumbered into the house and was assailed, once again, with more of Gabrielle's ongoing spiritual crises. The perpetual academic was sitting on the floor with something that, to the firefighter, resembled a giant bong.

My mother…fumed Zina. "What the hell is that?" she grunted, looming over Gabrielle and the thing.

"Hi, honey! Cool, isn't it?" Absently Gabrielle plucked a string attached to the pseudo-bong, and it made a sharp yet melodious noise. "It's a sitar. Eli lent it to me."

"Eli?" echoed Zina.

"Yeah." Gabrielle smiled proudly. "He's Sarcastic Hippie Video Store Guy."

"But…how did…?" she trailed off. Zina was dumbfounded, yet impressed at Gabrielle's accomplishment. "You made contact," she murmured, awestruck.

"Yeah. I broke the cycle of bad porn, baby. Thanks to Eli." For herself, Gabrielle too was amazed at having broken through his sarcastic veneer. Who would’ve guessed that Eli had a sitar collection, possessed a spiritual side, and ran his own support group for hirsute pot smokers?

"But I wanted to see Prison Pussy IV!"

"Too bad, Zina. Tonight we're watching Truffaut's The 400 Blows."

The firefighter leered. "Well, that might be okay. Especially if you blow me a couple hundred times during it."

"Oh, Zina." The poet gave both a haughty sigh and a withering look of disdain to the firefighter. "It's not that kind of film." Absently, she plucked out a tune on the sitar, which sounded vaguely like "Don't Fear the Reaper" and made Zina long for a Blue Oyster Cult reunion tour.

Then Gabrielle hit a particularly harsh chord. "Honey, I hate to break it to ya, but you're not exactly George Harrison," Zina jibed.

"Sure. Fine. Go ahead and mock me. Don't be supportive. I'm trying to find my way, find some peace in this raging, violent world, and you have to be a fucking killjoy. Fine. I'll just take my sitar upstairs—" Kneeling, Gabrielle scooped up the sitar from its large round bottom and abruptly lifted it into the air. The instrument's upward mobility met with resistance punctuated by a thud and a twang that made her hands reverberate. And then another nauseating thud as Zina's unconscious body hit the floor.

Gabrielle gasped. She wasn't kidding when she said she had a glass jaw! "Oh, baby!" she squealed.

*****

From the trailer's tiny kitchen Callie could see Hope sitting in the recliner, reading the newspaper. The minister maneuvered herself out of plain sight to practice her Slinky Walk, something she had not done since being ordained by Artie into his church.

But love had called for drastic measures. She had pulled out her Daisy Dukes, thinking that, between these and many a vodka tonic, any woman of worth would turn queer. She did not want to implement Plan B unless it were absolutely necessary—a walking penis like Artie was a dime a dozen, but a good bottle of tequila was hard to find in these parts.

Callie heard the rattling of ice cubes. "Coming, my pet!" she cried gaily. She ran to the refrigerator and pulled out the two liter bottle of Dr. Pepper, checked her hair in the toaster’s greasy reflection, then dashed into the living room.

"Here you go," Callie crooned in sing-song tones as the beverage foamed and sizzled within the grape jelly glass.

Hope grunted, then pointed at an item in the newspaper. "That's her."

"Hmm?"

"That's the sick fuck that my sick fuck of a sister is screwing." Hope pointed at page 2 of the Chakram Creek Daily Independent Morning News Courier. FIREFIGHTER OF THE YEAR FOR THE SECOND TIME, bellowed the headline. The article was accompanied by a large photo of Zina, de rigueur in firefighting gear, cradling her helmet, and sitting on the back of a fire truck with an anemic looking Dalmatian who had been up for a supporting role in the live action version of 101 Dalmatians but blew its chance on becoming a celluloid hero after humping Glenn Close's leg and peeing on her handmade Italian loafers.

Thus spake the article:

For the second year in a row, Miss Zima Amphipolitti of Chakram Cheek has won the prestigious "Firefighter of the Year" award in Olympus County.

In a brief ceremony at the county firehouse yesterday morning, Miss Amphipollittus was presented with a plaque by the Mayor, followed by the county's newly appointed poet laureate, Gabrielle Hockenberry, reading briefly from one of her own works entitled "Ode to Tremulous Thighs." The winner also received a certificate granting her a year's supply of doughnuts from Krispy Kreme, co-sponsors of the award. The ceremony was brief.

"Yeah, it's great," proclaimed the 52-year-old firefighter. A lifelong native of Chakram Creek, the winner attended high school at various locations in the region, including Chakram Creek High, Henabae High, Our Lady of Spamona High, and the prestigious Athens Christian Academy. She received her GED last year. Before embarking on her career as a firefighter, Miss Amphibian overcame serious drug, alcohol, and legal problems in an effort to make her life "not suck."

"This woman is living proof that you can turn your life around 360 degrees on the right track, and that the parole system is preferable to welfare," stated the Mayor. Miss Amphigrafitti will be on parole until the year 2010.

"Ooooh." Callie bit her tongue. She needed a new picture of Zina for her scrapbook; most of the others were either stained or torn violently.

"What the hell is a poet lore-ate?" snapped Hope.

4. The Way, or The Weigh

Zina's mind was, she would gleefully admit to anyone, not of a scientific bent. However, a kind of academic curiosity inflamed her on the very first day she picked up the free doughnuts from Krispy Kreme: How many doughnuts could Gabrielle eat in one sitting? How much weight would she gain? To maintain her current weight and physique, she would have to increase her weekly can-crunching workouts to what amount? Every day? Every hour? Am I going to get to eat any of these doughnuts? she wailed to herself.

She stopped walking down through the parking lot. Hell, yes. Viciously she tore open the box and jammed a powdered creme-filled in her mouth, where it remained as she kick-started the cycle, navigated out of the lot, pulled up to the first red light, tore down the road until the second stop light, made a left, then another left, then a right, saw Cyrene's Volkswagen outside the food co-op, went past the town limits, picked up speed, wind, and the exhilarating pulse of freedom, then saw the speed limit sign, then the poorly camouflaged state trooper cruiser behind an abandoned grain shed, which reminded her of that weird ABBA song, "Super Trouper." Do they have state troopers in Sweden? Maybe they're nicer there than here…sure, they're super! Super, thanks for asking! And then she almost missed the turnoff for the farmhouse, but swerved at the last moment, made it and sped up the dirt road to the house. By the time she shut off the bike, the doughnut was soggy and denuded of its powder, most of which was congealed around Zina's mouth, as if she were a half-hearted, amateur kabuki actress.

The firefighter took a few seconds to fully devour the thing and wipe her mouth, then she burst into the house. "Hey, baby! I'm home!"

Gabrielle, studying at the dining room table, looked up expectantly. "Hi." The green eyes widened. "Oh my God. You have the doughnuts."

"Of course I have the doughnuts. It's time to eat the doughnuts!"

"I can't."

Zina stared at her in shock. "What?"

"I can't, baby, I can't." Gabrielle looked stricken, and torn. She gnawed her lip. "It's a promise I made. Eli and your mom, they want me to go macrobiotic."

"What the hell's that?"

"It's my way, Zina. It's what I was meant to be. Sugar-free, meat-free, dairy-free…"

The firefighter chuckled in disbelief. "Come on, you don't expect me to believe that. You couldn't possibly give up all those things. I know you, Gabrielle!"

"Then you know that when I've made up my mind, I've made up my mind!" retorted the angry blonde.

"Oh yeah?" Zina tossed the carton of doughnuts on the table.

She watched Gabrielle fight with herself—the young woman's nostrils flared, she sucked on her lips. Her jaw trembled. "No. I won't give in. This is the way, Zina, the only way I'm going to clear my mind and my soul from all the non-recyclable crap in it." She stood up and began to gather together her books.

"Sure," snorted Zina. "Just walk away, like a coward." She peeled off her heavy firefighting coat, its dirty fluorescent yellow stripe dull in the overhead light of the dining room. The suspenders—which held up bulky fireproof pants—were taut and flowing over the munificent bounty of her torso. Gabrielle gulped. Deprived of junk food, she was at least thankful that Eli wasn't insisting on celibacy in this new spiritual pursuit. The firefighter sauntered closer to her. "I want proof, Gabrielle. I want to see that you can really do this. I want you to prove it all night." Zina was very close to her, indeed, almost pressed against her.

Gabrielle moaned and shivered. "Oh baby, you know what you do to me when you quote the Boss," she sighed. She was ready to melt in her lover's arms. But, with panther-like swiftness, Zina pinned her on the floor and handcuffed her to the dining room table. Damn you, Minya! "Do you carry these handcuffs everywhere?" she cried, then struggled awkwardly to sit up.

"Sure. Some people just don't know the difference between a firefighter and a cop." Zina gave a sinister chuckle.

Gabrielle wasn't sure she wanted to know precisely what that statement meant.

Zina knelt before Gabrielle, whose squirming was not the result of pleasure or excitement, but dread. "I'm going to show you my way, Gabrielle." Her purring was richly obscene and slinked its way from her vocal chords to Gabrielle's heart. "Our way. The way it should be. The way it always will be."

In a burst of defiance the little poet gave the handcuffs a savage jerk. "Not fair," she whined. "I don't have any choice, you big bitch."

"Tut-tut, Grasshopper. One always has choices," intoned the semi-wise firefighter.

"Did Lao Ma say that to you? She's as bogus as the new Kung Fu."

"Silence!" Zina hissed. "No more talk. Now is the test, Gabrielle. Now we will see how true you are to your way." The sneering tone strengthened Gabrielle's resolve even further. Until she saw it. It was sudden and swift, merciless in that way Zina could be sometime. The doughnut loomed in front of her like a space station dripped in sickly sweet sticky glaze.

"Krispy Kreme," Zina drawled in a low breathy voice; for added emphasis she ground her hips seductively. Advertising executives would kill their grandmothers, sacrifice puppies to Satan, and deflower Girl Scouts for such endorsements. If they didn't already do so.

Gabrielle wanted it. She wanted it bad. More than anything in her entire life. But, clenching her teeth, she growled, "No!"

"Oooh, very good, Gabrielle. Be strong. Show me, baby. Come on. Show me what you're made of, Grasshopper." Zina unfurled her lovely, languid tongue and swirled it around the moist hole. "I'm gonna eat it, baby," she breathed heavily, "I gonna suck down every sweet drop of it and you'll just have to sit there and watch me. Watch me do it, baby. Watch me."

Gabrielle stopped jerking and panting wildly. She gulped. And she watched as Zina's flawless teeth descended upon the soft, puffy, delicate flesh of the doughnut. "No!" she screamed. With superhuman effort she lurched forward and snagged the other end of the treat in her mouth. Chewing fanatically, she groaned as sugar saturated her mouth. It pumped wildly through her veins as she worked her way to Zina's lips. Mouths crushed together and flakes of glaze exploded from the collision. The firefighter hurried to uncuff her lover, and was indeed successful. They fell to the floor in a love fueled by the Sticky Jewel in the Crown of the American South.

*****

Cyrene, for once mindful of things that she might not want to see, opted to ring the doorbell of the farmhouse. After a few minutes Gabrielle opened it, short hair wild and sticking, clothes rumpled in a fashion that indicated hasty dressing.

The older woman sighed. "Don't you two ever stop screwing?"

"No," replied the poet automatically.

Cyrene's nose twitched as Gabrielle tried to look innocent. "I smell it on you!" the older woman accused. She jammed a crone-like finger in the fair Gabrielle's face.

"I just said we were fucking, what do you expect?" Gabrielle retorted; yet she knew that wasn't what the hippie had meant.

"Nuh-uh, honey. I smell sugar on you. I accuse you…oh man, what's that line in French? Like Zola, said to all those dudes in France: Je…je smellez vous!"

"You can't smell sugar!"

"Can too," the older woman shot back in a petulant tone.

"You can't smell anything, Cyrene. You couldn't even smell the ashtray when you set it on fire last month." Indeed, what was like to be one of Cyrene's senses? They definitely weren't working overtime; in fact, they had been given the pink slip many moons ago. They were the welfare mothers of the sensory world, every Republican's nightmare.

The older woman frowned, relenting. "All right, I can't. But I know you've broken your vow."

"How?"

"You have sprinkles in your hair."

Gabrielle groaned and raked her short blonde locks with her fingers, causing a rainbow of unnatural sugar condiments to shower upon Cyrene's Birkenstocks.

Cyrene stared at her feet. "Just what have you two been doing with those doughnuts?" she asked, suspicious.

"S'all Zina's fault." It was unkind, but Gabrielle hoped her corrupt lover was itching from the powdered sugar in her nether region.

"Isn't it always?"

"As a matter of fact…"

"Aw c'mon, Gabrielle. You can't blame everything on Zina. I know it's easy to do that. When she was younger, I used to blame my lack of boyfriends on her, thinking that guys wouldn't want to be with a woman who had a kid."

"Hmmm."

"But then I realized it was my lack of deodorant. Thank goodness Tom's of Maine started making a decent one!"

"Yeah. That's great."

"Now I beat 'em off with a stick."

"Uh-huh."

"You're not listening to me, are you?"

"No, not really."

"Fine, fine," carped the hippie, sailing past Gabrielle. "I'm just saying you need to take some responsibility," she added haughtily. "And I'm gonna tell Eli at our Legalize Pot Now meeting tonight!"

Gabrielle gasped. "Cyrene, don't! He'll take away my discount card!"

Cyrene heartlessly ignored this plea. "Zina!" she shouted.

The firefighter was pulling a t-shirt over her head when Cyrene entered the living room.

"Honey..."

Zina held up a hand. "Don't say anything, Mom. I know it's my fault. I never should've tempted Gabrielle with sugar."

"Jesus..."

"Please don't be upset."

"But, honey," Cyrene gestured helplessly, "you're going prematurely gray down there."

"That's just powdered sugar."

"Powdered sugar?" repeated Cyrene.

The firefighter nodded.

The hippie pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I never thought I would say this, but I think you guys are getting too weird for me."

5. What Would Jesus Do?

Callie's half-hearted dart toss spiraled toward the ground, but just managed to snag the very edge of the corkboard, where it drooped, impotent and clinging. She sighed, and cut another look at Hope and Artie over at the bar. The little blonde was all over Artie, wriggling in his cheap chino-ed lap. She watched as Hope once again jammed her tongue into Artie's mouth.

Apparently, Callie raged, being a whorish little slut ran in the Hockenberry family.

The ex-minister finally lost it when Hope started un-buttoning Artie's shirt. She stalked over to them, still clutching a dart. She tried to clear her throat in a ladylike manner, but merely ended up sounding like Tom Waits preparing to hock a lugie.

Hope and Artie stared at her. "What the hell do you want?" spat Hope.

You, you little bitch! Callie wanted to scream. She swallowed, and composed herself, forcing a bright, fake smile. "My darlings, what do you say we retire to my place?"

"I want to be alone with my little fuzzy-wuzzy," Hope crooned to Artie.

Artie grinned in pleasure, then winced as she began plucking some chest hairs. "Yeah, Callie. Perhaps the lady and I would like to be alone for the rest of the evening."

Oh, you idiots. Your poor, senseless buffoons. "I have a bottle of tequila back at my place."

Hope paused. "Okay." She stood up.

"I'm in," chimed Artie.

*****

Normally Artie didn't mind being passive while screwing. However, his primary objection in this particular instance—on his back in Callie's bed—was having to stare up at the photo of Charlton Heston taped to the ceiling. It was a still shot from Planet of the Apes, with Chuck dirty and resplendent in his loincloth. Perhaps it was the tequila, but, as Hope straddled him and started riding him, he swore he could hear that deep voice snarling, you damn dirty ape! But then—he smiled in fond remembrance—Zina used to call me that too.

Ah, Zina. He closed his eyes. If he focused hard enough, he could pretend that Hope's breathless panting and squeals were the deep leonine growls of Zina, that he could smell the beer she liked, that he could feel her prison ID bracelet scraping against his skin. "Oh…oh…oh…zzzzzz…." He was close, and in danger of doing something irreparably stupid. Don't say it! he warned himself. No matter how tempting it may be! He clutched the side of the bed. What is she doing? Dear Lord, it feels great!

But, despite his own self-chastisement, he moaned, shuddered, and released. With the cry of "Zina!" on his lips. Damn.

However, in the tiny moment of bliss after he came, he honestly believed that, when he opened his eyes, his beloved sister/cousin/whatever would indeed be there, with her blue eyes, her lush body, and beautiful sneer.

Instead it was just Hope, carrying an insane rage in her glassy eyes. "What the fuck?" she yelled.

*****

The first thing Callie saw when she opened her eyes that morning were Teletubbies scampering playfully across the TV screen. Her neck felt permanently wrenched into its twisted position, courtesy of a long night on the couch. Carefully, she sat up, and tried straightening her head; but the room spun merrily, and she felt like Linda Blair. Plan B didn't work very well, she thought groggily. What the hell went wrong? She tried, slowly, to remember last night's events while rubbing her neck. Then she grew aware of the empty tequila bottle in her lap.

As Hope emerged from the bedroom, clad in t-shirt and bikini briefs, Callie shook the empty bottle and realized that she had indeed finished off the tequila last night, after Artie and Hope had crawled off to her bedroom. "Oh man, I ate the worm," she groaned aloud.

Hope flopped down on the couch, and gave her a pointed look. "Me too."

*****

Artie straightened his tie and settled down behind his desk for another leisurely day of work at Ares Ministries. Actually, today would be busy. He was expecting a call from Pat Buchanan, and had several issues of Road and Track to catch up on. Nonetheless, the day's activities were nothing out of the ordinary, and every day that passed without some insane encounter with Hope was a blessing. He had not seen her in almost two months, since their ill-fated one night stand. Now there's a euphemism, he sneered at himself; being chased naked around a trailer by some hoochie with a butcher knife who was threatening, quite loudly, to cut off certain sated appendages was not exactly ill-fated.

The most amazing thing about the whole escapade was that Callie slept through it all.

He was organizing the condiments in his desk drawer when Hope kicked open the door.

Oh Lord! He jumped up. "Hope!"

"Hello, Worm," greeted the former mental patient. Ever since That Night, she and Callie had taken to calling him that: The Worm. It was their way of bonding. She sprawled in the chair facing his desk. "Haven't heard from you lately, Worm." She picked a paper clip from a pile of the little metal objects on his desk.

He then sat on the desk, facing her. "Hope, must you call me that?" he implored. "I've been very busy doing the Lord's work. You should understand that." He gave her the same condescending smile he used on old ladies for donations.

"Look, pussy boy, save the crap for the congregation. We have some unfinished business."

He held up his hands. "I know, my dear girl. I used you to satisfy my base cravings. It was shameful. I've been praying every day, and doing penance." It was true; giving up the Ding-Dongs had been harder than he ever imagined.

"You called me by that big bitch's name." Hope was glaring into space and twisting the paper clip so that it resembled a miniature sculpture by Giacometti. "I hate that miserable freak!"

Artie blinked in surprise. "You mean Zina?"

"Everyone in this town is obsessed with her. You, my sister, Callie...even Purdy, for God’s sake. She steals Gabrielle from him, and that poor dumb idiot idolizes her."

He admitted this with a shrug. "Well, she is pretty awesome."

The sharp edge of the paper clip sculpture sank into his thigh, right through the thin, paltry J.C. Penney khakis. "Shit!" he cried, abandoning godliness for the moment.

"You pathetic fool," Hope hissed. "I don't even know why I came here."

Artie yanked the paper clip out of his leg with an unmanly squeak of pain. "Well, neither do I," he rasped, pressing his palm against the wound.

She stood up. "Actually, I did want to tell you something."

He looked at her reluctantly, expectantly.

"I'm knocked up."

Artie said nothing, but wondered if Pat's offer to set up a mission in Sarajevo was still good.

*****

The next stop on Hope's itinerary that day was her sister's house. She had no interest in seeing dull Lila, but Gabrielle was another matter. Ever since her arrival back in the Creek, Gabrielle had been steadfast in her resistance to see her estranged twin. Chickenshit, thought Hope. Now there was nothing left but a direct confrontation. And if that meant she had to go through that big dyke to get at her sister, she would.

Sure enough, the freak answered the door. Zina leaned in the doorway, muscular arms folded over her chest. "Guess they haven't put an electronic bracelet on you yet," greeted the firefighter.

"Look, I'm not here to see you. I want my sister."

Zina hitched an eyebrow. "Really? Then we do have something in common, Hopeless. I want her too," she purred with a wink.

"Stop twisting my words, you freak. I want to see Gabrielle. Now."

"Not possible, Hope Floats. Gabrielle's teaching today." Having acquired an undergraduate degree, realizing its inherent worthlessness, and thus ascending rapidly to the graduate level, Gabrielle was now an indentured servant of the college, teaching freshman lit.

"Fine," snarled Hope. "When does she get back?"

Zina shrugged. "I dunno, could be late. You know how those college types like to sit around and yap, Chicago Hope."

"Will you fucking stop that?"

"Stop what, Ryan's Hope?"

Weaponless, she was about to take a lunge at the firefighter, but once again took note of the brawny forearms and thought better of it. "Look, you, I've got to talk to my sister. It's important."

"What about, Bob Hope?"

Hope sneered. "Why should I tell you?"

Zina sneered back. " 'Cause otherwise you don't have a hope in hell of getting past me, Hope Lange."

"Fine." She glared at the firefighter. "I'm pregnant."

Zina whistled. "Huh. Knew Artie was always lying 'bout being sterile." She looked at Hope. "You wanna come in and wait for Gabrielle?"

"My feet are killing me." Translation: Yes. Nonetheless, she hesitated.

Zina laughed. "You think I'm gonna try to seduce you or somethin'? I've already done it with pregnant women. It's kinda fun, until you get in the way when they have morning sickness." The firefighter shuddered at an unpleasant, unspoken memory, then stepped aside so that Hope could enter the farmhouse.

As she nervously crossed the threshold, Hope heard the door slam suddenly, then felt Zina's hot breath (lightly accented with Rolling Rock) in her ear. "Of course, if you misbehave and lay a finger on Gabrielle, I'll snap your neck before you can say hot pork sandwich."

Hope froze. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Although she had a sudden urge for pork. Smothered in gravy. She made a mental note to call Callie before heading back to the trailer.

"Siddown," Zina ordered. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Reluctantly, Hope did so. "Can I have a beer, at least?"

"You shouldn't be drinking. You're gonna a have a baby."

"Look, I was so upset when I found out I was knocked up that I drank all of Callie's peppermint schnapps. The damage is done."

Shit, the damage was done the minute the sperm landed on Planet Egg, thought Zina. "All the same, do your heavy drinking somewhere else, okay?" She offered Hope a can of Coke, then settled on the arm of the couch, where Hope slouched, legs sprawled and tenting her much abused skirt.

Gabrielle's sister cracked open the can and guzzled its contents quickly. She brooded, then looked at Zina. Who was staring at her with those unnerving blue eyes. "So tell me," Hope began, angry voice edged with genuine curiosity. "What is it about you...that makes everyone in this place think you're so fucking wonderful? Why does every man, woman, and child in town either want you or want to be you?"

Zina smiled coolly. The firefighter stood, and assumed a curious stance. She stretched her shoulders, and, with her legs planted apart and one hip jutted forward, holding her right arm just slightly further form her body than the left, she stared at, then through, the ex-mental patient. She looked the very picture of a gunslinger, like Alan Ladd in Shane. Except a whole lot taller.

Hope blinked, and shuddered at a sudden draft between her legs. And she saw that Zina held aloft a pair of suspiciously familiar panties, dangling in flaccid glory from her fingers. Playfully she sniffed them. Then, raising a critical eyebrow, shook her head sadly.

No. She couldn't have. It's not possible. The hysterical thoughts raced through Hope's drug-free mind.

"Now this is definitely where you and your sister part company," Zina said. "Gabrielle would never wear polyester panties." Disdainfully she let the underwear fall to the ground. "So," she addressed her stunned audience of one, "does that answer your question, Hope and Glory?"

6. Seven Months Later

The young man struggled with the straps that bound him to the hospital bed.

"Y'all just settle down there, Pedro," mumbled the male nurse.

"Fuck you, man! MY NAME IS NOT PEDRO. I know I got rights! Where's my car? Where's my CELL PHONE?"

"Sheriff'll be here soon, Pedro, and she'll straighten this all out."

"Stop calling me PEDRO, you stupid cracker!" Simply exhausted, he slumped in defeat against the uncomfortable gurney bed. His best friend had not exaggerated about what people were like outside of Manhattan! They were all inbred and dumber than dirt!

Then he saw an older woman down the hall. She was not a member of the staff, and was holding an infant so well-swaddled that the contents within the blue blanket could have been anything. The woman was dressed like a hippie, he thought, like those old 60s leftovers in the Village who got all nostalgic and mumbly about how much the neighborhood had changed.

Suddenly, he grew wildly, ridiculously hopeful. His eyes bulged. Perhaps this woman could help him get out of here! He wasn’t crazy, he reminded himself, just a drama queen. How was I supposed to know that state trooper would have me committed for observation just for channeling Susan Hayward? Again, he stole a look at the middle-aged hippie, who smiled at him. The woman was the most normal-looking person he had seen since he was caught speeding by said trooper along Shakti Ridge. She might be a beacon of sanity in this white trash hell pit. "Hey!" he cried to her. "Hey, sister! C'mere!"

The woman approached him warily, lightly bouncing the baby in her arms. A motionless dark head poked out from the blankets, the face turned away.

"Hey, man, I can't sell you anything here. Like, this is a state mental hospital! It’s crawling with cops and shit," Cyrene hissed to him in an undertone.

"No, no, lady, lissen, I don't want anything like that." At least not right now. "I need you to help me get outta here. I was arrested just for speeding, and they dragged me in here sayin’ I was resisting arrest and I needed to be restrained for ‘observation,’ which is such bullshit! They won't let me call a friend or my family or nothing! Please, you gotta help me."

"Really, I wish I could, but I can't. I gotta watch the kid here." She nodded at the baby. "Look, they’ll probably let you go after you spend the night, or else they’ll transfer you to Shark Island Correctional…" Cyrene mused, trying to remember particulars from her own experience as the lone Vietnam War protester in the county, and conflating it with her daughter’s extensive criminal record.

"What? Shit!" he shouted.

"Shh!" Cyrene commanded. The baby started squirming and crying. "Aw, man, you woke her up!"

The child turned in Cyrene's arms, facing him.

He gulped in horror. Mami was right! "AYE, MIA MADRE!" screamed Paolo Torqemada. "ES EL CHUPACABRA!"

*****

Hope wasn’t sure if it the was the drugs, the chocolate malted balls that Callie had brought her, or the fact that the goddamn thing was out of her body, but she was happy, and she loved everybody. She smiled as she surveyed her hospital room, head lolling on the pillow, a damp drool stain tickling her cheek. Within weeks she would be back in her old room at the institution and her parents would be saddled with her spawn. Perfect revenge. Let them fuck up another child. Threatening to kill Gabrielle (yet again) was the best thing she’d ever done; it resolved all the problems that this so-called real life had inflicted upon her. Although it had been fun to be out for a while, just given the sheer amount of havoc that she wreaked upon everyone. And the experience did reveal to her that she did not belong out here, in this world, but back in the institution. It was her real home.

She looked away from the window when she heard the door open. It was Gabrielle. She smiled. "Hi, chickenshit! Decided to finally see me, huh?"

The poet lingered near the door for a fast getaway. She had not wanted to see her sister, but Zina—in a burst of wisdom—said that it was better to confront the past and put it to rest, rather than letting things fester like a wound. Not to mention that the firefighter had promised to let Gabrielle use the handcuffs on her tonight.

"Hi," Gabrielle mumbled. "How are you feeling?"

"What the hell do you care?"

"Look, at least I’m trying, Hope. Okay? I’m sorry if I ever did anything to upset you or hurt you. And I forgive you for all the stuff you tried to do to me. And the fact you still want to hurt me."

"You’re lucky that your girlfriend is more of a violent psycho than me. Otherwise you’d be dead."

"I’m forgiving you as we speak." Or trying to, anyway.

"Big of you, chickenshit. Let’s not pretend anymore. I did what I did because I wanted to.

I threatened you ‘cause I wanted them to lock me up again. I wanted to go home. I’ve saddled the brat with Mom and Dad, I beat up Lila, and I scared the crap out of you. I’m feeling pretty damn good right about now." Hope exhaled triumphantly.

Oh, this is useless. Why even try? "That’s pretty impressive, Hope. But just remember one thing."

Hope eyed her sister suspiciously.

"Zina still has your underwear. It’s going in her trophy box." With that, Gabrielle left her sister behind. For good, she hoped.

*****

The firefighter leaned against the wall, close to where the Hockenberrys sat. The reluctant guardians of Hope’s infant had completed the requisite paperwork, and now awaited one last visit with their estranged daughter.

The door of Hope’s room was flung open and Gabrielle emerged, sucking lungfuls of air as if she had just been underwater for the last two minutes.

"How’d it go?" Zina asked, although she could tell, by taking in the pained expression of her companion, that Gabrielle’s conversation with her sister had been less than stellar. Handcuffs and extra doughnuts tonight, she thought. Poor baby.

"She’s fucked," muttered the poet.

Zina, not a doctor and not playing one on TV, nodded sagely.

The baby squalled as Cyrene brought her around the corner, to where the Hockenberrys and Zina awaited. "It's someone else’s turn," she said to them wearily. She thrust the infant at her daughter.

Much in the manner she handed a water hose, Zina took the child, then held her up. The baby silenced in the face of the intense blue stare. "I dunno," the firefighter said to Gabrielle, "how your sister and Artie could make such a damn ugly kid."

"Zina!" chastised Gabrielle, slapping her lightly on the forearm, "stop it! She'll hear you!" Then she stared at the baby and her face fell. "Well, Artie must be hairy, I guess." She looked to Zina for confirmation.

The firefighter winced in memory. "There were times…when I was surprised I just didn’t cough up a giant hairball."

The poet shivered in disgust, then regarded the infant again. "Ah, poor girl."

"Don't worry about her, Gabrielle," Cyrene threw in, "Chupy's made of tougher stuff than that, aren't you, kiddo?" she cooed to the child.

The women looked at Cyrene. "'Chupy'?" echoed Gabrielle.

"Uh, yeah, it's um, Spanish for 'fuzzy one,'" lied Cyrene. She had never gotten a straight answer—or even one in English—from the boy on the gurney, as he had babbled at her in Spanish for five minutes before passing out.

Zina made it official. "Chupy it is then," she declared.

"That's fine for a nickname, but she needs a real name," Gabrielle interjected.

Mrs. Hockenberry took a closer look at the infant and burst into tears. She ran into the bathroom.

"Jesus, somebody's gotta tell Momma that bathrooms are not exactly churches, you know?" the poet complained.

Zina was still contemplating the child. "How about Harley?" she suggested.

"Damn, Zina! You can't be serious. Naming the kid after your stupid bike?" cried Gabrielle.

"Cool!" said Cyrene.

"I like it," agreed Harold Hockenberry.

Gabrielle stared in sheer disbelief, thoroughly amazed at her father taking the energy and effort to formulate an verbal opinion. "Well! I guess I'm outgunned. Welcome to the family, Harley."

"Goin' home, now. Gab, tell your mom not to forget the kid. See y'all later." Harold Hockenberry nodded amiably at all of them, then waddled down the corridor to the exit.

"Shit, now we have to drive Momma home," Gabrielle grumbled. "Actually, first thing, we have to get her out of the bathroom."

Zina turned to Cyrene. "Hey, Mom, go get Mrs. Hockenberry outta the bathroom."

"And just how am I supposed to do that?" retorted Cyrene.

"Smoke some weed. That'll flush her out, so to speak."

With a martyr-like sigh, as if smoking marijuana were a burden akin to eating spinach, Cyrene headed for the bathroom. Zina and Gabrielle were left alone with the kid.

"Guess I'm gonna have to do some stripping again," Gabrielle said.

Zina looked at her, surprised. "Oh yeah, baby? How come? For her college fund?"

Gabrielle was pleased at the fact that Zina was thinking ahead, and thinking of the kid as well. It was a good sign. "Yeah. That and the fact she's gonna need serious electrolysis by the time she's five."

End

#xena #xena warrior princess #xena/gabrielle #xena/gabrielle fanfiction #author: vivian darkbloom #mature #fanfiction #femslash

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sinsiriuslyemo · 7 years ago

Text

I’m posting in the morning?! Whaaaaat?!?! Yup!! In this episode, Nevada and Dama try to talk Izzy out of trying to have a baby, and has Lila finally gone too far?

EPISODE 22

Look, two buns in the oven.

Roxie sent Rafael a picture of her standing beside her actual oven, a hand resting on her stomach as she grinned at the camera.

He smiled proudly, feeling a warmth swell in his chest at the mere thought of being a father.

The bun in your oven will hopefully cook a bit longer.

Also, the calligrapher called, she needs us to pick a date so she can finish the announcements. What are your thoughts on that? Before baby or after baby?

Roxie giggled.

If we hurry, we can pretend like you didn't knock me up before marriage. Naughty.

He chuckled, pinching the bridge of his nose; he could already hear his mother lecturing him about, ‘This is why you shouldn’t have sex until you’re married.’

You’re tiny, we have a few months. I’ll tell her three months from today, okay?

She smirked.

Maternity wedding gowns, here we come. I have to get back to work, I love you.

There was the sound of the front door opening and slamming followed by the guest room slamming.

Furrowing his brows, Rafael moved towards the guest bedroom and knocked on the door.

“Izzy?” he called out. “You okay?”

“I'm fine,” she called back. “I'm just getting ready for a shower!”

“Okay,” he said softly, turning to go back into his home office before he turned back. “Hey, Roxie and I are going out tonight for dinner, why don’t you and Lila join us?” he heard himself ask. “I missed your birthday, we can celebrate.”

“I can't tonight, maybe some other night,” her voice cracked then as she tried not to cry.

“Iz, are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again in a gentle voice. “Can I come in?”

“I’m fine Rafi,” she sniffled and grabbed more tissues.

“Can I come in?”

“No!” She put her hands over her face to cover her sobs.

“Izzy, come on, let me in,” he pleaded softly. “Please? I’m really worried about you.”

“I'm fine!” She hiccupped and looked at herself in the mirror for a moment, running her fingers over her skin. “Rafi I really can't do this right now, I need to go out.” She opened the door, head down as she moved past him.

“Hey, hey, hey…” he said, chasing after her. “Izzy, what happened? Talk to me, please…”

“Rafi just stop it!” She jerked back, hair moving just enough for him to get a glimpse of her face. Scratches across the side of her cheek and a huge gash on her chin.

“Izzy, what happened to you?” he asked, moving her hair to get a better look. “Did Lila do this?” he asked, trying to keep his cool.

“No, no of course not, I'm fine, Rafi. I'm just gonna go to the hospital for my chin since it's kinda deep.” She moved to the door again.

“Hang on, I’ll come with you,” he said, picking up a dish towel from the kitchen and his keys.

“I don't need you to come, Rafael, I'm okay,” she moved her hand back to her chin to wipe some of the excess blood off of her, she was hurt pretty badly. “I hit the curb...outside of Nevada's club.” she said softly.

“You’re not okay, you’re bleeding. Just please, let me go with you,” he said, holding the towel against her chin.

She relented, moving with him to get in a cab, heading to the hospital.

When they arrived, Izzy took a seat in the waiting room, chin still covered with the towel as she winced. He sat silently beside her, one hand holding her free one in support until they were called back.

“So, someone needs sutures?” the doctor asked as he walked in.

Izzy nodded as she looked at him with a smile. “Unfortunately I'm not nearly as graceful as I'd like. I was a little drunk and I tripped outside my brother in law's club.” She laughed, cringing when she felt the pain in her chin. “This was the result,” she gestured the her cheek, that had clear skid marks on it and her chin that was severely gashed.

“I see, well let me go ahead and get you numb so I can stitch you up. Alright?”

Izzy nodded nervous as the doctor gave her a few shots on her chin to numb her, she squeezed Rafael's hand tight as she watched him go to work, stitching her up like she was a torn dress.

“It's a good thing you only needed a few stitches, but you should be more careful when you're out drinking, it will leave a scar but it should be minimal.” The Doctor smiled at Izzy and left them alone again.

Izzy stayed silent as she examined her bruising face in the mirror, she was already turning a little purple beneath the scratches and cuts.

“Izzy…” Rafael whispered, biting his bottom lip. “If this...wasn’t an accident...just please promise me that you won’t hide it from me.”

Izzy was silent for a moment. “We were fighting and she shoved me, it wasn't intentional but I fell back and hit myself on the curb.”

He bit his lip again, trying to keep his cool as he nodded his head.

“Was this the first time?” he asked softly.

Izzy hesitated.

“No,” she whispered. “Up in Maine she went on a bender, she's just under so much stress and she got a little rough. The police had to get involved. That's why she called for the separation...I told her I was okay, and she apologized but she said that she couldn't risk hurting me again.”

He nodded his head, finally looking up at her and rubbing a hand over his mouth.

“Okay...she needs help, Izzy. If the two of you really want this marriage to work, she needs to get professional help with this. You can’t do it by yourself, she needs rehab, and to see a therapist to learn how to deal with her anger,” he said. “And you need to give her the space to do that. If you love her...if she loves you, then the two of you need to deal with this. Cause I’ll tell you this, I will not watch my youngest sister go through the hell my own mother, and your mother went through.”

“We’re working on it,” she whispered. “It's never been this bad, I knew she got high once in awhile, when we first met we did a little bit of coke in her hotel room, but it's never been this bad...she's always been fine.”

“Oh my God, Izzy,” he whispered back, putting his face in his hands. Taking a few deep breaths, he looked up at her. “I don’t want her in my house until she agrees to go to rehab and counseling,” he said, looking up at her.

“That's fine, she hates you,” Izzy mumbled honestly. “I'm trying to get her help…and it was just a little bit of coke,” Izzy said to reassure him. “I don't do drugs.”

“I don’t care if she hates me, I care about how she treats you. Because you are my sister, and you deserve better than that...and if she really loves you, then she'll see that you deserve better than that too. And she’ll get help...before she does something that she can’t take back.”

Izzy nodded and gave him a tight hug.

“I love you Rafi,” she whispered softly and sniffled against him.

“I love you too,” he answered, hugging her back. “Come on, let’s go get some sweets from the bakery, and then go home and take Mowgli for a walk.”

“I can’t, I told Nevada that I’d come to dinner,” she replied.

Rafael nodded his head; God help Lila when Nevada saw Izzy’s face.

When Nevada got home you'd already put the kids to bed, having set the table for the dinner with Izzy. You were excited to have your sister over.

“They’re not here yet?” he asked, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. “Lila said she had to work, I figured they’d be here by now.”

There was a knock on the front door.

“That must be them now,” you said with a smile as you moved to the door opening it and actually screaming. “Izzy! Oh my god!”

“Dama, please don't make this a big deal,” Izzy whispered. “I fell, I had to go to the ER for some stitches, that's why I was late. Got a little too drunk for the afternoon.”

Nevada arched a brow, walking up to get a better look at the stitches on Izzy’s chin.

“Don’t worry, the scar won’t be so bad. I don't know anyone who hasn’t cut their chin right there,” he said softly. “This bitch is lucky I’m not a female or I’d beat the piss out of her,” he added, glancing at you.

“I can do it,” you said when you looked at your sister again.

“It wasn't Lila,” Izzy sighed and moved to the dinner table to sit down.

You and Nevada exchanged a glance before joining her at the table.

“I thought she was coming too,” he mused, serving Izzy some food before he moved to grab some lemonade from the fridge and poured three glasses.

“She got busy,” Izzy said softly. “If you guys are going to be judgy I'll leave.”

“No, no, we’re sorry,” you said softly. “Your marriage is none of our business. You're right. Let's just enjoy your birthday dinner okay?”

“I wasn’t being judgy ni un carajo, I just asked you a question. You don’t got to get so defensive. Coño, paranoid much?”

“Nevada…”

“Oh okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to have an opinion. Mira, she made your favorite,” he said, switching the topic of conversation.

She smiled, “Yeah? Thank you,” she cooed and gave him a tight hug then you as she sat down. “So how are the babies? How are you guys?”

“We’re good,” you said softly. “NJ has used the potty three times this week at school and Fiona only bit one person.”

“Wow! That's great!”

“What about you? How’s school going? Semester’s almost over right?” Nevada asked, eating some of his food.

“I actually didn't go this semester,” she said softly. “Lila was going on tour so I was going to go with her but then when it got cancelled I just never got registered.” She shrugged.

You and Nevada exchanged another glance before he looked back at Izzy.

“Oh…” he mumbled.

“What about your painting? Any other galleries call you about your work?” you asked, smiling at her.

“I don't want to hold any more galleries, my last one got people killed,” she said seriously. “But I do have a new project I'm working on.”

“Actually, technically, we were the reason your gallery got shot up…” you mumbled, biting your bottom lip.

“It really had nothing to do with you, it was somebody going after one of my guys,” Nevada added. “They probably had no idea who you were, so don’t feel guilty.”

She nodded softly, smiling at them and sipped the wine you'd poured her.

“I'm thinking about adopting a baby.”

“The fuck are you gonna do with a baby?” Nevada asked with furrowed brows.

“Raise it,” she said seriously. “It can't be too hard if you two do it.”

You snorted a laugh.

“How are you gonna take care of a baby?” Nevada asked, still with wavy brows.

“I have a ton of money and no working career. I have tons of time to raise a baby.”

“So I guess you’re done with going out with your friends, and partying, and going to clubs, and bars, and staying out late…” you mused.

There was no way in hell Izzy could take care of a baby, she could barely take care of herself right now. But at the very least, you knew there was no adoption agency on Earth that would give her a baby, especially with a wife that did drugs and was hardly ever home.

“I don't need to go out with friends, and you still do all that stuff, mother of the year,” she pointed out.

“No, I don’t,” you replied honestly. “Since I had Lily, I’ve been to a club or bar a grand total of four times in seven years. I’ve gotten drunk three times in seven years.”

“Izzy, no offense, but you’re not ready to take care of a baby,” Nevada said softly.

“It's not that hard,” she waved dismissively.

“Alright, then let's do this. How would you like to stay with us for the week hmm? Take care of the kids. If you still want a baby after a week, then go for it. Call every adoption agency in the state, I’ll even come with you to pick the baby up.”

“No, that’s not accurate. The twins already can talk, they can walk, they’re learning to use the potty. That’s not the same as having a baby,” Nevada replied.

“No it's not but she'll be raising three so I'm hoping it's a close second.”

“It’s not the same. You know she’s just gonna give them whatever they want, and then we gotta deal with it later,” he replied.

“True, I don't trust her not to ruin our kids.”

“Hey, I resent that!” she said with a scowl.

“We’re just saying,” you said.

“Look...I would just think about it more before you make a decision,” Nevada said. “I mean shit, why would you want a baby? You’re twenty one.”

“How old were you when you had Lily? You're like forty now, right?”

“I will kill you where you sit,” you glared, eyes narrowed.

“No shame in being old, grey hair looks good on you.”

“Grey? Como que grey? I don't have grey hair!”

Izzy moved over to you, combing her fingers through your hair and yanking out a single strand of silver. “Grey.”

You stared down at it, “Oh my god, I'm old now.”

“Jesus Christ, calm the fuck down,” Nevada groaned. “Over one fucking hair...she was thirty when she had Lily,” he added.

“It’s different for men, grey hair looks sexy, distinguished. Women aren’t like that,” you replied.

“It's only one…” Izzy said softly, “But that means your metabolism will slow down, you'll never be skinny again, you're gonna start getting wrinkles and oh my god what happens when your boobs sag?”

“Fuck you,” you replied softly, glaring at her. “You karma’s a bitch, right?”

“Oye, your mom is still pretty tight. You’ll probably age well, too,” Nevada offered, shrugging his shoulders.

Your eyes narrowed at Nevada. “No more talking from you.”

“He's right, your mom is hot. She sucks, but she's hot.” Izzy said with a nod.

“She doesn’t suck,” Nevada said to Izzy before he looked at you. “And what’s your problem? That was a compliment.”

“I don't wanna think about my mom keeping it tight. Ew.”

You sipped your wine as you heard footsteps on the stairs, NJ came into the kitchen in his little footie pajamas, teddy bear in hand.

“Hey pumpkin, why are you up?” You cooed as you picked him up, putting him on your lap. He just snuggled against you. “Mama.”

“Oye, you got school tomorrow, mijo,” Nevada said softly.

“Yeah, little dude, you should go back to bed,” Izzy chimed.

“Mama,” he snuggled against you more and hid his face in your chest.

“Oh you gotta break him of that habit before he turns into Norman Bates,” Izzy said as she finished her wine. “That's weird as fuck.”

“Fuck,” NJ mumbled against you.

Nevada looked over at Izzy with narrowed eyes, arching his brow and shaking his head.

“Good job, genius. He’s three, he’s like a little parrot, they repeat everything,” he said.

“Sorry,” she said softly. “NJ don't say fuck. It's a bad word. Shit! I said it again. Fuck I said shit!”

“No more words from you please,” you said as you used your free hand to cover your sister's mouth.

“Shit. Fuck,” NJ repeated as Nevada shook his head at Izzy.

“Oye, NJ, don’t say those words,” he said firmly.

“Papi besito?” NJ said as he reached out for Nevada. Smiling at his son, Nevada took him from your lap and hugged him, kissing his cheeks.

He giggled and nuzzled against Nevada with a warm smile. He held out his bear to Nevada, eyes serious.

“Besito?”

“Okay, besitos for teddy too,” Nevada said, kissing the bears head. “Come on, go to bed. I’ll make you bacon and eggs tomorrow,” he added, kissing NJ one more time.

“That's what I want,” Izzy whispered softly. “I want that kind of love.”

“Get a dog,” Nevada replied simply.

“Unconditional love is not a reason to have a baby,” you added.

“Why did you guys have a baby?” She countered with a quirked brow.

“Because,” you said simply.

“Because I don’t know how to pull out,” Nevada added, earning a smack on the shoulder from you. “Because we wanted to start a family together,” he said, trying again.

“Whatever,” Izzy rolled her eyes. “I could raise a baby.”

“You couldn't raise a pet rock.”

“You're a terrible sister.”

“You told me I was old and saggy!”

The two of you glared at each other before you smiled at her warmly, she smiled back.

“So what else is new?” you asked.

“Surprise,” Roxie said as she walked into the apartment, “I came home early so I could cuddle with you,” she said with a smile.

Rafael smiled back, power walking towards her and hugging her tightly, kissing her cheeks before he out his hand on her flat stomach.

“I finished preparing my case for tomorrow, I called an OB and made an appointment to confirm your pregnancy, I cleaned the entire apartment, and now I want to take you out. Anywhere you want to go,” he said, looking down at her tummy before he added, “Wherever you two want to go.”

She smiled and kissed him. “We feel like something sweet.”

“For dinner?” he asked with a smirk.

She nodded with a wide grin. “For dinner,” she agreed.

“Okay,” he replied with a chuckle. “Let’s go to North End Grill, they have an amazing pumpkin tart that I think you would love.”

“Pumpkin tart,” she said thoughtfully as she rubbed her belly. “That's what I’d like to call the baby. My little pumpkin tart.”

“That’s cute,” he mused softly, smiling down at her. “Come on, go ahead and get changed and let’s get going,” he added.

She nodded, changing into a nice dress and putting her hair up, looking at herself in the mirror, she put her hands on her belly and grinned.

When they reached the restaurant, Rafael’s phone rang and he looked down to see Izzy’s name on the screen. He sighed heavily as the host led he and Roxie to their table, answering the call.

“Hey Izzy…”

“Hey, Lila called so I'm actually gonna go stay with her. I'll talk to you later okay? I love you.”

“Izzy, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said, shaking his head.

“It's fine, really, we're gonna talk things out.”

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes.

“Okay...alright, you still have your key right?” he asked.

“Yeah, I'll be fine. I love you. Have a good night.”

“Good night,” he whispered, hanging up and forcing a smile onto his face. “How was your day, mi amor?” he asked.

“What was that about?” she asked softly.

“Izzy came home today with a gash on her chin and skid marks all over her face. I had to take her to the hospital to get stitches...Lila shoved her onto the curb,” he replied.

Roxie put her hands over her mouth as she gasped.

“Oh my god…”

“She’s staying with her tonight,” he mumbled. “Apparently this wasn’t the first time.”

“She shouldn't be staying with Lila then,” she said seriously. “We should get her.”

“I don’t know that she’ll come, and I don’t want you in stressful situations, not now,” he replied softly. “Besides, Lila’s temper doesn’t exactly cool with me around. She shoved me...hard the other day. I don’t want to upset Izzy, or you.”

“I don't want her there alone,” she said softly. “I'm okay Rafi, I don't want your sister to be there.”

“What about dinner?” he asked.

“We’ll order in.”

He looked at her, pressing his lips together and nodding his head.

“Okay, but the minute it gets out of hand, I don’t want you in there,” he said, getting up and apologizing to the waiter before he placed a hand on Roxie’s stomach. “Either of you.”

She nodded and took his hand, kissing it gently before standing. “Let's go, love.”

Rafael knocked on Izzy and Lila’s door, standing in front of Roxie in case the latter was in a mood.

Izzy opened the door with a frown. “What are you doing here?” she mumbled with furrowed brows.

“We...came to bring you home, Izzy,” he replied softly. “Come on.”

“No, I’m fine here,” she said softly as she swayed a bit. “I'll see you in a bit.”

“Whoah, whoah...you are not okay,” Roxie spoke up, stepping in front of Rafael. “Now you’re coming home with us. Go on then, put your shoes on.”

“I'm not a child, you can't tell me where to go,” she shook her head. “I'm okay.”

“Izzy, you’re not safe here,” Roxie said. “Where is Lila?”

“Izzy, are you drunk?” Rafael asked, furrowing his brows.

“No, Jesus you're so annoying, I'm fine, we’re fine. I apologized and we sorted it all out.” She sighed and swayed a bit as she stepped back and moved to the couch to sit down.

“You had nothing to apologize for, Izzy. She attacked you,” Rafael replied, coming in to kneel in front of her, and looking into her eyes. “Why are you unsteady on your feet?” he asked.

Izzy remained silent, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Izzy, you promised me,” he reminded her.

“I'm fine, I didn't realize that the painkillers wouldn't mix with the drinks,” she mumbled.

“Jesus Christ--” Rafael pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You’ve been drinking, and mixing with your painkillers?!” Roxie exclaimed.

“Roxie,” Rafael said softly, looking up at his fiance.

“Where is Lila?!” Roxie exclaimed, hands moving to her hips.

“Hey, calm down,” Rafael said softly.

Roxie sighed, “This is enough we are leaving, now.”

“Why are you two so Goddamn nosey?!” Lila yelled from the next room.

“Come on, Izzy. Let’s go,” Rafael said, pulling Izzy up to her feet.

Izzy shook her head, “No, no, I want to stay with Lila.”

“You are not staying here alone with her,” Roxie said as Rafael sighed heavily.

“Honey, we can’t make her,” he whispered to his fiance.

“Yes we can, Izzy, please,” she begged.

Izzy swayed a bit more, leaning against Rafael as she closed her eyes. “Okay,” she mumbled.

“Alright, come on,” Rafael said softly, putting his arm around Izzy to keep her upright.

“You’re leaving?!” Lila asked, coming into the room.

“Lila it's gonna cause trouble, if I don't leave,” she said softly.

“Lila, just let us leave, okay? Don’t make this any harder,” Rafael added.

“You said you wanted to try,” Lila said in a harsh whisper to Izzy. “Is this you trying?”

Izzy looked at her feet. “Is this you trying?”

Lila's eyes narrowed, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Roxie, take Izzy down to hail a cab, please,” Rafael whispered, waiting until his sister and fiance left before he turned to Lila. “I know you don’t like me...you hate me, in fact, but I don’t care if you hate me. I care about my sister. I’m gonna give you some free advice; get help. Get into a program, see a counselor, but do something, because what you’ve been doing just isn’t working.”

“You don't know anything about me, you've always hated me, I don't know why. Izzy is my wife and all you do is interfere,” she glared. “You're ruining my marriage.”

“I’ve never hated you, Lila,” he answered honestly. “I was rooting for you...until you started abusing my sister. You are ruining your marriage, not me. You are.”

“It was an accident, I never meant to push her, she lost her footing, you know how clumsy she is! I'd never try to hurt her,” Lila sniffed and rubbed at her nose, eyes filling with tears. “I love her.”

“I might’ve believed that if it had been the first time something like this happened,” he replied softly. “If you love her, then prove it. Get some help,” he added. “In the meantime, Izzy is going to stay with us.”

She glared at him. “You can't control her like that! She's an adult! You don't get to make that decision!” She staggered a bit to the side before falling into the table, using it to brace herself.

“It’s her decision, she wants to stay with us,” he replied.”I don’t want you near her until you’re sober. She said it herself, this isn’t you. This is not the same girl I met in London. So fix it.”

#Nevada ramirez #rafael barba #trouble in the heights #law and order svu #cuba v dr

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gordonwilliamsweb · 5 years ago

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Lost On The Frontline

America’s health care workers are dying. In some states, medical personnel account for as many as 20% of known coronavirus cases. They tend to patients in hospitals, treating them, serving them food and cleaning their rooms. Others at risk work in nursing homes or are employed as home health aides.

“Lost on the Frontline,” a collaboration between KHN and The Guardian, has identified 586 such workers who likely died of COVID-19 after helping patients during the pandemic.

We have published profiles for 105 workers whose deaths have been confirmed by our reporters.

Some cases are shrouded in secrecy. Our team contacts family members, employers and medical examiners to independently confirm each death. Many hospitals have been overwhelmed and workers sometimes have lacked protective equipment or suffer from underlying health conditions that make them vulnerable to the highly infectious virus. In the chaos, COVID casualties might otherwise get overlooked.

This project aims to document the lives of U.S. health workers who die of COVID-19, and to understand why so many are falling victim to the pandemic.

Lost On The Frontline

This project aims to document the life of every health care worker in America who dies from COVID-19. If you have a colleague or loved one we should include, please share their story.

A Physician Assistant Who Mentored Residents At His Hospital

(Courtesy of Alexander Beylinson)

Alex Bass

Age: 52 Occupation: Physician assistant Place of Work: NYC Health + Hospitals/Coney Island in Brooklyn, New York Date of Death: April 10, 2020

Alex Bass was technically a physician assistant, but his patients all called him “Dr. Bass,” a title his boss said was well-deserved.

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“His patients often sent us letters, thanking us for the services that he provided and saying how great he was,” said Dr. Abdo Kabarriti, chief of urology at Coney Island Hospital.

Bass moved to the U.S. from Ukraine in his mid-20s. Rather than redoing medical school, he decided to become a PA. His extensive knowledge led him to mentor numerous urology residents.

“He helped a lot of people really become who they are today,” Kabarriti said.

When Bass noticed a fever spike in mid-March, he stopped going to work and made an appointment with Dr. Alexander Beylinson, his primary physician and friend of 26 years.

He arrived at his office on March 20 looking “very sick,” so Beylinson tested him for COVID-19 and sent him to the hospital.

A few days later, the test came back positive. At that point, it was too difficult for Bass to talk. Soon after, he was put on a ventilator, until he died.

The hospital did not comment on whether Bass had worked with COVID-19 patients.

Beylinson was one of the 10 people at Bass’ funeral. He doesn’t feel he achieved closure, he said, and still considers Bass his “hero.”

— Shoshana Dubnow | Published June 10, 2020

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‘There Were So Many Things She Had Unfinished’

(Courtesy of Brittany Mathis)

Dulce Garcia

Age: 29 Occupation: Clinical interpreter Place of Work: University of North Carolina Hospitals in Chapel Hill, North Carolina Date of Death: May 26, 2020

Dulce Garcia loved to dance. On weekends, she would escape with friends to the Luna Nightclub in Durham, where they would romp to bachata, merengue and reggaetón. “It was our ritual,” said Brittany Mathis, one of her close friends.

At dawn, those unable to safely drive would sleep over at Garcia’s. “She was the group mom,” Mathis said. “She’d tell us, ‘We don’t want to lose anyone.’”

Garcia was “the rock and foundation” for her family, Mathis said. As a teen, Garcia cared for siblings while her parents worked. She also volunteered at the neighborhood Boys & Girls Club.

When Garcia learned about the health care gaps faced by Spanish speakers, she joined the hospital. There, she was “surprised at how much she could help,” Mathis said, “and how many needed her.”

The week after she picked up a Sunday shift, she developed a fever. Mathis was not sure whether she received personal protective equipment (PPE). “Our PPE policies have always followed CDC guidance,” the hospital said through a spokesperson.

The symptoms “wouldn’t go away,” Mathis said. “It just doesn’t feel real. There were so many things she had unfinished.”

— Eli Cahan | Published June 10, 2020

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A Friendly Nursing Assistant Who Worked Into Her 70s

Antonia ‘Tony’ Sisemore

Age: 72 Occupation: Certified nursing assistant Place of Work: Stollwood Convalescent Hospital at St. John’s Retirement Village in Woodland, California Date of Death: April 30, 2020

Antonia Sisemore always wore a smile — around her family, at church and at her job at a retirement home, where she worked through the coronavirus pandemic.

In a Facebook post, her colleagues called her “one of our most talented and dedicated CNAs.” She worked “tirelessly and unfailingly to deliver care, compassion, and love to those more vulnerable than herself,” it said. (Her family declined to be interviewed for this article.)

Comments remarking on her kindness and work ethic poured in from patients and their families. “She went the extra mile to [make] sure I had what I needed and was comfortable,” wrote a former patient. “Tony was one of my mother’s caregivers,” wrote another Facebook user. “She was selfless … it breaks my heart that the residents will no longer have her.” Some mentioned that Sisemore cheered people up with her sense of humor. “I remembered you [danced] in front of me,” another former patient wrote.

Sisemore’s obituary says she battled COVID-19 for four weeks after passing away from complications from the virus. The nursing home where Sisemore worked reported 66 confirmed cases and 17 deaths according to county data. Over half of the infections were among staff members. The facility did not respond to requests for comment.

— Anna Jean Kaiser, The Guardian | Published June 10, 2020

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A Nurse, Family Linchpin And Generous Aunt

(Courtesy of Mario Thompson)

Adlin Thompson

Age: 56 Occupations: Certified nursing assistant and endoscopy technician Places of Work: NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital and Isabella Center for Nursing and Rehabilitation in New York City Date of Death: April 24, 2020

Adlin Thompson had 20 siblings and more than 30 nieces and nephews. Like her, many of them immigrated to New York City from St. Kitts and Nevis in the early 1980s. With such a large family, it was difficult to keep track of everyone, said Adlin’s son, Mario Thompson. But Adlin did — she was the glue who kept the family together.

Adlin worked long hours between her two jobs. When she wasn’t at the nursing home or the hospital, she visited family, and “never came home empty-handed,” often toting gifts of socks or perfume, Mario said.

Adlin cared for patients who had been diagnosed with COVID-19 at both her jobs. She was always covered in protective gear, said Mario. Still, he worried that her asthma made her particularly vulnerable to the coronavirus. Mario believes she contracted the virus at the nursing home, where he said she had more direct contact with patients.

A spokesperson for the facility said it “followed state guidelines as it relates to infection prevention and control procedures.”

Adlin died four days after testing positive for COVID-19. She was alone in her home, preparing to go to the hospital.

— Lila Hassan | Published June 10, 2020

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Housing Supervisor Committed Herself To Helping The Vulnerable

(Courtesy of Barbara Abernathy)

Michelle Abernathy

Age: 52 Occupation: Residential services supervisor Place of Work: Elisabeth Ludeman Developmental Center in Park Forest, Illinois Date of Death: April 13, 2020

Barbara Abernathy said she is trying to figure out what to do with six bins of toys her daughter bought for neighborhood children.

Growing up in Chatham, a middle-class neighborhood on the South Side of Chicago, Michelle Abernathy “was always trying to help somebody,” Barbara said.

Michelle spent decades investigating child abuse and neglect while holding night jobs mentoring children.

A supervisor at a state-run facility for developmentally disabled adults, she bought clothes, games and snacks for residents. A staff memo lauded her “big heart and nurturing personality.”

She fell ill March 28 and was hospitalized April 6, too weak to walk.

Three other workers at the facility died of COVID-19. A spokesperson for the American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees, which represents workers at Ludeman, said that early in the pandemic the staff had a “huge struggle” to get personal protective equipment (PPE).

The Illinois Department of Human Services said it “can’t say precisely” how workers caught the virus and was working to provide sufficient PPE.

After long professing that she was too busy for marriage, Abernathy recently had become engaged to Torrence Jones, a colleague. She had planned to surprise her mother with the news but never had the chance.

— Mary Chris Jaklevic | Published June 5, 2020

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A Loving Bookkeeper Who ‘Had The Most Awesome Laugh’

(Courtesy of Sean Diaz)

Cassondra Grant Diaz

Age: 31 Occupation: Nursing home bookkeeper Place of Work: Chelsea Place Care Center in Hartford, Connecticut Date of Death: April 29, 2020

Cassondra Diaz was a receptionist-turned-bookkeeper at a nursing home in her hometown.

“She was my therapist, my fashion consultant, my hair designer,” said her older sister, Takara Chenice. “I called her my ‘big little sister.’”

Loved ones described her as “an old soul,” loyal to her family, including her husband, Sean Diaz. In their free time, the couple would hit the highway for a long drive, venturing to parks, lakes and the beach.

Her family believes she contracted the coronavirus at work. A spokesperson for Chelsea Place confirmed that the nursing home had COVID cases among staff and patients. It said staffers were provided with personal protective equipment. Despite wearing protective gear, removing her work clothes at the door and showering after work, Cassondra developed symptoms in mid-April.

On April 29, she woke up having difficulty breathing and pain in her leg, said Sean, who called an ambulance. She died that day.

Sean keeps a photo of her in their car. “My six years with her were better than any lifetime I had before her,” he said.

— Madeleine Kornfeld, City University of New York | Published June 5, 2020

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A Doting Family Man, He Was A Long-Standing Fixture At His Hospital

(Courtesy of Susan Ferranti and family)

David Ferranti

Age: 60 Occupation: Hospital equipment coordinator Place of Work: St. Elizabeth‘s Medical Center in Brighton, Massachusetts Date of Death: May 2, 2020

David Ferranti was committed to his two families — both at home and at work. In his job on the engineering unit, he was really part of every team in the hospital, wrote St. Elizabeth’s president, Harry Bane, in a note to employees. “He was always worried about ‘his nurses’ and ‘his departments’ having what they needed to best care for our patients.”

Ferranti worked at the hospital for almost 42 years “and he loved every day of it,” said his father, Savino Ferranti. St. Elizabeth’s was treating many COVID-19 patients when David became infected with the virus, his father said, but it was impossible to say where he caught it. St. Elizabeth’s had no further comment about his case.

Ferranti was a family man “and the greatest son you can imagine,” his father said. He had a wife, Susan, and a son, John.

Ferranti worked in his garden and enjoyed walks in nature. A history buff, he was born in Wiesbaden, Germany. His father, a descendant of Italian immigrants, served in the military there, where he met David’s mother, Renate.

For his family, tragedy hit twice within weeks. David’s aunt Ann Ferranti died of the disease a few weeks before David. The advice David would have given to anyone, said his father, “is to stay safe, whatever it takes.”

— Katja Ridderbusch | Published June 5, 2020

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A Nurse For Whom Family Was Everything — And Patients Were Like Family

(Courtesy of the Mazzarella family)

Kelly Mazzarella

Age: 43 Occupation: Clinical nurse manager Place of Work: Montefiore Mount Vernon Hospital in Mount Vernon, New York Date of Death: May 8, 2020

Even as a girl, Kelly Mazzarella had her sights set on helping others. She turned this innate altruism into a 16-year career at a community-based teaching hospital.

Karen Jedlicka was blown away by the care her big sister showed every patient. “People would be going through the worst things in their lives and she was just there for them,” Jedlicka said.

Mazzarella showed that same compassion with her husband, Ronnie Mazzarella, and daughters, Hailey and Kristina. She never missed an opportunity to tell her daughters how proud they made her, Jedlicka said.

In July 2019, Mazzarella was diagnosed with lupus, an autoimmune disease that brought on painful bouts of swelling. She worked on and off through March, helping with the influx of COVID patients. She was diagnosed on April 2 and died five weeks later. Her employer did not respond to requests for comment.

Nicol Maursky, a lifelong friend, organized a GoFundMe for the family. A staggering outpouring has brought in close to $75,000.

“She just had such a love and a light that emanated from her,” Jedlicka said. It’s “very comforting to know everybody felt the same way that we did.”

— Suzannah Cavanaugh, City University of New York | Published June 5, 2020

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A Proud New Orleanian And Community Caretaker

(Courtesy of Talisa Pace)

Jana Prince

Age: 43 Occupation: Case manager Place of Work: Salvation Army in New Orleans, Louisiana Date of Death: April 6, 2020

A “natural New Orleanian,” Jana Prince was bubbly and loving, her brother Paul Prince said.

Since high school, Jana knew she wanted to be a social worker. She grew up with cerebral palsy, wearing a leg brace and diligently practicing physical therapy so she could walk. Kids bullied her about her disability, but nothing would stop Jana from connecting with her community.

“She was trying to share her strength with other people, because she just didn’t want to see people suffer,” cousin Talisa Pace said. “She really wanted to help the black community.”

One day in mid-March, Jana had trouble breathing, Paul said. She was hospitalized for more than a week before she was intubated, and died the next day. The family said they did not know whether she was infected at work, especially given how early she became infected; the Salvation Army declined to comment.

Her mother, Barbara Prince, died of the virus three days later.

The duo lived together and got on like Laverne and Shirley. They often took care of Paul’s twin 6-year-old boys. “I don’t know how one would have survived without the other,” Paul said.

Jana and Pace had dreamed of opening a coffee shop and counseling center. “She would have been the highlight of the whole place,” Pace said.

— Theresa Gaffney, City University of New York | Published June 5, 2020

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‘She Always Listened And Never Judged’

(Courtesy of Tiana Mohabir)

Tina Reeves

Age: 58 Occupation: Licensed practical nurse Place of Work: Pickaway Correctional Institution in Orient, Ohio Date of Death: April 27, 2020

When Tina Reeves visited her grandchildren, music would blast from the car. Wale’s “On Chill” rang out: “Trying to hear all your problems, so I can lighten the load.”

“She loved her music,” said daughter Tiana Mohabir, “even though she had no rhythm for squat.”

Reeves had an ear for the rhythm in other people’s lives, though. Younger co-workers called her “Mother Advice,” Mohabir said. In interactions with prisoners and officers alike “she always listened,” Mohabir said, “and never judged.”

She called her three daughters daily, “checking in on all of us.”

When Reeves started coughing in early April, Pickaway Correctional had already reported more than 1,500 cases of COVID-19.

“PPE [personal protective equipment] was, and continues to be, available to staff,” a prison spokesperson said. The family said their mother did not have access to adequate PPE.

By April 13, Reeves was hospitalized with COVID-19. She called her daughter to ask her to take care of paying her utility, insurance and cable bills. “I didn’t think twice,” Mohabir said, “because I didn’t want them shut off when she got home.”

Within 24 hours, Reeves was intubated. On the bedside table, her phone kept ringing.

— Eli Cahan | Published June 5, 2020

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An ‘Icon,’ Hospital Secretary ‘Brightened Every Situation’

(Courtesy of Glenna Swann)

Joan Swann

Age: 70 Occupation: Intensive care unit secretary Place of Work: Kent Hospital in Warwick, Rhode Island Date of Death: April 29, 2020

When things were slow at the hospital, Joan Swann would head down to the gift shop.

If someone was having a hard day — the security guard, the patient transporter, the barista — she might buy them a candle. Or charm bracelet. Or a Vera Bradley handbag.

“She brightened every situation,” said Glenna Swann, her daughter. A former nurse, Joan coached trainees from behind the administrative desk. They called her an “icon” who was the reason many stayed working in the intensive care unit.

When Joan was admitted to the hospital, those she had long cared for returned the favor. Her isolation room was adorned with blue hearts, and following her intubation, the nurses would FaceTime the family in. During quiet hours, they sat at her bedside.

The hospital did not respond to requests for comment.

After Joan died, the family found “thousands upon thousands” of unused greeting cards, sorted by occasion (weddings or Christmas) and emotion (sympathy or humor).

In the coming weeks, Joan’s cherished grandson, Adam, will complete high school. Glenna is still choosing from among Joan’s graduation cards for him.

— Eli Cahan | Published June 5, 2020

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In A Family Who Lost Both Mother And Son, Food Was Love

(Courtesy of Lloyd Torres)

Louis Torres

Age: 47 Occupation: Food service director Place of Work: Queens Boulevard Extended Care Facility in Woodside, New York Date of Death: April 8, 2020

Louis Torres went into the family business. He grew up adoring his mother’s Philippine home cooking, so it was natural to channel his passion for food into comforting others. As a food service director at a nursing home in his native Queens, he could cook and work in health care as his mother did.

Feeling terrible on March 30, Louis called his older brother, Lloyd, after work. “He was struggling to make it from the subway station,” Lloyd said.

Louis lived with his mother, Lolita, 73, a retired hospital clerk. She also had severe COVID-19 symptoms.

By the next day, mother and son had been taken by ambulance to separate hospitals. In the chaos, Lloyd said, it took an entire day of panicked calls to find their mother, who was still in the emergency room.

A few days later, Lloyd was able to pray the rosary with Lolita over the phone, and it seemed to calm her. Before they hung up, she asked that Lloyd take care of his brother. Louis made the same request about his mother before going on a ventilator.

“Their last words to me [were to] take care of each other, my God,” Lloyd said, his voice cracking.

On April 7, Lolita died. Louis died the next day.

In the weeks since then, Lloyd was comforted by a powerful dream.

“I woke up and smelled the frying of food,” he said, invoking his mother’s cooking. “That’s how she showed her love.”

— Kathleen Horan | Published June 5, 2020

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Theater Brought Them Together, Then Life Imitated Art

(Courtesy of Harriet Clark Webber)

Barry Webber

Age: 67 Occupation: General surgeon Place of Work: Mount Sinai Queens in New York City Date of Death: April 18, 2020

Barry Webber wanted to understand how things worked. That curiosity and drive motivated him to reconstruct an old Jeep, build a computer, take up rock climbing and, of course, become a surgeon.

He pursued medicine when he realized he wasn’t going to become a concert pianist, said his wife, Harriet Clark Webber.

They met when Harriet was a dancer with the American Ballet Theatre and Barry moonlit as a supernumerary — a non-dancing extra on stage — for the company. “He just wanted to be around the theater,” she said.

Barry honed his surgery skills in a Brooklyn emergency room in the 1980s. “It was a rough time to be in an ER in Brooklyn,” Harriet said. “He was treating a lot of gunshot wounds and trauma.”

They married in 1996 and had two sons, now 22 and 20.

Like so many Americans, when COVID-19 struck, the couple watched “Contagion,” a 2011 film about a pandemic. Barry said it gave him a bad feeling.

On March 27, his fears were realized. He texted his wife: “I’m sick.”

Harriet believes he contracted the virus at work before the hospital ordered the universal use of protective gear.

— Danielle Renwick, The Guardian | Published June 5, 2020

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Brooklyn Radiologist Was ‘Kind, Simple, Loving And Devoted’

David Wolin and his daughter, Helena Cawley (Courtesy of Helena Cawley)

David Wolin

Age: 74 Occupation: Radiologist Place of Work: The Brooklyn Hospital Center in New York City Date of Death: March 30, 2020

By 10 a.m. on Sundays, David Wolin and his wife, Susan, would have completed one-quarter of the New York Times crossword.

When the grandchildren arrived, Wolin greeted them with bagels, lox, whitefish “and the best scrambled eggs in the entire world,” said Helena Cawley, his daughter.

Wolin was “kind, simple, loving and devoted.” A radiologist specializing in mammography, he was “committed to learning everything he could,” Cawley said. “The latest medical journal was always on his nightstand.”

He and Susan would skip off to their home upstate on Wolf Lake, where they might take out a rowboat, a bottle of chardonnay and a brick of Roquefort cheese under the stars. “All they needed was each other,” Cawley said.

In late March, Wolin complained of “bad colds” but deferred testing. Brooklyn Hospital was overwhelmed with COVID-19. A hospital spokesperson could not be reached for comment.

On March 30, when Cawley couldn’t reach her father, she called the doorman of his building. He reluctantly shared the news: Wolin had died overnight.

Susan was hospitalized that day and died weeks later. “We’re grateful in a way,” Cawley said, “because we don’t know how they could have lived without each other.”

— Eli Cahan | Published June 5, 2020

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‘Working There Was The Proudest Accomplishment Of His Life’

(Courtesy of Maria Joy Agtarap)

Romeo Agtarap

Age: 63 Occupation: Emergency room nurse Place of Work: NewYork-Presbyterian/Columbia University Irving Medical Center in New York City Date of Death: April 24, 2020

Joy and Romeo Agtarap met in Queens in the 1980s, when they were both young nurses, newly arrived from the Philippines. Joy Agtarap said her husband was a jokester who had a vibrant personality that often made him the life of the party. At gatherings, he liked to get people onto the dance floor.

“He’s a very good dancer ― sometimes he made the line dances too hard and people would get lost!” she remembered.

He was also a dedicated emergency room nurse. Agtarap had spent 20 years at what his wife said was his “dream job” at the NewYork-Presbyterian/Columbia University Irving Medical Center.

“Working there was the proudest accomplishment of his life,” she said. He was still seeing patients when the pandemic hit. (The hospital did not respond to requests to comment on whether he had adequate personal protective equipment).

Romeo was diagnosed with COVID-19 in late March. Joy, who had left nursing due to an injury, became sick a week later. They were both hospitalized ― he at NewYork-Presbyterian and she at a facility on Long Island. As Joy recovered, she anxiously awaited updates on her husband’s condition.

“It was the most devastating thing that’s ever happened to me. I was going crazy in there waiting for calls about him,” she said. He died on April 24. “I believe he took the worst of the virus for me, that’s why I’m still here,” she said.

— Anna Jean Kaiser, The Guardian | Published June 2, 2020

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As Nurse And Minister, She Tended To Her Patients, Flock ― And Garden

(Courtesy of Elijah Ailende)

Felicia Ailende

Age: 67 Occupation: Registered nurse Place of Work: Bria of Forest Edge in Chicago Date of Death: April 20, 2020

Felicia Ailende was a beacon of unity to her family and members of Maranatha Chapel in Evergreen Park, Illinois, where she was a minister. She counseled many, helping keep marriages intact and lives on track, her son Elijah Ailende said. Though her six children were very different from one another, she saw the best in each.

An immigrant from Nigeria, she planted a garden each year and used the produce to cook West African dishes. When there were too many cucumbers, hot peppers or greens, she shared with neighbors.

At Bria of Forest Edge, a nursing home, Felicia cooked for residents at times or prayed for them, Elijah said.

Administrator Julie Kosman said in a statement that Ailende was a hardworking nurse who was pleasant and funny and had a great rapport with residents.

She is one of three workers at the facility who have died of COVID-19; two residents also died. The facility reported 132 infections.

Elijah said staffers had to reuse surgical masks provided by the facility. Administrators did not tell them when residents and other staff members got the virus “so they could take precautions and safeguard their lives,” he said.

Kosman’s statement says “full PPE” — personal protective equipment — was available to staffers and there is no reason to believe Ailende was exposed to COVID-19 “within our facility.” She “had no known contact with any resident or staff member who showed symptoms or had tested positive for COVID-19.”

— Christina Jewett, Kaiser Health News | Published June 2, 2020

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He Practiced What He Preached, Caring For Inmates With Mental Illness

(Courtesy of Gwendolyn Davis)

Bishop Bruce Edward Davis

Age: 57 Occupation: Shift leader for forensic service technicians Place of Work: Central State Hospital in Milledgeville, Georgia Date of Death: April 11, 2020

In sermons at his Pentecostal church, Bishop Bruce Davis preached love. On weekdays, he practiced it by feeding, bathing and caring for patients at a maximum-security psychiatric hospital. Davis worked for 27 years at the state facility, said his wife, Gwendolyn Davis.

As a boy, Davis would break his pencils in half to share with his twin sister. At church, he hosted youth parades and gave away computers, bicycles and groceries. He distilled the Bible into simple lessons, she said, once winning over a parishioner with a sermon based on “The Wizard of Oz.”

When COVID-19 emerged, Davis and his co-workers at the psychiatric facility were told they couldn’t wear masks or gloves because it wasn’t part of their uniform, she said. Five days after a close co-worker tested positive for COVID-19, Davis was hospitalized, she said.

More than 70 workers at the hospital have tested positive for COVID-19, according to state data; Davis is one of two who have died. A hospital spokesperson declined to comment on Davis’ case.

After Davis’ illness, his entire household – Gwendolyn, three children and a grandchild – got sick with COVID-19, Gwendolyn said. Their adult son, who has autism, was hospitalized, Gwendolyn said. Their daughter, 22, recovered and returned to work at the same hospital.

“It is extremely hard for her to go back to work there,” Gwendolyn said.

— Melissa Bailey | Published June 2, 2020

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Dedicated Dad And Technologist ‘Was As Smart As They Come’

(Courtesy of Junette Francis)

Devin Francis

Age: 44 Occupation: Radiologic technologist Place of Work: Jackson Memorial Hospital in Miami Date of Death: April 8, 2020

Devin Francis was due to get married June 27 to his longtime love, Micela Scott, mother of their 11-year-old daughter, Dekayla.

Scott said her fiancé was a devoted father.

“He’d take [Dekayla] to school every morning. He’d help her with her homework,” she said. “He just wanted peace to his life and us to have a good life.”

“He had a very jovial spirit,” said his youngest sister, Junette Francis.

Devin took a COVID test at Jackson Memorial after his shift on April 6 — it came back positive. His breathing became labored and he died at home early on April 8.

His family and a hospital representative said it was unclear whether he came into contact with patients with COVID-19. Devin also worked in fleet services for American Airlines.

Colleagues admired his work ethic.

“No matter where we were in life, he never had less than two jobs,” said Milton Gonzalez, a hospital co-worker. “He was as smart as they come.”

— Sharon Jayson | Published June 2, 2020

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A Pediatric Neurosurgeon Who Separated Conjoined Twins

(Courtesy of Judy Goodrich)

James Goodrich

Age: 73 Occupation: Pediatric neurosurgeon Place of Work: Montefiore Medical Center in the Bronx, New York City Date of Death: March 30, 2020

James Goodrich was a renowned pediatric neurosurgeon, best known for separating conjoined twins ― a rare and risky procedure. Over the course of his career, he was directly involved in about 10 cases, advising on dozens more.

A late bloomer academically, Goodrich began his undergraduate studies at age 24, after returning from Vietnam, where he served in the Marines.

“He had seen a neurosurgeon when he was in Vietnam, and he just was fascinated at what they were able to do,” said Judy Goodrich, his wife of 50 years. “I thought, just try to become a doctor first.”

He was also known for innovations regarding conditions affecting the skull. He helped develop standards for treating craniosynostosis, in which the bones of a child’s skull fuse too soon, preventing the brain from growing properly.

Goodrich was an avid collector ― of antique medical books, pre-Columbian medical artifacts, rare watches and fine wines, among other things. He surfed, cultivated bonsai trees and played the didgeridoo.

He had seen patients in the clinic in early March, just before flying to Mexico for a family vacation. He soon began to feel ill, and when he returned to New York, he was diagnosed with COVID-19. He was hospitalized on March 25 and died five days later.

Read more here.

— Danielle Renwick, The Guardian | Published June 2, 2020

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She Brought ‘Calming Presence’ And Fun To Nursing Home

(Courtesy of Howard Fox Jr.)

Leola Grady

Age: 59 Occupation: Recreational aide Place of Work: Bria of Forest Edge in Chicago Date of Death: April 10, 2020

Leola Grady had planned to be with her son and granddaughter in Mississippi for Mother’s Day but did not live to make the trip.

At the Bria of Forest Edge nursing home, she entertained residents, including with a “good game of cards,” administrator Julie Kosman said. “She had a calming presence about her.”

When Grady fell ill, a nurse at the facility was already sick with the coronavirus. A nursing aide whose name has not been released also died of COVID-19. Staff at the facility, with SEIU union leaders, spoke out saying they were unaware their co-workers were dying until they saw it on the news.

Howard Fox Jr., Grady’s son, said his mother was his best friend. An honest, straightforward and loving person, she enjoyed listening to the blues. “I’m not going to sit here and sugarcoat it,” he said. “It hurts. … I look at our picture. I cry.”

Fox said his mother went to a Chicago hospital with COVID symptoms but was sent home. She was found dead several days later. A Cook County spokesperson confirmed she died of pneumonia due to COVID-19.

Kosman said the facility does not believe Grady or the nurse, Felicia Ailende, “were exposed to COVID-19 within our facility. They had no known contact with any resident or staff member who showed symptoms or had tested positive for COVID-19.”

As of May 27, Bria of Forest Edge has reported 132 coronavirus cases and two deaths to Illinois officials. In the statement, Kosman said it reported worker deaths to the Occupational Safety and Health Administration, which shows three pending death investigations at the facility.

— Christina Jewett, Kaiser Health News | Published June 2, 2020

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Young Nurse Lived A Life Of ‘No Regrets’

(Courtesy of the Guzman family)

Krist Angielen Castro Guzman

Age: 35 Occupation: Licensed practical nurse Place of Work: Meadowbrook Manor in Bolingbrook, Illinois Date of Death: May 2, 2020

Krist Guzman packed a lot into her short life. She worked full time while studying to become a registered nurse. She had three children, one a newborn.

Smart, funny and outgoing, she nurtured relationships.

“Hers was a life of no regrets,” said a cousin, Jeschelyn Pilar.

In a Navy family that moved often, she was close with her brother, Anjo Castro.

“She was my role model,” said Castro, who also pursued a medical career as an independent duty corpsman in the Navy.

The pandemic hit home when their uncle, pediatric surgeon Dr. Leandro Resurreccion III, died March 31.

Guzman told family she had seen COVID patients. Worried she didn’t have adequate protective gear, she scrambled to find some online.

Meadowbrook has registered the worst COVID outbreak in Illinois, with more than three dozen deaths. Nursing home spokesperson Marissa Kaplan said in a statement: “Meadowbrook puts the safety and welfare of its residents and staff at the forefront of everything we do.” She did not address whether there was sufficient protective gear.

— Mary Chris Jaklevic | Published June 2, 2020

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Selfless Nephrologist Fought For Her Life While Treating Others

(Courtesy of the Khanna family)

Priya Khanna

Age: 43 Occupation: Nephrologist Place of Work: Khanna Nephrology in Glen Ridge, New Jersey Date of Death: April 13, 2020

Priya Khanna came from a family of doctors, and she knew the risks of contracting the deadly coronavirus. She was immunocompromised and actively seeing patients days before she became ill with COVID-19.

On April 1, Priya was hospitalized in the same facility where her father, Satyender Dev Khanna, had been brought days earlier. He was also being treated for COVID-19.

From her hospital bed, Priya checked in on friends, reviewed patient files and communicated with the physician who was seeing patients in her stead. She continued to do so until she was put on the ventilator.

“She literally worked for others until she could no longer breathe for herself. That was Priya,” said childhood friend Justin Vandergaag. “Always putting others first with a smile.”

“She was a devoted daughter, sister and aunt,” said childhood friend Laura Stanfill. “Her healing gifts extended not only to her patients but, in the many ways, she made everyone in her life feel important and loved.”

Read more here.

— Natalia Megas | Published June 2, 2020

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‘He’s One Of Our Legends’

(Courtesy Stephanie Mahoney)

James ‘Charlie’ Mahoney

Age: 62 Occupation: Pulmonologist Place of Work: SUNY Downstate Medical Center in Brooklyn, New York City Date of Death: April 27, 2020

James “Charlie” Mahoney eschewed hospital hierarchies.

“He didn’t treat people like underlings,” said his sister, Saundra Chisholm. “He would talk to housekeeping like he would talk to the chief of the hospital. That’s why he was so well respected.”

Growing up on Long Island, Mahoney was an ace student and athlete. He was one of only a handful of black students at his medical school and throughout his training. He and his brother, Melvin Mahoney, worked side by side at SUNY Downstate for many years, a public hospital that treats a mostly minority and low-income patient population.

When the pandemic hit New York in March, Mahoney, who specialized in respiratory care, “ran into the fire,” Melvin said. But his hospital, like other underfunded public institutions in the city, was short of protective equipment and staff.

Mahoney started experiencing symptoms in early April, and was hospitalized soon after. He died on April 27.

“He’s one of our legends ― he’s one of our giants,” said Julien Cavanaugh, a neurology fellow at SUNY Downstate who trained under Mahoney.

Read more here.

— Ankita Rao, The Guardian | Published June 2, 2020

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Psychiatric Nurse Knew Her Patients’ Hometowns And Hobbies

(Courtesy of Eddie Ballard)

Shenetta White-Ballard

Age: 44 Occupation: Licensed practical nurse Place of Work: Legacy Nursing and Rehabilitation of Port Allen, Louisiana Date of Death: May 1, 2020

Eddie Ballard was baking “Pecan Delight” pie at the Piccadilly Cafeteria in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, when Shenetta White, accompanying her auntie and grandmother, leaned over the buffet counter to grab a Jell-O.

“She gave me this look,” Ballard said, and he gathered the confidence to ask for her number. On their first date he quickly realized “not only was she beautiful, but she was mature beyond her years.”

That maturity manifested across her life.

As a nurse to psychiatric patients, she was adored by those she “saw as people more than just patients,” Ballard said. She knew their parents’ names, their hometowns and hobbies. At home, White-Ballard was “queen of the house,” Ballard said. She handled the errands and the finances, while “her two boys [Ballard and his son, Warren] hung on whatever she asked.”

With a preexisting condition, White-Ballard depended on supplemental oxygen. She died May 1, just three days after developing COVID-19 symptoms.

In an email, a Legacy spokesperson wrote that the facility had followed all guidelines and “had more than enough PPE.”

The first piece of jewelry Ballard bought his wife was a bracelet that read: “Love is patient, love is kind, love never ends.”

“I hadn’t read that in 11 years,” he said, “but boy, it’s still true.”

— Eli Cahan | Published June 2, 2020

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From His ICU Bed, Nurse Planned To Help Fight COVID After Recovery

Christopher Dean with his wife, Natalya Kubaevskaya (Courtesy of Donna Dean)

Christopher Dean

Age: 37 Occupation: Licensed practical nurse Place of Work: Northport VA Medical Center’s Valley Stream Clinic in Valley Stream, New York Date of Death: April 15, 2020

When Christopher Dean went to the emergency room, he was “absolutely positive” he would be in the hospital a few days, get some fluids and oxygen and then go home.

“He was always optimistic, full of life,” said Natalya Kubaevskaya, his wife of 10 years. “And he had a big heart.”

When tests came back positive for COVID-19, he planned to recover and then help fight the disease by donating blood and plasma. Three weeks later, he was dead.

He had mild asthma, his wife said, but was a healthy man who loved snowboarding, swimming and racquetball.

His father, Alvin Dean, shared on a GoFundMe page that Christopher Dean caught the coronavirus at work. Northport said by email that it provided “PPE in accordance with CDC guidelines.”

Kubaevskaya, who recently finished treatment for breast cancer, said Dean pushed her to keep going.

Daughter Donna, 15, struggles with her adoptive father’s death. “There are moments,” Kubaevskaya said, “when she tries to convince herself that he’s still in the hospital and will come home soon.”

— Katja Ridderbusch | Published May 29, 2020

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A Robotic Surgery Expert Who ‘Just Made Everything Fun’

(Courtesy of the Lopez family)

Maria Lopez

Age: 63 Occupation: Registered nurse Place of Work: University of Illinois Hospital in Chicago Date of Death: May 4, 2020

“What lady? I don’t see a lady here.”

That was the sort of self-deprecating comment Maria Lopez would fire back when teased by a co-worker about an etiquette faux pas in the operating room.

Lopez knew how to break the tension, said chief nurse anesthetist Mary Ann Zervakis Brent, a colleague since 2005. Lopez called everyone “amigo” or “amiga,” regardless of rank.

“She just made everything fun,” Zervakis Brent said.

Lopez was an expert in robotic surgery and trained others to use the equipment.

She taught her two daughters to be independent. The oldest of nine kids, Lopez fought her father’s expectation that she forgo college, said her daughter Maria, who was named for her.

Lopez’s symptoms appeared days after she returned to work from leave for knee surgery. She planned to retire April 30.

In the hospital, Lopez tried to stay positive. Yet during one FaceTime call, daughter Maria said, “she just broke down. She said, ‘I wouldn’t want anyone I love going through what I’m going through right now.’”

A hospital official confirmed in a statement that Lopez died of complications of COVID-19.

— Mary Chris Jaklevic | Published May 29, 2020

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With Retirement In Sight, She Died Awaiting COVID Test Results

(Courtesy of Hannilette Huelgas)

Hazel Mijares

Age: 66 Occupation: Licensed practical nurse Place of Work: Amsterdam Nursing Home in New York City Date of Death: March 30, 2020

Faith was central to Hazel Mijares’ life. She was a lay leader at Trinity United Methodist Church in Jersey City, New Jersey.

She was drawn to church as a child in the Philippines, sister Hannilette Huelgas said. Theirs was a big family with nine children. At get-togethers, Mijares always led the prayers.

After a long career, Mijares was finally ready to retire in late March.

She worked through March 13, burned up accrued paid time off, then stopped back a week later for her last day. As she said her goodbyes, she noticed a little cough.

Learning that one of her patients had died of COVID-19, Mijares tried several times to get tested. Her results were expected March 30. When Huelgas called that day, Mijares didn’t answer. She had died waiting for the results, which the family learned were positive.

As of May 24, the nursing home had recorded 45 presumed-COVID deaths. Officials there did not respond to requests for comment, but a phone recording updated May 21 said they had “completed COVID-19 testing of residents” and had “begun testing of all staff.”

“Our dedicated and caring staff are continuing the Amsterdam tradition of providing exceptional care,” the recording noted.

Mijares “had wanted to go to Jerusalem, to the Philippines,” Huelgas said. “And she didn’t even get to enjoy retirement.”

— Maureen O’Hagan | Published May 29, 2020

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You Could Count On Him ‘For Anything’

(Courtesy of Griselda Bubb-Johnson)

Adiel Montgomery

Age: 39 Occupation: Security guard Place of Work: Kingsbrook Jewish Medical Center in Brooklyn, New York Date of Death: April 5, 2020

When Griselda Bubb-Johnson couldn’t reach her friend Marva — hospitalized with COVID-19 — Bubb-Johnson called her son, Adiel Montgomery.

Montgomery, a security guard in the hospital’s emergency department, found Marva in the ICU. He then did “everything for her,” Bubb-Johnson said. When Marva was cold, he got a blanket. When she was hungry, he got food. When her phone died, he found a charger.

“Some people boast about their children, but I didn’t have to,” Bubb-Johnson said, “because everybody knew you could count on Adiel for anything.”

Montgomery doted on residents as a part-time supervisor at the Urban Resource Institute, a domestic violence shelter. He invited his godbrothers for Golden State Warriors games, Thanksgiving and sometimes for his mom’s renowned oxtail dish.

Two weeks after Montgomery noted he couldn’t taste his lunch, he experienced acute chest pain. When, after 12 hours in the ER, his heart stopped “nobody could believe it,” Bubb-Johnson said.

Montgomery was vocal about a lack of personal protective equipment for hospital security guards, according to a New York Times report. The hospital did not respond to requests for comment.

Montgomery’s 14-year-old daughter, Aaliyah, never got to say goodbye. She wrote a poem to put in the coffin.

“Don’t worry,” Bubb-Johnson told her. “He’ll read it. I promise.”

— Eli Cahan | Published May 29, 2020

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Traveling Nurse ‘Wanted To Be Somebody’

(Courtesy of Daniel Perea)

David Joel Perea

Age: 35 Occupation: Traveling registered nurse Place of Work: Lakeside Health & Wellness Suites in Reno, Nevada, via MAS Medical Staffing Date of Death: April 19, 2020

David Joel Perea would call in from Maine, Vermont, Minnesota and, ultimately, Nevada, with the same request: “Mom, can you send tamales?” Dominga Perea would ship them overnight. This is how she always knew where her son was.

A traveling nurse routinely pulling 80-hour weeks, David “had a tremendous work ethic,” said his brother, Daniel. A young David, returning from his father’s mechanic shop, said, “I don’t want to spend life sweating under a car,” Dominga recalled. “I want to be somebody.”

Dominga was proud of him, “for doing God’s work.”

When “mijito” didn’t respond to her text April 6, Dominga knew something was wrong: “I could always tell how David was. If he said ‘Hi, Mama,’ he was happy. If he said ‘I’m fine, Mom,’ he was tired.”

This time he said neither. “Don’t panic, Mama,” David wrote, “just pray for me. I have the COVID.”

His workplace did not respond to requests for comment.

David FaceTimed with his mother on Easter Sunday. “He was starving, but he struggled even eating mashed potatoes,” Dominga said, “because he couldn’t breathe.” The next morning, he was on a ventilator and never woke up.

— Eli Cahan | Published May 29, 2020

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His Church Became His Second Home

(Courtesy of Lean Carlo Romualdo)

Ritchie Villena

Age: 44 Occupation: Physical therapist Place of Work: SportsMed Physical Therapy clinic in Glen Rock, New Jersey, placed by AHVIA Staffing Solutions in Jersey City Date of Death: April 15, 2020

When Ritchie Villena emigrated from the Philippines in 2011 after studying physical therapy, he struggled. Then he got in touch with Lean Carlo Romualdo, a fellow Filipino physical therapist in New York state. Villena moved in with him and secured a good job at a sports medicine clinic.

He became devoted to his church, Iglesia Ni Cristo, where he spent hours singing with the choir and practicing the organ. “He’s not an outgoing person,” Romualdo said. “But if you ask people in his religious group here in Rockland County, everyone will know him.”

Romualdo’s 7-year-old still plays the “Baby Shark” song Villena taught him on the piano, asking, “Is Uncle Ritchie coming back home?”

It’s unclear how Villena contracted the coronavirus. According to the staffing agency, he worked until March 13 and took ill the following week. On March 26, he called 911 with difficulty breathing; he was hospitalized until his death.

Villena, who only recently gained permanent residency status, hadn’t seen his family in nine years. “Every time his mom calls me, she wants to see Ritchie’s stuff,” Romualdo said. As he gives a video tour of Villena’s room, she can’t stop crying. He promised to pack everything and send it home.

— Maureen O’Hagan | Published May 29, 2020

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Nurse With ‘Heartwarming’ Smile Did Her Best For Her Children

(Courtesy of Anderson Family)

Jenniffer Anderson-Davis

Age: 44 Occupation: Licensed practical nurse Place of Work: Meramec Bluffs Life Plan Community in Ballwin, Missouri Date of Death: April 14, 2020

As a single mother, Jenniffer Anderson-Davis was determined to give her three children everything they needed, so she pursued her nursing degree while delivering pizza to make ends meet.

“She always did the best that she could to give them the best life,” her brother Earl Anderson said.

Most recently, Anderson-Davis worked as an admission and discharge nurse at a senior living community. Her mother, Edna Anderson, said that Anderson-Davis was concerned about residents who returned to the facility after visiting Florida (it has since banned reentry for residents who spent time away).

Anderson-Davis tested positive for COVID-19 on April 9 and died at home five days later. The Occupational Safety and Health Administration opened a fatality investigation at Meramec Bluffs on April 16.

Lutheran Senior Services, the nonprofit that operates Meramec Bluffs, acknowledged Anderson-Davis’ death but did not respond to specific questions about her case. In a statement, a spokesperson said: “Jenniffer’s coworkers remember her as a thorough and well-respected nurse who had a smile that could warm any heart.”

— Cara Anthony, Kaiser Health News | Published May 26, 2020

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A Tireless Nurse, She Loved Her Children And Travel

(Courtesy Stefaney Cicala)

Susan Cicala

Age: 60 Occupation: Registered nurse Places of Work: Northern State Prison in Newark, New Jersey; Clara Maass Medical Center in Belleville, New Jersey Date of Death: April 4, 2020

Susan Cicala worked long hours. A typical workday began at the hospital surgery department at 5:30 a.m. She’d work there until 2 p.m., and an hour later would start her next eight-hour shift at a nearby state prison. She worked weekends, too.

As for sleep? “She must have slept somewhere, but I don’t know,” her son, Steven Cicala, said with a laugh. “She was the hardest worker I ever met.”

Reminiscing on Facebook, colleagues said she talked about her two children constantly. She started wrapping Christmas presents in May. She loved to travel, to Disney World and national parks, and saw vacations as opportunities to learn about the world beyond New Jersey — on a trip to Hawaii, she delved into the attack on Pearl Harbor.

Cicala became sick in late March and died in early April; her family said they presume she contracted the virus at one of her jobs.

“She didn’t go anywhere else,” Steven said.

As of May 21, the New Jersey Department of Corrections had tallied 152 COVID-19 cases at the prison where Cicala worked; 134 of those diagnoses were among staffers. In early May, the union representing Cicala and other workers filed a safety complaint saying precautions have been inadequate and may have led to Cicala’s death. A spokesperson for the prison health care agency that employed Cicala said that it had followed all state and federal guidelines, and that the staff was provided with personal protective equipment.

— Maureen O’Hagan | Published May 26, 2020

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The Single Mother Dreamed Of Opening A Nursing Home

(Courtesy of Rebecca Gbodi)

Helen Gbodi

Age: 54 Occupation: Registered nurse Place of Work: MedStar Washington Hospital Center in Washington, D.C. Date of Death: April 19, 2020

Helen Gbodi was known for helping elderly neighbors and fellow churchgoers — picking up their medications and groceries and accompanying them on walks. She even dispatched her daughter, Rebecca Gbodi, to shovel snow in neighbors’ driveways.

“Even when she didn’t have a lot, she would always give,” Rebecca said of her mother, who worked long hours to put her children through college and helped pay school fees for other relatives. This year, she embarked on her own dream: crafting plans to open her own nursing home, her daughter said.

Gbodi understood the severity of COVID-19 early on. In March, she called every person in her contacts list, including people she hadn’t talked to in years, to make sure they were aware and taking precautions, her daughter said. Though she did not actively care for patients who had been diagnosed with COVID-19, such patients were being treated on her floor, her daughter said.

Days later, she was fighting for her life. By the time she was hospitalized with COVID-19, she was too weak to lift her arm for a virtual handshake with her daughter on FaceTime.

“At the end of the day, she was willing to put her life in danger for others,” Rebecca said.

— Anna Jean Kaiser, The Guardian | Published May 26, 2020

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Always Upbeat, Patient Transporter Was A Sewing Wiz

(Courtesy of the Ismayl family)

Gabrail ‘Gabe’ Ismayl

Age: 62 Occupation: Patient transport worker Place of Work: Swedish Hospital in Chicago Date of Death: May 6, 2020

Caring, upbeat, always first to arrive at a party. Gabrail Ismayl loved an excuse to don a suit and splash on cologne.

That’s how Fidelline Youhanna remembers her uncle. “Everybody loved Gaby,” she said.

After migrating from Syria in the 1980s, Ismayl ran wholesale clothing shops on Chicago’s North Side. He was a wiz with the sewing machine and enjoyed altering dresses, making curtains and doing creative projects for family and friends.

Later, his people skills were an asset as he wheeled patients where they needed to go.

As the pandemic took hold, Ismayl worked despite health conditions that elevated his risk, Youhanna said.

“I think he just liked his job,” she said. “He made a lot of friends there.”

On May 6, Ismayl was self-isolating in the basement of the house he shared with two sisters. He was short of breath, Youhanna said. By evening, he was dead.

Ismayl was employed by management services company Sodexo. The CEO of its health care division in North America, Catherine Tabaka, said in a statement that his passing “is a tragic loss for Sodexo and we mourn an incredible friend and presence.”

— Mary Chris Jaklevic | Published May 26, 2020

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Charismatic Surgical Technician Taught His Kids To Be ‘Faithful To Your Job’

(Courtesy of the Martinez family)

Juan Martinez

Age: 60 Occupation: Surgical technician Place of Work: University of Illinois Hospital in Chicago Date of Death: April 27, 2020

It was easy to befriend Juan Martinez.

The surgical technician “could start a conversation up with anyone about anything,” said Jose Moreno, an operating room nurse and co-worker.

He went out of his way to teach others what he learned from 34 years in the field, said his son, Juan Martinez Jr., who followed his dad’s career path at the same hospital.

The military veteran and former church pastor set an example “to be faithful to your job,” his son said.

Due to retire April 30, Martinez anticipated spending time with his grandchildren, traveling and opening Bible education centers in Mexico, his family said.

After feeling tired and feverish, he went to be tested for COVID-19 on April 17. His symptoms were so severe that he was taken by ambulance to the hospital where he worked.

Family members said Martinez did not engage in direct patient care but came in contact with staffers who did.

Juan Jr. said that losing his dad has been like a nightmare, and that he and his siblings are “leaning on the Lord and praying a lot, just like how our father taught us.”

— Mary Chris Jaklevic | Published May 26, 2020

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Memory Care Nurse Set Fear Aside

(Courtesy of Jessica Forbes)

Nina Forbes

Age: 56 Occupation: Licensed practical nurse Place of Work: Silverado memory care facility in Alexandria, Virginia Date of Death: April 25, 2020

Nina Forbes refused to let fear stop her from living.

She was terrified of flying. But a few years ago, Forbes got on a plane for the first time to watch her younger daughter Jennifer play volleyball.

COVID-19 also scared Forbes, and as a nurse at an assisted living facility, she knew the virus posed a serious risk. Still, she continued showing up to work.

Forbes tested COVID-positive just after Easter. Chills, body aches and a fever kept her from attending family dinner that Sunday. By the following weekend, she struggled to breathe and couldn’t walk on her own. An ambulance took her to the hospital.

Her older daughter, Jessica, said her mother didn’t have the necessary protection at work. Forbes sometimes wore trash bags to protect herself, she said.

In a statement, a representative for the facility said it met the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention guidelines for personal protective equipment. Employees sometimes used trash bags as an added layer of protection, worn over a disposable gown, according to the representative.

Forbes appeared to do what she wanted even in her final moments. Jennifer was able to visit her mother in the hospital, and Forbes died shortly after she left, Jessica said. “It was like she waited for her to leave.”

— Carmen Heredia Rodriguez, Kaiser Health News | Published May 19, 2020

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A Family Man Who Loved Disney, Took Risks To Help Others

(Courtesy of AMR Southwest Mississippi)

David Martin

Age: 52 Occupation: Paramedic Place of Work: AMR Southwest Mississippi, covering Amite and Wilkinson counties Date of Death: April 22, 2020

On March 22, David Martin changed his Facebook profile picture. Around his smiling face, the frame read, “I can’t stay home … I’m a healthcare worker.”

Outside of work, he was a dedicated family man with two children, known for his love of Disney.

Martin, who covered 1,420 square miles across two rural counties, had cared for people with suspected COVID-19 in the weeks leading up to his death, said Tim Houghton, chief of operations for AMR Southwest Mississippi.

“We do what we do knowing the risks,” Houghton said. But Martin’s death was “a hard hit.”

On March 23, at the end of a shift, Martin told a supervisor he had mild flu symptoms. A month later, he died at a hospital in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

AMR paramedics had N95 masks and protective gear and followed Centers for Disease Control and Prevention guidelines, Houghton said. “We have not yet had a shortage.”

In Facebook posts honoring Martin, colleagues described his excitement before trips to Disney World. In his memory, his fiancee, Jeanne Boudreaux, shared a photo of a hot air balloon ride at Disney Springs.

— Michaela Gibson Morris | Published May 19, 2020

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For a 9/11 First Responder, ‘Sitting on the Sidelines Was Never in His DNA’

(Courtesy of Erin Esposito)

Matthew ‘Matty’ Moore

Age: 52 Occupation: Radiologic technologist Place of Work: Northwell Health’s GoHealth Urgent Care in Eltingville, Staten Island, New York City Date of Death: April 17, 2020

Matthew Moore “would give the shirt off his back to help others,” said his sister, Erin Esposito.

A former firefighter and Staten Island native, “Matty” Moore volunteered as a first responder for weeks after 9/11, “even when everyone else stopped going,” Esposito said.

Moore was known as “a gentle giant” in Prince’s Bay, his brother-in-law Adam Esposito said. He was a devoted churchgoer and a beloved member of “The Beach Boys Firehouse” (as Engine 161/81 was nicknamed).

He even came through as Santa Claus, delivering gifts on Christmas morning to the children of two firefighters who died on 9/11.

Moore became an X-ray technologist, cherishing the ability to help those seeking urgent care. When COVID-19 emerged, he continued showing up to work. “Sitting on the sidelines was never in his DNA,” Erin Esposito said.

At the time, the family was reassured that he was receiving the personal protective equipment he needed. Despite his precautions, when Matty contracted COVID-19, it tore through his lungs, which had been damaged at ground zero.

As Matty lay dying, Esposito sought to reassure her brother. “You’ve done enough for us,” she told him, over the phone. Moments later, Matty’s heart stopped beating.

— Eli Cahan | Published May 19, 2020

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‘Gentle Soul’ Had A Brilliant Mind And A Big Heart

Neftali “Neff” Rios

Age: 37 Occupation: Registered nurse Place of Work: St. Francis Hospital’s intensive care unit in Memphis, Tennessee Date of Death: April 26, 2020

Hospital colleagues loved working with Neftali “Neff” Rios. He was humble, kind and capable, a “gentle soul” who always strived to learn something new. Not just smart — “I’m talking extremely intelligent,” his brother Josue Rios said. And he simply loved people. Nursing was a perfect fit.

Neff worked at a small hospital in Clarksdale, Mississippi, then earned his master’s in business administration with an emphasis on health care, and moved to St. Francis, hoping to enter management.

In mid-April, he came down with fever, body aches and a terrible cough and tested positive for the coronavirus. Several family members got sick, too. His parents were hospitalized.

On April 26, Neff collapsed at home, unable to catch his breath. His wife, Kristina, called 911, started CPR and waited for the EMTs. When they arrived, he had already died.

The family believes he was exposed at work. A spokesperson for the hospital declined to comment, citing family privacy.

“Neff was never scared” of catching the virus at work, Rios said. “You take an oath to take care of people, no matter what.”

— Maureen O’Hagan | Published May 19, 2020

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His Warmth And Generosity Brought Diverse Clients To His Pharmacy

(Courtesy of the Titi family)

Saif Titi

Age: 72 Occupation: Pharmacist Place of Work: Noble Pharmacy in Jersey City, New Jersey Date of Death: April 7, 2020

When the pandemic hit, Saif Titi was working six days a week at his Jersey City pharmacy and had no interest in slowing down. As was his way, he wanted to be helpful.

“He didn’t really run it as a business,” said Titi’s son, Justin. “He wasn’t trying to make profit. He was really just trying to help people.”

Titi was born in Jaffa in the last days of British rule in Palestine and grew up a refugee in the Gaza Strip. After studying in Egypt, Austria and Spain, he immigrated to New Jersey in 1972 and bought Noble Pharmacy a decade later.

The pharmacy became a fixture in the community, known as a place immigrants could go for help and advice, often in their native language. If they couldn’t afford medication, Titi would give it to them for free. “All different types of people from different cultures would come and they would instantly fall in love with him,” Justin said.

Active in the local Arab American community, Titi gave to charity and sent money home regularly. A Facebook tribute included dozens of stories of his generosity and mentorship. “We all lost the sweetest and the most noble man on earth,” wrote one relative.

Titi, a father of three adult children, developed symptoms of COVID-19 in late March. He died in the hospital on April 7. His wife, Rachelle, also became infected and has taken some six weeks to recover. In quarantine, the family has been unable to grieve together.

— Noa Yachot, The Guardian | Published May 19, 2020

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Social Worker Was A ‘Big Voice’ In His Community

(Courtesy of Donna Welch)

Gerald Welch

Age: 56 Occupation: Social worker and behavioral specialist Place of Work: Opportunity Behavioral Health in Reading, Pennsylvania Date of Death: April 15, 2020

Donna Welch had sworn she would “never, ever, ever get married again.” Then Gerald appeared.

They met on MySpace, and she quickly realized that “our spirits connected.” On their first date, at Donna’s house in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, Gerald proposed — and Donna said yes. “It was like he came down on a bolt of lightning from heaven,” she said.

Gerald’s fiery passion and courage to speak out served him as a boardroom advocate for underperforming students in the school district, and at the St. Paul Missionary Baptist Church, where he resurrected a scholarship now named in his honor.

“He had a big voice,” Donna said, “and he was not afraid to use it.” His “Families, Organizations and Communities United in Service” podcast combined Gerald’s lived experience overcoming drugs and his spirituality to support others struggling with addiction.

So even as the state’s COVID cases mounted, Gerald was a dutiful companion for his clients with severe autism — he took them to the supermarket in Lancaster and the laundromat in Lebanon. “Wherever they needed to go, he went,” Donna said. “He cared so much for them, and they loved him dearly.”

“We all did,” she added.

— Eli Cahan | Published May 19, 2020

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Hardworking Immigrant Realized His Dream To Practice Medicine In US

Jesus Manuel Zambrano and his son, Jesus Manuel Jr. (Courtesy of the Zambrano family)

Jesus Manuel Zambrano

Age: 54 Occupation: Pediatrician Place of Work: Private practice in Freeport, New York; attending physician at Mount Sinai South Nassau hospital Date of Death: March 30, 2020

Jesus Manuel Zambrano studied medicine in the Dominican Republic and immigrated to New York in the 1990s.

He hustled, working in fast food and as a school bus driver between studies, his wife, Sandra, said. He completed his residency in 2010.

In the meantime, they had two children: Jesus Manuel Jr., 22, and Angelyne Ofelia, 18. Jesus Manuel Jr., who uses a wheelchair, never veered far from his father during family outings to restaurants and parks, and Holy Week vacations.

Zambrano’s bond with his son informed his care for his patients. “There was not a single day we met and talked when we didn’t talk about his son,” said Dr. Magda Mendez, a former colleague.

Zambrano spent days in private practice, Sandra said, and in the evenings treated others at the hospital, which saw COVID cases.

In early March, he felt ill. He took the next day off — a rare occurrence, Sandra said. He was taken to the hospital where he worked, where he died after a week and a half of care.

In becoming a physician in the United States, Zambrano had realized his lifelong dream. He wished the same for his family.

“He had a lot of plans for his children, a lot of dreams,” Sandra said. “He took them with him.”

— Carmen Heredia Rodriguez, Kaiser Health News | Published May 15, 2020

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Quick-Witted And Quick To Serve, Firefighter ‘Always Had Your Back’

(Courtesy of the Zerman family)

Robert Zerman

Age: 49 Occupation: Volunteer firefighter Place of Work: Pioneer Hose Company No. 1 in Robesonia, Pennsylvania Date of Death: April 16, 2020

Anyone who met Robert Zerman would see two things: He was devoted to firefighting and emergency medical services, and he had a quick sense of humor.

“He probably went on tens of thousands of calls,” said Anthony Tucci, CEO of the Western Berks Ambulance Association. Tucci, who knew Zerman for over three decades, added, “he always had your back, always knew his stuff.”

Most recently, Zerman was a volunteer assistant fire chief. He responded to an emergency in March in which the patient had COVID-19 symptoms.

“That was before there was really any guidance to wear PPE,” Tucci said.

Soon Zerman got sick, leading the family to suspect that he’d contracted the coronavirus on that call, Tucci said. Zerman tested positive and was hospitalized. He seemed to be improving before taking a bad turn.

Berks County, in eastern Pennsylvania, is among the state’s hardest hit, recording around 3,500 total cases and nearly 200 deaths by mid-May.

Representatives from two dozen first responder agencies lined the streets for Zerman’s funeral procession.

— Maureen O’Hagan | Published May 19, 2020

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Lighthearted Nurse ‘Lit Up the Room’

(Courtesy of Alisa Bowens)

Linda Bonaventura

Age: 45 Occupation: Licensed practical nurse Place of Work: Wildwood Healthcare Center in Indianapolis Date of Death: April 13, 2020

Even on bad days, Linda Bonaventura’s lighthearted sense of humor made people feel better, her sister Alisa Bowens said.

Bonaventura dedicated her career to children with special needs and seniors. She did her best to keep her spirits up while working 16-hour days.

“We like to say she was laughter,” Bowens said. “She lit up the room.”

In a statement, Ethan Peak, executive director of Wildwood, called Bonaventura a dedicated nurse who “would do anything for her residents and co-workers.”

As the list of patients and employees with COVID-19 grew longer at Wildwood, Bonaventura refused to live in fear, Bowens said.

Bowens recalled the day her sister confessed she was spraying herself with Lysol to kill the germs on her clothes. She did the same for a co-worker. A Wildwood spokesperson said the nursing home had sufficient personal protective equipment for employees.

The sisters, in one of their last conversations, told each other they would be at peace if death came during the pandemic. A short time later, Bonaventura tested positive for COVID-19. Just a week after coming down with a sore throat and fever, she died.

“She believed in fate,” Bowens said. “We shared that belief. But it was still a shock.”

— Cara Anthony | Published May 15, 2020

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Nurse’s Death Ripples Through The Heart Of An Extended Community

(Courtesy of Courtney Christian)

Sheila Faye Christian

Age: 66 Occupation: Registered nurse Place of Work: Care Pavilion Nursing and Rehabilitation Center in Philadelphia Date of Death: April 19, 2020

So many people are mourning the death of Sheila Christian, her daughter set up a website to comfort them all.

Christian was a longtime friend of Tina Knowles-Lawson ― the mother of Beyoncé — who posted about the loss on Instagram.

But Christian was also a superstar at the center where she worked for 26 years and among those who knew her. She was the kind of person who brought lunch to a new co-worker and hosted a baby shower for someone without close family, according to her daughter and a memorial board.

At the outset of the COVID crisis, Christian was not given personal protective equipment, her daughter, Courtney Christian, 30. She said her mother received a mask only in late March. A lawyer for the center acknowledged Christian’s death and said federal guidelines were followed but didn’t respond to specific questions about protective gear.

Christian was diagnosed April 2. She endured more than a week of fever, chills and coughing, but seemed to be on the mend. She had been cleared to return to work when she collapsed at home. An outpouring of grief followed, her daughter said.

“She just helped and cared for so many people,” she said. “People I had never met.”

— JoNel Aleccia, Kaiser Health News | Published May 15, 2020

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At Work, Church And Home, Army Veteran Gave It His All

(Courtesy of Shlonda Clark)

Roy Chester Coleman

Age: 64 Occupation: Emergency medical technician Place of Work: Overton Brooks VA Medical Center in Shreveport, Louisiana Date of Death: April 6, 2020

Shlonda Clark calls her father her “favorite superhero.”

It was one of Roy Coleman’s many roles. For the past 11 years, the Army veteran and EMT worked as a housekeeper at the VA hospital in his hometown. He was a church deacon, Sunday school teacher and usher. He also volunteered with special-needs adults.

Roy had a big family, with three children, eight grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.

“He was funny, he was kind, he was giving,” said Mabel Coleman, his wife of 40 years.

“If he didn’t like you, something was wrong with you,” added Clark.

Coleman fell ill March 23. After three trips to the emergency room, he was admitted March 27, with a fever and labored breathing.

“It was the last time I saw him,” Mabel said.

He tested positive for COVID-19 and died at the hospital where he had worked.

His family said he was concerned about the lack of personal protective equipment. The VA medical center said by email it “has and continues to use PPE in accordance with CDC guidelines.”

— Katja Ridderbusch | Published May 15, 2020

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Beloved Doctor Made House Calls, Treated Patients Like Family

(Courtesy of the Giuliano family)

Michael Giuliano

Age: 64 Occupation: Family practice physician Place of Work: Mountainside Medical Group in Nutley, New Jersey Date of Death: April 18, 2020

For 39 years, Michael Giuliano practiced old-fashioned family medicine.

He made house calls. He visited his patients in the hospital rather than asking another physician to check in on them. He saw generations of the same family.

“Some patients would show up here at the house,’” said Giuliano’s wife, Marylu, a nurse and the office manager of his solo practice. “Patients would call and he’d say, ‘Come on over, I’ll check you out.’ He always went above and beyond.”

A father of five and a grandfather of four, Giuliano was jovial, with a quirky sense of humor and love of Peanuts characters, especially Charlie Brown. He liked to tell patients, “I’ll fix you up.”

“He treated all of his patients like family,” said Nutley Mayor Joseph Scarpelli.

When COVID-19 hit the U.S., Giuliano ordered N95 masks, his family said, but suppliers were out and sent surgical masks instead. Giuliano wore two at a time.

The week of March 16, Giuliano saw four patients with respiratory symptoms who later tested positive for COVID-19. About two weeks later, he tested positive.

Giuliano continued to see patients from home using telemedicine until he was hospitalized. He died 11 days later.

— Michelle Crouch | Published May 15, 2020

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He Tried To Reassure His Family Until The End

(Courtesy of Sheryl Pabatao)

Alfredo Pabatao

Age: 68 Occupation: Orderly Place of Work: Hackensack Meridian Health Palisades Medical Center in North Bergen, New Jersey Date of Death: March 26, 2020

After 44 years of marriage, Alfredo Pabatao still bought his wife, Susana, flowers.

“They were that type of couple that you rarely see nowadays,” their youngest daughter, Sheryl Pabatao, 30, said. “They set such a high standard for us, their kids — that may be the reason why I’m still single.” She said her father was a patient man who could fix just about anything.

The Pabataos came from Quezon City, just outside Manila, in the Philippines. Alfredo worked at a car dealership, and Sheryl said she and her siblings grew up comfortably.

But the couple wanted more for their five children, and immigrated to the United States in October 2011. “The first year that we were here, was really, really tough,” Sheryl remembered. Her oldest two siblings, already adults by the time the Pabataos’ immigration application cleared, had to stay behind.

Alfredo found a job as an orderly at a hospital in New Jersey, where he worked for nearly two decades. In mid-March, he told his family he had transported a patient with signs of COVID-19; he fell ill days later. In a statement, his employer wrote: “We have policies and procedures in place to protect our team members and patients that are all in accordance with CDC guidelines.”

Sheryl said the family’s last conversation with her father was via FaceTime, with him on his hospital bed. Connected to oxygen, he insisted he wasn’t gravely ill. He made jokes and even demonstrated yoga poses to reassure his wife and children. He died soon after.

— Danielle Renwick, The Guardian | Published May 15, 2020

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A ‘Selfless’ Mother Who ‘Always Had The Right Words’

(Courtesy of Sheryl Pabatao)

Susana Pabatao

Age: 64 Occupation: Assistant nurse Place of Work: Bergen New Bridge Medical Center in Paramus, New Jersey Date of Death: April 30, 2020

Susana Pabatao became a nurse in her late 40s, after her family immigrated to the United States.

It eased some of her longing for her own mother, whom she had left behind in the Philippines, her daughter, Sheryl Pabatao said. “It helped her to know that she was helping other people — something that she couldn’t do for my grandmother,” Sheryl said. Susana treated her older patients as if they were her own parents, she added.

Susana was warm, selfless and a constant source of comfort. Sheryl said, “My mom always had the right words.”

Susana’s husband, Alfredo Pabatao, began showing symptoms of COVID-19 in mid-March, and Susana became ill soon after. Sheryl, who described the two as “inseparable,” said: “When my dad got sick, it’s like part of her was not there anymore.”

Alfredo was hospitalized, and Susana spent her last days at home resting and speaking with him on FaceTime. Sheryl, who lived with her parents, said she overheard the two console each other one morning. “My mom was telling my dad, ‘We’ve gone through so many things, we’re going to get through this.”

Alfredo died on March 26. Susana died four days later.

— Danielle Renwick, The Guardian | Published May 15, 2020

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Air Force Doctor Had Served In The White House

(Courtesy of the Medical Center of Annandale)

Steven Perez

Age: 68 Occupation: Internal medicine physician Place of Work: Medical Center of Annandale in Annandale, Virginia Date of Death: May 7, 2020

When George H.W. Bush announced his 1988 run for the presidency, Steven Perez was one of the doctors who gave him a clean bill of health.

An “Air Force brat” who was born in the United Kingdom, Perez served as a flight surgeon and medical director in the Air Force Medical Service Corps before practicing as a physician in the White House from 1986 to 1990, according to a statement from his family.

“It was the honor of his life,” his son, Benjamin Perez, said.

Perez went into private practice in San Antonio in the early ’90s before opening his own clinic in Northern Virginia. He also taught at the University of Virginia.

According to his family, he made a promise to God and “never refused medical aid to the poor who came to his office, even accepting yams as payment on occasion.”

Perez’s family describes him as a proud grandfather to his three grandchildren (with two more on the way); he loved the University of Southern California Trojan football, the Dallas Cowboys and the Nationals.

“He could make anyone laugh, knew just what to say, and showed profound love for his friends and family,” his family wrote in an obituary. “Every person he met felt like they were the reason he was there.”

— Danielle Renwick, The Guardian | Published May 15, 2020

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She Jumped At Chance To Lend Her Nursing Skills To Her Beloved New York

(Courtesy of the Sell family)

Rosemary Sell

Age: 80 Occupation: Pediatric nurse practitioner Place of Work: New York City public schools Date of Death: April 17, 2020

Rosemary Sell was a New Yorker through and through. Born in Washington Heights in northern Manhattan, she went to nursing school in Greenwich Village and raised her five boys on the Lower East Side.

In the 1960s, she traveled to Berlin, where she worked as a nurse for the British army and met her future husband, Peter. A lifelong love of travel was born. Gregarious and high-energy by nature, she loved meeting new people. “Wherever she’d go, she’d make a new friend,” said her son, also named Peter.

In later years, Sell spent much of her time in Florida. But she jumped at opportunities to lend her nursing skills to her home city and see her grandchildren and friends.

In February, she was contacted by a firm that places nurses on temporary assignments. Her children were concerned about the encroaching pandemic, especially given her age. “But they need a nurse,” she responded. She traveled to New York to fill in as a nurse at several schools citywide just as the pandemic took hold. The firm, Comprehensive Resources, did not respond to questions on protections for its contractors.

Sell began developing symptoms in mid-March, just before the citywide school closure went into effect. She returned home to Florida, where she died from pneumonia caused by COVID-19.

Before Rosemary died, she had been hatching her next adventure with a friend: to travel to India. She wanted to see the Taj Mahal.

— Noa Yachot, The Guardian | Published May 15, 2020

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A Hands-On Pharmacist Who Made The Big City Feel Smaller

(Courtesy of Zair Yasin)

Ali Yasin

Age: 67 Occupation: Pharmacist Place of Work: New York City Pharmacy in East Village, Manhattan Date of Death: May 4, 2020

Ali Yasin was a small-town druggist in a big city filled with impersonal, chain-store pharmacies. He found a way to operate a robust business and still be on a first-name basis with his customers. Over the years, he became their medical consultant, insurance whisperer and friend.

Jen Masser said she stumbled into Yasin’s pharmacy the first time, covered from hands to elbows in hives. “Something is happening, see someone right away,” Yasin advised. “This could be a serious disease.” He turned out to be right, encouraging her to keep seeing doctors until she finally got the proper autoimmune diagnosis.

Born in Pakistan, Yasin moved to the United States in 1979 and worked in various pharmacies before opening his own in 2001. He ran it with the help of his four sons.

In March, after serving customers in hard-hit Manhattan in his typical hands-on manner, Yasin contracted a cough and tested positive for COVID-19. By month’s end, he was in the hospital on a ventilator. He died May 4.

The storefront window of the Yasin family pharmacy is pasted with condolence cards. Son Zair Yasin said the outpouring has been immense: “I didn’t realize until he was gone how many people he touched.”

— Kathleen Horan | Published May 15, 2020

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Nurse Wouldn’t Abandon Her Patients Or Let Family Worry

(Courtesy of the Isaacs family)

Marsha Bantle

Age: 65 Occupation: Registered nurse Place of Work: Signature Healthcare in Newburgh, Indiana Date of Death: May 1, 2020

Marsha Bantle’s family begged her to quit after a resident in the nursing home where she worked was diagnosed with COVID-19.

But Bantle wouldn’t leave. “My patients can’t leave their rooms, they can’t see their families. They really need me right now,’” she told her cousin Carol Isaacs.

Bantle tried to reassure relatives she would limit her exposure, but, on April 17, her temperature spiked. Bantle, who lived alone, holed up at home. She finally called her family when it was clear she needed to be hospitalized.

“That’s Marsha for you,” her cousin John Isaacs said. “She didn’t want us to worry.”

Even while hospitalized, Bantle was selfless, said Shay Gould, the ICU nurse who cared for her. She offered to turn off her medication pump to save the nurse a trip. She asked for other patients’ names to pray for them.

After about a week, Bantle had a stroke, likely brought on by the COVID-19 infection. Within days, she died.

Since April, the nursing home has had 52 positive cases and 13 COVID-19 deaths, including Bantle’s. In a statement, Signature Healthcare said: “The loss of any of our residents or staff, for any reason, is devastating.”

— Michelle Crouch | Published May 12, 2020

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Pharmacist, Feeling Sick, Didn’t Want To Let Patients Down

(Courtesy of the Boynes family)

Sean Boynes

Age: 46 Occupation: Pharmacist Place of Work: AbsoluteCare Medical Center & Pharmacy in Greenbelt, Maryland Date of Death: April 2, 2020

When the coronavirus began circulating in the Washington metropolitan region, Sean Boynes went to work.

“Patients need their medicine,” he told his wife, Nicole.

The medical center where he worked bills itself as “a medical home for the sickest of the sick”; many of its patients struggle with chronic illness and poverty. Boynes was the Greenbelt branch’s first pharmacist.

He was an “incredible, loving guy,” said Dr. Gregory Foti, chief of innovative operations at AbsoluteCare.

Boynes was a proud Howard University alumnus and had three degrees — a bachelor’s of science in biology, a master’s in exercise physiology and a doctorate in pharmacy — from the institution.

In early March, Boynes and his wife began feeling sick. Boynes didn’t want to stop working but thought “taking a sick day might be OK,” Nicole said. He also took a break from being a jungle gym to his eight- and 11-year-old girls. Nicole called him “Super Dad.”

Nicole got better, but Sean, who had asthma, saw his breathing deteriorate.

On March 25, Nicole dropped him at the hospital doors. The medical staff confirmed COVID-19. The family never saw him again.

Foti said AbsoluteCare follows CDC recommendations, such as providing staff with face masks, and declined to comment on where Boynes became infected. He said “it was literally impossible to tell” where Boynes had contracted the virus.

To honor him, AbsoluteCare is naming the Greenbelt pharmacy after Boynes.

— Sarah Jane Tribble, Kaiser Health News | Published May 12, 2020

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A Spry EMT, He Made ‘The Ultimate Sacrifice’

(Courtesy of Toni Lorenc)

John Careccia

Age: 74 Occupation: Emergency medical technician and rescue squad chief Place of Work: Woodbridge Township Ambulance and Rescue Squad in Iselin, New Jersey Date of Death: April 17, 2020

“That’s not the way you throw a curveball!” John Careccia famously declared to his grandson at a family picnic, according to his daughter, Toni Lorenc. Careccia then threw the ball so wide that it broke a window in her shed.

“That’s how you throw the batter off,” he said, brushing off the mishap.

“Typical Pop-Pop,” Lorenc said. “He had so much confidence in himself.”

Careccia, who worked for the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey for 30 years, harnessed his self-confidence into a second career. Inspired by two EMTs who saved his son’s life, he became a volunteer EMT in 1993. A consummate educator, he taught CPR, mentored young EMTs and gave catechism classes at his church, Lorenc said.

A spry 74, Careccia responded to 911 calls as chief of his rescue squad, a volunteer position. On a March 25 call, he evaluated a coronavirus patient, said Ed Barrett, squad president. Careccia died of COVID-19 several weeks later.

At his firehouse memorial service, Careccia was summoned over a loudspeaker for his “last call.”

“Having heard no response from Chief Careccia, we know that John has made the ultimate sacrifice,” said Steve Packer, a previous squad president. “His leadership, dedication, compassion and friendship will be greatly missed.”

— Melissa Bailey | Published May 12, 2020

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Police Officer Turned Nurse Practitioner Was Pursuing A Doctorate

(Courtesy of Dennis Graiani)

Kevin Graiani

Age: 56 Occupation: Family nurse practitioner Place of Work: Rockland Medical Group in Garnerville, New York Date of Death: March 30, 2020

Kevin Graiani always wanted to work in health care, according to Dennis Graiani, one of his three sons. But his mother told him he needed a pension, so he became a cop.

Kevin, who grew up in the Bronx, served five years on the New York City Housing Authority police force, then 15 on a suburban police force in Spring Valley, New York. He was a “brilliant officer,” said Lt. Jack Bosworth of Spring Valley.

Known for his dry sense of humor, Kevin often rattled off quotes from movies. He played bagpipes for the Rockland County Police Emerald Society, a law enforcement group. When he retired from police work, he began nursing school and became a nurse practitioner in 2018.

Kevin, who worked at a private practice, became sick on March 10 and was later diagnosed with COVID-19, Dennis said.

He loved learning and was set to finish classes this summer for his doctorate of nursing practice, said Lynne Weissman, his professor and program director at Dominican College.

He was an “extremely bright student” with a 3.7 GPA, Weissman said.

She has nominated him for a posthumous degree.

— Melissa Bailey | Published May 12, 2020

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School Nurse ‘Was A Mother To Many’

(Courtesy of the Howard family)

Marilyn Howard

Age: 53 Occupation: School nurse Place of Work: Spring Creek Community School in Brooklyn, New York Date of Death: April 4, 2020

Marilyn Howard was known for her generosity and never missing a party. Born in Guyana, she came to the U.S. as a teenager. She helped raise her five brothers, putting her ambitions on hold. “She was a mother to many,” her brother Haslyn said.

In her mid-30s, she turned to her own career goals. She steadily racked up four nursing degrees and recently had begun studying to become a nurse practitioner.

Howard, who lived in Queens, New York, was a school nurse in Brooklyn, where she regularly treated children with chronic illnesses associated with poverty. The week before the pandemic shuttered schools, a fellow nurse had a fever and cough.

Days later, Howard developed the same symptoms. After initially improving, she took a sudden turn for the worse April 4. As her brother drove her to the hospital, her heart stopped. She was declared dead at the hospital.

In tribute, hundreds turned out on Zoom to mark Nine-Night — a days-long wake tradition in the Caribbean — where loved ones shared photos, sang songs and recounted Howard’s effect on their lives.

The pandemic has since ripped through Howard’s extended family, infecting at least a dozen relatives. (One cousin was hospitalized but was released and is recovering.) The family has evolved into a sprawling triage team, monitoring one another’s temperatures, delivering food, charting emergency contacts and nearby hospitals.

Howard’s brothers hope to start a foundation in her name to help aspiring nurses in the U.S. and West Indies. “The best way to honor her spirit and her memory is to bring more nurses into this world,” said her brother Rawle. “We need more Marilyns around.”

— Noa Yachot, The Guardian | Published May 12, 2020

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Post-Retirement, She Tirelessly Rejoined Workforce

(Courtesy Bethany MacDonald)

Nancy MacDonald

Age: 74 Occupation: Receptionist Place of Work: Orchard View Manor, a nursing home and rehabilitation center in East Providence, Rhode Island Date of Death: April 25, 2020

Nancy MacDonald tried retiring, but couldn’t make it stick.

For 20 years, she was a middle school teaching assistant and cheerleading coach. At home, she loved painting rocks and watching “Blue Bloods” and “American Idol.” She was married with two adult children.

A lifelong Rhode Islander, Nancy was a people person, her daughter, Bethany MacDonald, said. “She always wanted to help others.”

So, in 2017, it was natural that she’d go back to work, this time at a nursing home.

As Orchard View’s COVID case count escalated, MacDonald worried. Still, she kept coming in — washing and reusing her N95 respirator and having her temperature taken daily.

Tim Brown, an Orchard View spokesperson, said the facility has “extensive infection control,” satisfying government guidelines. He would not say how often employees receive new N95s.

On April 13, MacDonald began coughing. By April 16, she was hospitalized. Her COVID test came back positive. She died 10 days later ― almost a week after her last conversation with her daughter.

“I said, ‘Mama, we love you,’” Bethany said. “The last words she said to me were, ‘I love you, too.’”

— Shefali Luthra, Kaiser Health News | Published May 12, 2020

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Despite Danger, Semi-Retired Nurse Kept Caring For ER Patients

(Courtesy of the Miles family)

Sheena Miles

Age: 60 Occupation: Registered nurse Place of Work: Scott Regional Hospital in Morton, Mississippi Date of Death: May 1, 2020

At age 60, Sheena Miles was semi-retired. She usually worked every other weekend, but as COVID-19 emerged in Mississippi, she worked four weekends in a row from mid-March to mid-April.

“I’ve got a duty,” she told her son, Tom Miles.

The economy where she lived is dominated by poultry plants, and the county has been a coronavirus hot spot. Sheena was diligent with protective gear, wearing her mask and doubling up on gloves, Tom said. She stayed home when she wasn’t working.

“Losing Sheena has been a tragic loss, as she had been a part of our hospital for 25 years,” said Heather Davis, a hospital administrator.

Sheena took ill on Easter Sunday. By Thursday, Tommy Miles, her husband of 43 years, drove her to the University of Mississippi Medical Center in Jackson.

Two long weeks passed. The family was allowed to say goodbye in person, and on their way into her room, an ICU nurse told them that years ago Sheena had cared for his infant daughter. “‘Your mom saved her life,’” the nurse said.

“That was a little comfort in the storm,” Sheena’s son said.

— Michaela Gibson Morris | Published May 12, 2020

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A Nurse Who Was Living Her Dream Of Working In The U.S.

(Courtesy of Venus Donasco-Delfin)

Anjanette Miller

Age: 38 Occupation: Registered nurse Place of Work: Community First Medical Center and Kindred Chicago Lakeshore in Chicago, and Bridgeway Senior Living in Bensenville, Illinois Date of Death: April 14, 2020

As a child, Anjanette Miller dreamed of becoming a nurse in the U.S. She studied in her native Philippines and worked briefly in Saudi Arabia before fulfilling her wish in 2001.

Miller settled in Chicago and worked as a supervising nurse at three facilities. Her sister, Venus Donasco-Delfin, said Miller got along well with co-workers who shared her work ethic.

“At work, I think, she was strict, but beyond work, she’s a great friend,” Donasco-Delfin said. One of five siblings, she was the “pillar of the family” and supported relatives back home.

“I studied psychology for two years,” Donasco-Delfin said, “but she kept calling me [in the Philippines] and said, ‘No, Venus. … You have to pursue nursing. You will make a difference.’” Donasco-Delfin, now in Canada, became a nurse.

Miller started feeling sick in mid-March and was diagnosed with COVID-19 in early April. She self-isolated, chronicling her illness on YouTube and Facebook. She was hospitalized April 5 and died nine days later.

Miller had hoped to retire to the Philippines and pursue her other passion, filmmaking. Last year she traveled back home to shoot scenes for a project. “The movie she was making is about her life story,” Donasco-Delfin said. “But it’s not finished yet.”

— Danielle Renwick, The Guardian | Published May 12, 2020

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He Took The Time To Put Patients At Ease

(Courtesy of Holy Name Medical Center)

Jesus Villaluz

Age: 75 Occupation: Patient transport worker Place of Work: Holy Name Medical Center in Teaneck, New Jersey Date of Death: April 3, 2020

After Jesus Villaluz died from COVID-19 complications, colleagues lined the hallway at Holy Name Medical Center in Teaneck, New Jersey, to say goodbye. They’d never done that for anyone else.

“Jesus knew many and meant a lot to all of us, so this gesture felt like the right thing to do,” said hospital spokesperson Nicole Urena.

The hospital, and surrounding Bergen County, have been hit hard by the pandemic. By May 8, Holy Name had treated more than 6,000 COVID patients, 181 of whom died.

Villaluz worked at Holy Name for 27 years. In a Facebook post, the hospital memorialized Villaluz’s generosity: He once won a raffle and shared the winnings with colleagues, an anecdote New Jersey Gov. Phil Murphy repeated at a news conference. Family members declined requests for an interview.

Co-worker Hossien Dahdouli said Villaluz’s compassion for patients was exemplary. He never rushed anyone, took the time to chat with patients and was always concerned for their privacy and safety, Dahdouli said.

Years ago, after Dahdouli had a sad day caring for deteriorating ICU patients, he asked Villaluz why he always appeared so happy.

“He said, ‘My worst day at work is better than someone’s best day as a patient.’”

— Anna Almendrala, Kaiser Health News | Published May 12, 2020

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Family Vacations And Reggae Gave Rhythm To His Life

(Courtesy of Nina Batayola)

Don Ryan Batayola

Age: 40 Occupation: Occupational therapist Place of Work: South Mountain Healthcare and Rehabilitation Center in Vauxhall, New Jersey Date of Death: April 4, 2020

April 4 was the day Don and Nina Batayola had planned to leave for London on a 10-day European vacation. Instead, that was the day Don died of COVID-19.

The Springfield, New Jersey, couple loved to travel ― on their own or with their children, Zoie, 10, and Zeth, 8. Disney World. Road trips to Canada. Every year for a week they would savor the beach on North Carolina’s Outer Banks.

Don’s love of reggae music prompted a trip to Jamaica to visit Bob Marley’s birthplace.

The Batayolas, both occupational therapists, moved to New Jersey from the Philippines 13 years ago to pursue their careers.

“He loved to help,” Nina said. “He had such the ability to make everybody smile or laugh.”

Don worked with at least one patient and a handful of colleagues who subsequently tested positive for COVID-19, and in late March, he developed symptoms. Nina came home from work for lunch on March 31 to find him struggling to breathe. She dialed 911.

He was hospitalized, then she also developed COVID symptoms. Self-isolating at home, Nina talked with Don once a day. She thought he seemed stronger but, on the fourth day, his heart suddenly stopped.

— Michelle Andrews | Published May 8, 2020

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Even On ‘The Saddest Day … She Could Make You Laugh’

(Courtesy of Kim Bruner)

Brittany Bruner-Ringo

Age: 32 Occupation: Nurse Place of Work: Silverado Beverly Place in Los Angeles Date of Death: April 20, 2020

When it was Brittany Bruner-Ringo’s turn to pick the family vacation, it was always New Orleans. A city so full of life.

And that is how family described the 32-year-old who left the Oklahoma plains for the excitement of Southern California.

“She always made the best of things,” her mother, Kim Bruner, said. “It could be the saddest day, and she could make you laugh.”

Bruner-Ringo worked at a dementia care center. On March 19, she admitted a patient flown in from New York. She suspected he might have COVID-19, and she was nervous. For fear of frightening the patients, she hadn’t been allowed to wear a mask or gloves, she told her mom by phone that night. (A spokesperson from her employer said, “We have no issues in our environment using appropriate masking and gloves and have followed CDC guidelines throughout this pandemic. We have always had adequate PPE to protect our residents and associates.”)

The following day, the patient grew worse. Bruner-Ringo checked into a hotel to isolate from her roommate. She later tested positive for COVID-19, but when she developed symptoms did not complain ― even to her mom: “She would say, ‘I’m fine. I’m going to beat this. Don’t worry about me.’”

Bruner, a veteran nurse herself, called the hotel front desk for help getting an ambulance to her daughter. She had just hung up with her daughter, who insisted she was fine, while struggling to breathe.

— Samantha Young, Kaiser Health News | Published May 8, 2020

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He And His Wife Shared A Lust For Travel ― And A COVID Diagnosis

(Courtesy of LaKita Bush)

Joshua Bush

Age: 30 Occupation: Nurse and nursing student Place of Work: Benton House of Aiken in Aiken, South Carolina Date of Death: April 17, 2020

Joshua Bush never let his wife, LaKita, forget that she was five hours late for their first date.

“He never held back telling the truth,” LaKita said, with a doleful laugh.

They met online in 2011, each attracted to the other’s lust for travel. For Joshua’s 30th birthday, they took a cruise to Bermuda. He yearned to go farther afield to Tokyo to revel over anime.

Joshua began his nursing career after high school, eventually ending up at Benton House of Aiken, an assisted living facility. Joshua and LaKita, who works in human resources for a hospital, thought it was allergy-related when they both fell ill in late March. Benton House had no confirmed COVID cases at the time, LaKita said. Even still, the staff was taking precautions.

A doctor prescribed Joshua flu medication, but his symptoms — fever and aches but no cough — worsened, and he was admitted to a hospital in Augusta, Georgia, on April 4.

“That was the last time I saw him alive,” LaKita said.

Over the next few days, both tested positive for the coronavirus. Joshua was sedated in the hospital for two weeks and died on April 17. LaKita recovered at home.

Joshua was earning a bachelor’s degree in nursing at the University of South Carolina-Aiken. May would have marked the couple’s fifth anniversary.

— Sarah Varney, Kaiser Health News | Published May 8, 2020

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Her Sudden Death Blindsided Husband And Autistic Son

(Courtesy of Vincent Carmello)

Karen Carmello

Age: 57 Occupation: Licensed practical nurse Place of Work: Maryhaven Center of Hope in Port Jefferson Station, New York Date of Death: April 16, 2020

Karen Carmello had an intimate understanding of working with intellectually disabled patients.

Her 26-year-old son, Steven, has autism. According to her husband, Vincent, the two spoke by phone every day. Steven would recall exactly what he did, and Karen listened intently.

“She could do no wrong in his eyes, ever,” Vincent said. “It’s a very special bond, but it’s one that she earned.”

Sharing the news of her death was shattering: “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do — letting him know.”

When Karen took ill, she discovered that a patient in her ward had tested positive for COVID-19. She was hospitalized March 23. Eight days later, she sent Vincent her last text, at 2:17 a.m., before going to the ICU.

On April 16, hospital staff called and asked whether Vincent would be comfortable signing a do-not-resuscitate order. He hadn’t been able to see his wife, so he didn’t completely grasp how grave her condition was.

“I thought, ‘OK, this must be a formality,'” he said. “I authorized it. And I got a call within two hours that she passed. I was stunned.”

— Shoshana Dubnow, Kaiser Health News | Published May 8, 2020

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His Facebook Posts Left Clues Of A Tragic Timeline

(Courtesy of Felicia Dodson-Hill)

Maurice Dotson

Age: 51 Occupation: Certified nursing assistant Place of Work: West Oaks Nursing and Rehabilitation Center in Austin, Texas Date of Death: April 17, 2020

Maurice Dotson’s sister knew something was wrong when her older brother didn’t post his daily Facebook update.

“We knew he was good as long as he posted every morning,” Felicia Dodson-Hill, of Jacksonville, Arkansas, said.

Dotson, 51 ― a certified nursing assistant for 25 years at the West Oaks Nursing and Rehabilitation Center in Austin — had begun caring for COVID-19 patients.

He sounded positive on Facebook, posting on March 30: “We are going through scary, difficult times, but better days are coming.”

Days later, family in Arkansas couldn’t reach him.

“We had been trying to get in contact with him since April 1st,” his sister said. “On April 3rd, he posted that he had to go to the hospital ― that he was not feeling good.”

Dodson-Hill said the hospital sent him home. Her mother finally reached him on April 6 or 7.

“He told my mom he didn’t have the energy to barely talk,” Dodson-Hill said.

Dawunna Wilson, a cousin from Hazen, Arkansas, said Maurice called an ambulance on April 8. Results from his coronavirus test done at the hospital came back positive the next day. “From there, it was pretty much downhill,” Wilson said.

— Sharon Jayson | Published May 5, 2020

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Community Salutes Nurse Who Loved Baseball

(Courtesy of Leigh Ann Lewis)

Barbara Finch

Age: 63 Occupation: Licensed practical nurse Place of Work: Southern Virginia Regional Medical Center in Emporia, Virginia Date of Death: March 29, 2020

When Barbara Finch got excited, she’d scrunch her hands into fists and wave them around like a kid at Christmas. She did it when the Atlanta Braves scored, or while watching her grandkids play baseball, her No. 1 passion outside work.

Finch spent her 37-year nursing career in the emergency department of the hospital in Emporia, Virginia (population of about 5,000), where one of her four children, Leigh Ann Lewis, worked as an EMT.

Lewis knew her mother was well liked: Patients she transported from the hospital would rave that Finch had been sweet and compassionate.

Finch fell ill on March 17 and died in an ICU 12 days later. As a hearse carried her casket to the graveyard, Lewis said, people lined the way at driveway mailboxes, churches and stores, holding signs that read, “We love you,” “Praying for you,” “Hugs.” At her hospital, employees released balloons to the sky.

“It seemed like, in our area, she knew everybody — either she worked with them, or they were a patient of hers at some point,” Lewis said. “It was a very, very large outpour of love and comfort and solidarity.”

— Melissa Bailey | Published May 8, 2020

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‘He Loved To Work,’ With No Plans To Retire

(Courtesy Giancarlo Pattugalan)

Tomas Pattugalan

Age: 70 Occupation: Internal medicine physician Place of Work: Private practice in Jamaica, Queens, New York Date of Death: March 29, 2020

Tomas Pattugalan’s kids had been encouraging him to retire. Even after 45 years of medicine, Pattugalan wasn’t ready to slow down.

“He loved his patients. He loved to work. He loved to help others,” said Giancarlo, his son. “He had an enormous capacity to give of himself.”

A father of three, Pattugalan grew up in the Philippines, immigrating to the U.S. in the 1970s. He was a devout Catholic — attending Mass weekly ― and “karaoke master,” Giancarlo said.

In early March, Pattugalan began testing patients for COVID-19. His medical history, including a family history of strokes and high blood pressure, heightened his own risk. So after tests of two patients returned positive, he got tested himself. On March 24, he learned he had the coronavirus.

“He made a joke and said Prince Charles had tested [positive] too, and he was sharing royalty,” Giancarlo said. “He was making light of it, not trying to get any of us worried.”

Pattugalan had a cough. Then came wheezing. His oxygen levels dropped. He tried hydroxychloroquine, an experimental treatment touted by President Donald Trump that has yielded mixed results. Nothing helped.

On March 29, Pattugalan agreed to seek hospital care. He died that day.

— Shefali Luthra, Kaiser Health News | Published May 8, 2020

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Says Widow Battling Cancer: ‘He Was My Backbone’

(Courtesy of Melissa Castro Santos)

Darrin Santos

Age: 50 Occupation: Transportation supervisor Place of Work: NewYork-Presbyterian Westchester Behavioral Health Center in White Plains, New York Date of Death: April 4, 2020

Melissa Castro Santos had just started a new treatment for multiple myeloma when her husband, Darrin, got sick.

For nearly two weeks, he isolated in their bedroom, but after he began gasping for air, he went to the hospital. He died of COVID-19 days later.

“It’s just unbelievable,” Castro Santos said.

As a transportation supervisor, Santos delivered health care workers and equipment between hospitals in the New York metropolitan area. He loved his job, Castro Santos said, and was known to drive doctors wherever and whenever they were needed, through heavy traffic and snowstorms.

Castro Santos, who has been battling cancer since 2012, said her husband doted on their three teenagers, all avid athletes. He arranged his work schedule to attend as many of their games as possible. When he couldn’t make it, she would call him on FaceTime so he could catch glimpses of the action.

Unable to hold a funeral, they arranged for burial five days after Santos died. Friends lined the streets in cars in a show of support as the family drove to and from the cemetery.

Now Castro Santos is confronting cancer without her husband. “He was my backbone. He was the one who took me to chemotherapy and appointments.”

— Anna Jean Kaiser, The Guardian | Published May 8, 2020

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An Animal Lover Who Loved Aerospace, She Died Alone At Home

(Courtesy of Aubree Farmer)

Lisa Ewald

Age: 53 Occupation: Registered nurse Place of Work: Henry Ford Hospital in Detroit Date of Death: April 1, 2020

Lisa Ewald was a nurse to many living things, human and otherwise.

When her neighbor Alexis Fernandez’s border collie had a stomach blockage, Ewald hooked the dog up to an IV four times a day. “She was this dedicated nurse who nursed my dog back to health,” Fernandez said.

Ewald also loved gardening, aerospace and comic book conventions.

Ewald told Fernandez that a patient she had treated later tested positive for COVID-19, and that she was not wearing a mask at the time. Two days later, after seeing the patient, she got sick. After delays in accessing a test, she learned on March 30 that she was infected with the coronavirus.

A hospital spokesperson acknowledged that staff who treat coronavirus patients have a higher risk of exposure, but said there was “no way to confirm” how a staff member contracted the virus.

On March 31, Ewald didn’t answer when Fernandez texted her. The next day, Fernandez and a hospital nurse went to Ewald’s home to check on her and found her unresponsive on the couch.

“I said, ‘Aren’t you going to go take her pulse or anything?’” Fernandez said. “The nurse just said, ‘She’s gone.’”

— Melissa Bailey | Published May 5, 2020

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An Ardent EMT Who Seemed To Have Nine Lives

(Courtesy of Ben Geiger)

Scott Geiger

Age: 47 Occupation: Emergency medical technician Place of Work: Atlantic Health System in Mountainside and Warren, New Jersey Date of Death: April 13, 2020

Scott Geiger wasn’t always enthusiastic about school, but at age 16 he brought home a tome the size of two phone books. It was a manual for emergency medical technicians, and he devoured it, said his younger brother, Ben Geiger.

Scott was certified as an EMT at 17. He never married or had kids, but did not seem to miss those things.

“He was so focused on being an EMT and helping people in their most vulnerable and desperate moments,” Ben said. “That’s really what made him feel good.”

Scott loved playing pool each week with friends. He was a loyal New York Jets football fan, content to joke about their follies and watch them lose. He was quiet. And he seemed to have nine lives, his brother said, surviving hospitalizations for epilepsy as a kid and blood cancer around age 40.

When the coronavirus began to tear a path through northern New Jersey, he faced his EMT work with resolve. He downplayed his symptoms when he first fell ill in late March, but wound up spending 17 days on a ventilator before he died. The family has had to mourn separately, with the brothers’ father, who lived with Scott, in quarantine, and their mother confined to her room in a nursing home that has COVID-19 cases.

— Christina Jewett, Kaiser Health News | Published May 5, 2020

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Caring Nurse ‘Always Put Herself Last’

(Courtesy of Lisa Lococo)

Theresa Lococo

Age: 68 Occupation: Pediatric nurse Place of Work: Kings County Hospital in Brooklyn, New York Date of Death: March 27, 2020

Theresa Lococo spent most of her life at the hospital, working as a pediatric nurse for almost 48 years.

“There wasn’t a day that goes by she wouldn’t come home and tell me about her patients,” said her daughter, Lisa Lococo. “She had to be forced to take her vacation days.”

New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio publicly saluted her lifelong service to New Yorkers, saying, “She gave her life helping others.”

Theresa had dogs — “sometimes too many,” Lisa said — and lived with her son, Anthony, in the home she owned for decades. She loved cooking and watching cooking shows, reading and following soap operas.

Theresa wasn’t tested for COVID-19. But Kings County Hospital, in Brooklyn, was hit hard by the coronavirus.

Days before dying, she described nausea. Friends recalled a cough. Her supervisor encouraged her to stay home, her daughter said.

Lisa called her mother on March 27, just as Anthony was dialing 911 for help.

“She always put others first,” Lisa said. “She always put herself last.”

— Shefali Luthra, Kaiser Health News | Published May 5, 2020

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He Was Full Of Life And Planning For The Future

(Courtesy of the Luna family)

Felicisimo “Tom” Luna

Age: 62 Occupation: Emergency room nurse Place of Work: Trinitas Regional Medical Center in Elizabeth, New Jersey Date of Death: April 9, 2020

Tom Luna was a joker, a lively and outgoing man who thrived on the fast-paced and varied action of the emergency room. He also adored his three daughters, something clear to all who knew him.

“Tom was a fantastic emergency nurse. He was well liked and loved by his peers,” Gerard Muench, administrative director of the Trinitas emergency department, said in a statement. “His greatest love was for his wife and daughters, who he was very proud of.”

His oldest daughter, Gabrielle, 25, followed his path to become an ER nurse. When Tom fell ill with the coronavirus, he was admitted to the hospital where she works. At the end of her 12-hour night shifts, she made sure he had breakfast and helped him change his clothes. She propped a family photo next to his bed.

Tom’s wife, Kit, also a nurse, said that when some of his symptoms appeared to let up, they talked about him recovering at home. He was a planner, she said, and was already talking about their next family vacation, maybe to Spain.

— Christina Jewett | Published May 5, 2020

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Air Force Veteran Went ‘Above And Beyond For Patients’

Michael Marceaux and his wife, Dunia, when he graduated from nursing school in 2018 (Courtesy of Drake Marceaux)

Michael Marceaux

Age: 49 Occupation: Registered nurse Place of Work: Christus Highland Medical Center and Brentwood Hospital in Shreveport, Louisiana Date of Death: April 16, 2020

After Michael Marceaux retired from the Air Force, he went back to school. In 2018 he launched a new career as an emergency room nurse.

“Everyone who worked with him said he was so happy,” said Drake Marceaux, one of his four sons. “He was willing to go above and beyond for patients.”

As the coronavirus spread throughout Louisiana, Michael developed a cough and fever. Soon afterward, he tested positive for COVID-19.

“He didn’t seem too worried,” Drake said. “He just wanted to make sure not to give it to other people.”

A spokesperson with Christus Health said Michael would be missed for “how he always had a positive attitude, even after a hard shift. His laughter brought joy to others.” The spokesperson declined to answer questions about workplace safety conditions.

Drake said he wanted his father to be remembered for how much he was loved.

His funeral was livestreamed on Facebook. “At one point, there were 2,000 viewers watching his service,” Drake said. “As much as he didn’t want attention, it gravitated toward him.”

— Victoria Knight, Kaiser Health News | Published May 5, 2020

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She Loved To Give Gifts And Never Forgot Her Hometown

(Courtesy of Courtesy of Donald Jay Marcos)

Celia Lardizabal Marcos

Age: 61 Occupation: Telemetry charge nurse Place of Work: CHA Hollywood Presbyterian Medical Center in Los Angeles Date of Death: April 17, 2020

Whenever she traveled to her hometown of Tagudin in the Philippines, Celia Lardizabal Marcos showered family with gifts and delighted in planning weekend outings for everyone, said her eldest son, Donald.

And when she returned home to California, she brought presents for her sons. “She always thought of how her family could be happy,” he said.

Trained as a nurse in her home country, Marcos immigrated to the United States in 2001 and settled in Los Angeles. Three years later, she became a telemetry charge nurse, a specialist who tracks patients’ vital signs using high-tech equipment.

On April 3, she was one of three nurses who responded after a suspected COVID patient went into cardiac arrest. Wearing a surgical mask, she intubated the patient. Three days later, she had a headache, body aches and difficulty breathing.

Her symptoms worsened, and she was admitted April 15 to the hospital where she had worked for 16 years. That was the last time Donald spoke to his mother. Two days later, she went into cardiac arrest and died that night.

Her sons plan to honor her wishes to be cremated and buried in Tagudin, alongside her parents.

— Christina M. Oriel, Asian Journal | Published May 5, 2020

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‘Hero Among Heroes,’ Doctor Cared For Generations Of Patients

Francis Molinari (right) with his siblings (from left) Janice, Albert and Lisa (Courtesy of Lisa Molinari)

Francis Molinari

Age: 70 Occupation: Physician Place of Work: Private practice in Belleville, New Jersey; privileges at Clara Maass Medical Center Date of Death: April 9, 2020

In late March, Dr. Francis “Frankie” Molinari told his sister Lisa he was “down for the count,” with chills, fever and trouble breathing.

“Frankie, you know what you have,” she recalled telling him.

“Yes.”

Two days later, he collapsed at home and was rushed to Clara Maass Medical Center. Colleagues stayed by his side as he succumbed to COVID-19.

“We take solace in the fact that he was cared for by colleagues and friends who deeply loved and respected him,” his sister Janice wrote in a blog. “He died a hero among heroes.”

Molinari, a New Jersey native who was married with an adult daughter, was the oldest of four siblings. His sisters describe him as a positive guy who loved music, fishing and teasing people with tall tales: He went to medical school in Bologna, Italy, and he liked to say he had played pinochle with the pope.

Molinari practiced medicine for over four decades, caring for generations of patients in the same family. His family suspects he contracted the coronavirus at his private practice.

“A friend had once described us as four different legs of the same table,” Janice wrote. “Now I’m stuck on the fact that we are only a three-legged table. Less beautiful, less sturdy. Broken.”

— Laura Ungar, Kaiser Health News | Published May 5, 2020

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5-Foot-Tall ‘Fireball’ Was A Prankster To Her Sons

(Courtesy Josh Banago)

Celia Yap-Banago

Age: 69 Occupation: Registered nurse Place of Work: Research Medical Center in Kansas City, Missouri Date of Death: April 21, 2020

Celia Yap-Banago was a 5-foot-tall “fireball,” said one co-worker. She had moved to the U.S. from the Philippines in 1970 and worked for nearly 40 years for the HCA Midwest Health system. Her family said she was planning for retirement.

Her son Josh said she showed her love through practical jokes: “You knew she loved you if she was yelling at you or if she was pranking you.”

“She was very outspoken,” said Charlene Carter, a fellow nurse. “But I later learned that’s a really good quality to have, as a nurse, so you can advocate for your patients and advocate for yourself.”

In March, Yap-Banago treated a patient who later tested positive for COVID-19. Carter said Yap-Banago was not given personal protective equipment because she was not working in an area designed for COVID patients. She spent her final days in isolation to protect others.

A spokesperson for HCA Midwest Health said that medical staff received adequate personal protective equipment in line with CDC guidelines.

Josh said she spoke with reverence of her patients and their families. “She was always focused on the family as a whole, and that the family was taken care of, not just the patient in the bed,” he said.

— Alex Smith, KCUR | Published May 5, 2020

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In Ministry And Rescue Missions, ‘He Put His All Into It’

(Courtesy of the Birmingham Family)

Billy Birmingham Sr.

Age: 69 Occupation: Emergency medical technician Place of Work: Kansas City Missouri Fire Department Date of Death: April 13, 2020

Bill Birmingham Jr. fondly remembers the year his father took on a new career. The whole family studied, even acting out scenes to ensure Billy Birmingham Sr., a minister, was ready for his emergency medical technician exam.

“He put his all into it,” the son recalled.

Billy Birmingham passed the test. And from the late 1990s on, he served as an EMT and a minister.

His family rallied again for his doctorate in pastoral theology. During nearly four decades as a minister, he founded two churches.

“He had a heart for other people,” his son said. “Whatever he could do for other people, he would do it.”

As an EMT with the Kansas City Fire Missouri Department, he was exposed to the novel coronavirus. The cough came in March.

“‘I’m just tired.’ That’s what he kept saying,” his son said. His dad went to the hospital twice. The first time he told the staff about his symptoms and underlying health conditions, then they sent him home.

The second time he arrived in an ambulance. Just over two weeks later, his final hours arrived.

Hospital staff set up a video chat so his family could see him one last time.

— Cara Anthony, Kaiser Health News | Published May 1, 2020

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Jovial Man Trained Scores Of Doctors In Obstetrics, Gynecology And Kindness

(Courtesy of Ashley Ulker)

Luis Caldera-Nieves

Age: 63 Occupation: OB-GYN doctor Place of Work: University of Miami and Jackson health systems in Miami Date of Death: April 8, 2020

“Somos felices.” That was Dr. Luis Caldera-Nieves’ signature signoff after a cesarean section or patient visit or at the end of a difficult shift. “We’re happy,” he meant, and often, when he was around, it was true.

Caldera-Nieves, a popular OB-GYN, trained scores of doctors and helped bring thousands of babies into the world in his 25 years at the University of Miami and Jackson health systems.

Born in Bayamón, Puerto Rico, he worked as an Air Force doctor before joining UM, said longtime co-worker Dr. Jaime Santiago. Caldera-Nieves was so devoted to his patients that he often gave them his private phone number — and his wife’s, Santiago said.

Because he was so jovial, he earned the nickname “the Puerto Rican Santa Claus,” Santiago said.

“He was truly loved and admired by everyone who worked with him, and will be remembered for his humor and never-ending positive energy,” said Dr. Jean-Marie Stephan, who trained under Caldera-Nieves.

In a statement, UM and Jackson confirmed Caldera-Nieves died from complications of COVID-19 and said they “grieve the loss of our esteemed and beloved colleague.” He is survived by his wife and six adult children.

— Melissa Bailey | Published May 1, 2020

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A Cluster Of Illness Robs Community Of Another Fearless EMT

(Courtesy of Vito Cicchetti)

Kevin Leiva

Age: 24 Occupation: Emergency medical technician Place of Work: Saint Clare’s Health in Passaic, New Jersey Date of Death: April 7, 2020

When Kevin Leiva died of COVID-19 in early April, it was a second crushing loss to his close-knit team of EMT workers. Their colleague, Israel Tolentino Jr., had died one week before.

“People were scared that everyone was going to die from it,” said Vito Cicchetti, a director at Saint Clare’s Health, where the men worked. “After Izzy died, we all started getting scared for Kevin.”

Leiva, according to an obituary, “was always worried about his crew.” He was “very proud” of his work and was recalled to have said “becoming an EMT was an act of God.”

He met his wife, Marina, online while they were in high school. She moved a thousand miles to build a life with him. He loved spending time at their home, playing guitar and tending to his tegu lizards, AJ and Blue.

As COVID-19 ramped up, the station’s three ambulances each handled up to 15 dispatches a shift, roughly double the usual number. In a busy 12-hour shift, EMTs often responded to calls continuously, stopping only to decontaminate themselves and the truck.

Leiva “always had a joke” that helped to defuse stressful situations and bring his co-workers together, Cicchetti said.

— Michelle Andrews | Published May 1, 2020

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Firefighting And ‘Helping People’ Were In His Blood

(Courtesy of the Terre Haute Fire Department)

John Schoffstall

Age: 41 Occupation: Paramedic and firefighter Place of Work: Terre Haute Fire Department in Terre Haute, Indiana Date of Death: April 12, 2020

John Schoffstall grew up around firehouses, and it was at his own firehouse in Terre Haute, Indiana, that he was exposed to the coronavirus.

A paramedic and firefighter with the Terre Haute Fire Department for almost 12 years, Schoffstall died April 12 at age 41. Deputy Chief Glen Hall said investigations by the county health department and his own department “determined John contracted the virus from another firefighter in the firehouse.” Four other firefighters “had symptoms but none progressed.”

“We respond every day to potential COVID patients,” Hall said.

Jennifer Schoffstall, his wife of 18 years, said her husband went to the hospital March 28.

“His breathing was so bad in the ER, they just decided to keep him,” she said. “He regressed from there.”

Hall said Schoffstall’s “biggest hobby was his family,” with a son, 17, and a daughter, 13.

Schoffstall’s father had been a volunteer firefighter, Jennifer said, and her husband signed up for the New Goshen Volunteer Fire Department when he turned 18.

“He loved the fire service and everything about it,” she said. “He loved helping people.”

— Sharon Jayson | Published May 1, 2020

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Boston Nurse, A Former Bus Driver, Was A Champion For Education

(Courtesy of Teadris Pope)

Rose Taldon

Age: 63 Occupation: Nurse Place of Work: New England Baptist Hospital in Boston Date of Death: April 12, 2020

Rose Taldon was just 5 feet tall. But when she bellowed out the window, her kids ran right home.

“She didn’t take any crap,” said her daughter, Teadris Pope.

Taldon raised three children with her husband on the street where she grew up in Dorchester, Boston. She was respected as a strong black woman, earning a nursing degree while working in public transit for 23 years. Described as stern, she still was quick to tickle her eight grandkids.

Taldon was generous: Even as she lay in a hospital in April, exhausted from the coronavirus, she arranged to pay bills for an out-of-work friend, her daughter said.

It’s unclear whether Taldon caught the virus at her hospital, designated for non-COVID patients. Hospital officials said three patients and 22 staff have tested positive.

Once her mother was hospitalized, Pope couldn’t visit. On Easter morning, a doctor called at 2 a.m., offering to put Taldon on a video call.

“I just talked until I had no words,” Pope said. “I was just telling her, ‘We’re so proud of you. You worked so hard raising us. … You’ve gone through a hell of a fight.'”

An hour later, her mother was gone.

— Melissa Bailey | Published May 1, 2020

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Unflappable First Responder With An Ever-Ready Smile

(Courtesy of Vito Cicchetti)

Israel Tolentino Jr.

Age: 33 Occupation: Emergency medical technician and firefighter Place of Work: Saint Clare’s Health and the Passaic Fire Department, both in Passaic, New Jersey Date of Death: March 31, 2020

When Israel Tolentino Jr. arrived for his EMT shift one morning in March, he seemed fine. Then he got a headache. Then a fever came on, and he was sent home, said Vito Cicchetti, a director at Saint Clare’s Health.

Izzy, as he was called, was an EMT who fulfilled his dream to become a firefighter. In 2018, the former Marine took a job with the Passaic Fire Department but kept up shifts at Saint Clare’s.

He was husband to Maria Vazquez, whom he’d met at church, according to nj.com. They had two young children.

The work pace could be brutal during the pandemic. In a 12-hour shift, Tolentino and his partner were dispatched to one emergency after another, each typically lasting under an hour but requiring nearly that long to decontaminate their gear and truck.

Izzy died in hospital care. The coronavirus tore through his EMT team. Most eventually recovered. But his friend and co-worker Kevin Leiva also died.

Izzy’s unflappable, cheerful presence is missed, Cicchetti said: “No matter how mad you were, he’d come up with a smile and you’d be chuckling to yourself.”

Cicchetti hasn’t replaced either man: “I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet.”

— Michelle Andrews | Published May 1, 2020

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Their Decade-Long Dream Marriage Ends In Nightmare

(Courtesy of the Detroit Fire Department)

Capt. Franklin Williams

Age: 57 Occupation: Firefighter and medical first responder Place of Work: Detroit Fire Department in Detroit Date of Death: April 8, 2020

Capt. Franklin Williams stood at the altar on his wedding day and pretended to hunt for the ring. He patted his chest, then his pants legs and looked up at his soon-to-be wife with a million-dollar smile.

He was always clowning and “so silly,” said Shanita Williams, his wife, recalling how he wanted to make her laugh. Williams, 57, died from complications of the novel coronavirus on April 8 — one month before the couple’s 10-year wedding anniversary.

Williams had been on an emergency call with a verified COVID patient before falling ill, according to Detroit Fire Department Chief Robert Distelrath. He died in the line of duty.

Crews are equipped with personal protective equipment including a gown, N95 mask and gloves. But it’s easy for a mask to slip ― “when you’re giving [chest] compressions, your mask isn’t staying in place all the time,” said Thomas Gehart, president of the Detroit Fire Fighters Association.

When Williams fell sick on March 24, he moved to the guest bedroom and never returned to work.

“I’m thankful and thank God for having him in my life,” Shanita said, adding that she keeps hoping this is a nightmare and she’ll soon wake up.

— Sarah Jane Tribble, Kaiser Health News | Published May 1, 2020

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A 9/11 First Responder, He Answered The Call During The Pandemic

(Courtesy of the Valley Stream Fire Department)

Mike Field

Age: 59 Occupation: Volunteer emergency medical technician Place of Work: Village of Valley Stream on New York’s Long Island Date of Death: April 8, 2020

Mike Field had a strong sense of civic duty. An emergency medical technician, he was a first responder with the New York Fire Department (FDNY) on 9/11. He was also a member of his community’s all-volunteer fire department since 1987.

After he retired from FDNY in 2002, he took a job making and posting street signs with his local public works department. He continued to volunteer with Valley Stream’s fire department and mentoring the junior fire department. When he wasn’t responding to emergencies or training future emergency technicians, he led a Boy Scout troop and volunteered for animal causes.

“Here’s somebody who cares about the community and cares about its people,” said Valley Stream’s mayor, Ed Fare, who had known Mike since the seventh grade.

Stacey Field, Mike’s wife, said he found his calling early, after his own father experienced a heart attack. “When the fire department EMTs came and helped his dad, he decided that’s what he wanted to do,” she said.

Their three sons ― Steven, 26; Richie, 22; and Jason, 19 — have followed in their father’s footsteps. Steven and Richie are EMTs in New York; Jason plans on training to become one as well. All three volunteer at the same fire station their father did.

In late March, Mike and fellow volunteer responders were called to an emergency involving a patient showing symptoms of COVID-19. Field died on April 8.

— Sharon Jayson | Published April 29, 2020

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Nurse Fought For His Life In Same ICU Where He Cared For Patients

(Courtesy of Romielyn Guillermo)

Ali Dennis Guillermo

Age: 44 Occupation: Nurse Place of Work: Long Island Community Hospital in East Patchogue, New York Date of Death: April 7, 2020

In 2004, Ali Dennis Guillermo, his wife, Romielyn, and their daughter came to New York from the Philippines to find a better life.

Everything fell into place. The former nursing instructor landed a job at Long Island Community Hospital, often working in intensive care or the emergency room. He enjoyed the intensity of ER work, his wife said. As years passed, the couple had two sons and settled into a close-knit Philippine community.

As COVID-19 emerged, Guillermo was posted to the step-down floor, working with patients transitioning out of intensive care.

A lot of the nurses on his floor had gotten sick with the virus, his wife said, and “everybody was scared.”

And then, Guillermo felt achy, with a fever that soared to 102. He went to the hospital and X-rays were taken, but he was sent home. Within days, his blood oxygen level plummeted.

“My nails are turning blue,” he told his wife. “You should take me to the ER.”

He was admitted that night in late March, and they never spoke again.

In the ICU unit where he’d often worked, Guillermo was intubated and treated. Nearly two weeks later, he died.

— Michelle Andrews | Published April 29, 2020

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An Eager Student, He Aimed To Become A Physician Assistant

(Courtesy of Catrisha House-Phelps)

James House

Age: 40 Occupation: Registered nurse Place of Work: Omni Continuing Care nursing home in Detroit Date of Death: March 31, 2020

James House had a voracious appetite for learning about and a fascination with the human body.

His sister, Catrisha House-Phelps, traces it back to childhood visits to a dialysis center where their father received treatments. “That was what tugged at his heart,” she said. “He just always wanted to know ‘why.’”

House-Phelps said her brother adored his five children, treasured his anatomy and physiology books and got a kick out of the residents he cared for at Omni Continuing Care. “He thought they were family; he just said they were funny people,” she said. He had hoped to go back to school to become a physician assistant.

House came down with what he thought was the flu in mid-March. His sister said he tried to get tested for COVID-19 but was turned away because he was not showing textbook symptoms and had no underlying health issues. On March 31, after resting at home for over a week, House returned to work. Hours later, he collapsed and was rushed to the hospital.

He texted his sister with updates on his condition. “I’m about to be intubated now,” he wrote. It was the last message he sent her.

— Danielle Renwick, The Guardian | Published April 29, 2020

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She Loved A Parade And Catering To Patients

Pamela Hughes and her daughter, Brie (Courtesy of Angie McAllister)

Pamela Hughes

Age: 50 Occupation: Nursing home medication aide Place of Work: Signature HealthCARE at Summit Manor in Columbia, Kentucky Date of Death: April 13, 2020

Pamela Hughes lived her entire life in rural Columbia, Kentucky, but longed for wide, sandy beaches. For vacation, Hughes and her daughter, Brie, 26, eagerly drove 14 hours to Daytona Beach, Florida, or Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.

After high school, Hughes worked at Summit Manor, a nursing home in Columbia, for 32 years. She knew which residents preferred chocolate milk or applesauce with their medication; she remembered their favorite outfits and colors. Hughes’ shy demeanor vanished each December when she and co-worker Angie McAllister built a float for the town’s Christmas parade competition.

“We built 10 floats over 10 years,” McAllister said. “We got second place every year.”

Even after several residents tested positive for the coronavirus, Hughes dismissed her worsening cough as allergies or bronchitis. The nursing home was short on help and she wanted to serve her patients, Brie said.

Days later, the public health department suggested her mother get tested. She tested positive, and her health worsened — food tasted bitter, her fever soared, her hearing dulled. On April 10, Hughes was taken by ambulance to a hospital, then by helicopter to Jewish Hospital in Louisville. Barred from visiting, Brie said goodbye over FaceTime.

— Sarah Varney, Kaiser Health News | Published April 29, 2020

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The Family Matriarch And ‘We’re Failing Miserably Without Her’

(Courtesy of Ginu John)

Aleyamma John

Age: 65 Occupation: Registered nurse Place of Work: Queens Hospital Center in New York City Date of Death: April 5, 2020

Aleyamma John’s family wanted her to retire. Her husband, Johnny, an MTA transit worker, had stopped working a few years earlier. He and their son Ginu urged her to follow suit. “We told her, ‘I’m sure Dad wants to see the world with you — you need to give him that opportunity,’” Ginu said.

She demurred. “I think she found fulfillment in being able to serve,” Ginu said. “She was able to hold people’s hands, you know, even when they were deteriorating and be there for them.” She began her career as a nurse in India 45 years ago; she and her husband immigrated to the United Arab Emirates, where their two sons were born, and moved to New York in 2002.

Ginu said his mother, a devout Christian, found joy in tending to her vegetable garden and doting on her two grandchildren. She cooked dishes from her native India and filled the Long Island home she shared with Johnny, Ginu and Ginu’s family with flowers.

In March, as Queens Hospital Center began to swell with COVID-19 patients, John sent her family a photo of herself and colleagues wearing surgical hats and masks but not enough personal protective equipment. Days later, she developed a fever and tested positive for the virus. Johnny, Ginu and Ginu’s wife, Elsa, a nurse practitioner, also became ill.

When John’s breathing became labored, her family made the difficult decision to call 911. It would be the last time they saw her. “We’re 17 days in, and I feel like we’re failing miserably without her,” Ginu said.

— Danielle Renwick, The Guardian | Published April 29, 2020

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‘A Kind Man’ Looking Forward To Retirement

(Courtesy of Jesse Soto)

Thomas Soto

Age: 59 Occupation: Radiology clerk Place of Work: Woodhull Medical Center, a public hospital in Brooklyn, New York Date of Death: April 7, 2020

After more than 30 years at one of New York City’s busy public hospitals, Thomas Soto loved his job but was looking forward to retiring, said his son, Jesse Soto, who lived with him.

At Soto’s busy station near the emergency room, he greeted patients and took down their information.

“Everybody saw him before their X-rays,” Soto, 29, said. “He smiled all day, made jokes. He was a kind man.”

As COVID patients began to overwhelm Woodhull and other emergency rooms across the city, Soto said that at first his father didn’t have any protective gear.

He eventually got a mask. But he still grew very sick, developing a high fever, body aches and a wracking cough. After a week, Soto said, “he couldn’t take it anymore.”

He went to Woodhull, where he was admitted. When they tried to put him on a ventilator two days later, he died. The hospital did not respond to requests for comment.

— Michelle Andrews | Published April 29, 2020

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‘Blooming’ In Her First Job On Path To Becoming A Nurse

(Courtesy of the Viveros family via GoFundMe)

Valeria Viveros

Age: 20 Occupation: Nursing assistant Place of Work: Extended Care Hospital of Riverside, California Date of Death: April 5, 2020

At 20 years old, Valeria Viveros was “barely blooming,” developing the skills and ambition to pursue a nursing career, said Gustavo Urrea, her uncle. Working at Extended Care Hospital of Riverside was her first job.

Viveros, born in California to Mexican immigrants, grew attached to her patients at the nursing home, bringing them homemade ceviche, Urrea said. About a month ago, as he watched her cook, play and joke with her grandmother, he noticed how much her social skills had grown.

When she would say “Hi, Tío,” in her playful, sweet, high-pitched voice, “it was like the best therapy you could have,” Urrea recalled. Viveros, who lived with her parents and two siblings, was enrolled in classes at a community college.

Viveros felt sick on March 30, went to a nearby hospital and was sent home with Tylenol, Urrea said. By April 4, she couldn’t get out of bed on her own. She left in an ambulance and never came back.

“We’re all destroyed,” he said. “I can’t even believe it.”

On April 5, county health officials reported a coronavirus outbreak had sickened 30 patients and some staff at her nursing home. Trent Evans, general counsel for Extended Care, said staffers are heartbroken by her death.

Viveros was “head over heels in love with the residents that she served,” he said. “She was always there for them.”

— Melissa Bailey | Published April 29, 2020

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Surgical Technician Made Friends Everywhere She Went

(Courtesy of Jorge Casarez)

Monica Echeverri Casarez

Age: 49 Occupation: Surgical technician Place of Work: Detroit Medical Center Harper University Hospital in Detroit Date of Death: April 11, 2020

Monica Echeverri Casarez was in constant motion, said her husband, Jorge Casarez. The daughter of Colombian immigrants, she worked as a Spanish-English interpreter in clinical settings. She was the kind of person whose arrival at a mom and pop restaurant would elicit hugs from the owners. She also co-founded Southwest Detroit Restaurant Week, a nonprofit that supports local businesses.

Twice a month, she scrubbed in as a surgical technician at Harper University Hospital. “She liked discovering the beauty of how the body works and how science is clear and orderly,” Casarez said. She was organized and intuitive, qualities that are assets in the operating room. On March 21, she posted a photo of herself in protective gear with the caption: “I’d be lying if I said I wan’t at least a bit nervous to be there now.” Since many elective surgeries had been canceled, Echeverri Casarez was tasked with taking the temperatures of people who walked into the hospital and making sure their hands were sterilized.

Soon after, Echeverri Casarez and Casarez began feeling ill. Quarantined together, Echeverri Casarez tried to make the best of the situation. She baked her husband a cake — chocolate with white frosting. She died a few days later.

— Danielle Renwick, The Guardian | Published April 24, 2020

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A Whip-Smart Neurologist Endlessly Fascinated With The Brain

(Courtesy of Jennifer Sclar)

Gary Sclar

Age: 66 Occupation: Neurologist Place of Work: Mount Sinai Queens in New York City Date of Death: April 12, 2020

Gary Sclar was a whip-smart neurologist who loved comic books, “Game of Thrones” and “Star Wars,” said his daughter, Jennifer Sclar. He was deeply compassionate with a blunt bedside manner.

“My dad was fascinated with the brain and with science,” Jennifer Sclar said. “His work was his passion, and it’s what made him the happiest, besides my brother and me.” Set to retire in June, he was looking forward to writing about politics and neurology.

Gary Sclar saw patients who were showing COVID-19 symptoms and knew his age and underlying health conditions ― he had diabetes — put him at risk for developing complications from the illness. His daughter pleaded with him to stop going to the hospital.

In early April, he mentioned having lost his sense of smell, and on April 8 he collapsed in his home. He was hospitalized a few days later and agreed to be intubated. “I don’t think he realized, like, that this was the end,” Jennifer Sclar said. “He brought his keys. He brought his wallet.”

— Danielle Renwick, The Guardian | Published April 24, 2020

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An Exacting But Loving Aunt, She Was A Mentor Until The End

(Courtesy of Jhoanna Mariel Buendia)

Araceli Buendia Ilagan

Age: 63 Occupation: Intensive care unit nurse Place of Work: Jackson Memorial Hospital in Miami Date of Death: March 27, 2020

For Jhoanna Mariel Buendia, her aunt was a constant ― if distant — presence. Araceli Buendia Ilagan emigrated from their hometown Baguio, in the Philippines, to the U.S. before Buendia was born, but she remained close to her family and communicated with them nearly every day.

“She was one of the smartest people I ever knew,” Buendia, 27, said. Buendia Ilagan, who at one point looked into adopting her niece so she could join her and her husband the United States, encouraged Buendia to become a nurse, and talked her through grueling coursework in anatomy and physiology. Buendia is now a nurse in London.

Buendia Ilagan was also demanding. “Whenever she visited the Philippines, she wanted everything to be organized and squeaky-clean,” Buendia said.

The last time the two spoke, in late March, Buendia Ilagan didn’t mention anything about feeling ill. Instead, the two commiserated over their experiences of treating patients with COVID-19; as always, her aunt offered her advice on staying safe while giving the best possible care. She died four days later.

— Danielle Renwick, The Guardian | Published April 22, 2020

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A Beloved Geriatric Psychiatrist And Church Musician Remembered For His Cooking Skills

(Courtesy of Nida Gonzales)

Leo Dela Cruz

Age: 57 Occupation: Geriatric psychiatrist Place of Work: Christ Hospital and CarePoint Health in Jersey City, New Jersey Date of Death: April 8, 2020

Dr. Leo Dela Cruz was nervous about going to work in the weeks before he died, his friends said. Like many in the region, Christ Hospital had an influx of COVID-19 patients and faced a shortage of ventilators and masks.

Dela Cruz was a geriatric psychiatrist and didn’t work in coronavirus wards. But he continued to see patients in person. In early April, Dela Cruz, who lived alone, complained only of migraines, his friends said. Within a week, his condition worsened, and he was put on a ventilator at a nearby hospital. He died soon after.

Friends said he may have been exposed at the hospital. (In a statement, hospital representatives said he didn’t treat COVID-19 patients.)

Dela Cruz, the oldest of 10 siblings, came from a family of health care professionals. His friends and family — from Cebu, Philippines, to Teaneck, New Jersey — remembered his jovial personality on Facebook. He won “best doctor of the year” awards, played tennis and cooked traditional Cebu dishes.

Nida Gonzales, a colleague, said he always supported people, whether funding a student’s education or running a church mental health program. “I feel like I lost a brother,” she said.

— Ankita Rao, The Guardian | Published April 22, 2020

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Alabama Nurse Remembered As Selfless But Sassy

(Courtesy of Amanda Williams)

Rose Harrison

Age: 60 Occupation: Nurse Place of Work: Marion Regional Nursing Home in Hamilton, Alabama Date of Death: April 6, 2020

Rose Harrison, 60, lived to serve others ― her husband, three daughters, grandchildren and the residents of the nursing home where she worked. Though the Alabama nurse was selfless, she also had a sassy edge to her personality and a penchant for road rage, her daughter, Amanda Williams said.

“Her personality was so funny, you automatically loved her,” Williams said. “She was so outspoken. If she didn’t agree with you, she’d tell you in a respectful way.”

Harrison was not wearing a mask when she cared for a patient who later tested positive for COVID-19 at Marion Regional Nursing Home in Hamilton, Alabama, her daughter said. She later developed a cough, fatigue and a low-grade fever, but kept reporting to duty all week. Officials from the nursing home did not return calls for comment.

On April 3, Williams drove her mother to a hospital. The following evening, Harrison discussed the option of going on a ventilator with loved ones on a video call, agreeing it was the best course. Williams believed that her mother fully expected to recover. She died April 6.

— Christina Jewett, Kaiser Health News | Published April 22, 2020

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Connecticut Social Worker Had Angelic Singing Voice And A Zest For Life

(Courtesy of the Hunt family)

Curtis Hunt

Age: 57 Occupation: Social worker Places of Work: Cornell Scott-Hill Health Center and New Reach, both in New Haven, Connecticut Date of Death: March 23, 2020

At a shelter for adults recovering from addiction, residents looked forward to the days when Marion “Curtis” Hunt would take the stage, emceeing talent shows and belting out Broadway and gospel tunes.

It wasn’t part of his job description as a social worker. It was just one of the ways he went “above and beyond,” said his supervisor at Cornell Scott-Hill Health Center, Daena Murphy. “He had a beautiful voice,” she said. “He was just a wonderful person — funny, engaging, always a huge smile on his face.”

Hunt, the youngest of four brothers, earned his master’s in social work from Fordham University at 52, and was baptized at his brother’s Pentecostal church at 54. He was a devoted uncle who doted on his dog and cat, Mya and Milo.

It’s unclear how Hunt got infected, but one patient he worked with had tested positive for COVID-19, as did two co-workers, according to Dr. Ece Tek, another supervisor at Cornell Scott-Hill Health Center. Hunt died on March 23, one week after developing flu-like symptoms, said his brother John Mann Jr.

— Melissa Bailey | Published April 22, 2020

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To The End, King-Smith Was Driven By A Desire To Help Others

(Courtesy of Hassana Salaam-Rivers)

Kim King-Smith

Age: 53 Occupation: Electrocardiogram technician Place of Work: University Hospital in Newark, New Jersey Date of Death: March 31, 2020

Kim King-Smith was a natural caregiver. An only child, she grew up close to her extended family, including her cousins Hassana Salaam-Rivers and Sharonda Salaam. After Salaam developed multiple sclerosis, King-Smith visited her every day.

“She’d bring her sweets that she wasn’t supposed to have and share them with her,” Salaam-Rivers said. King-Smith’s desire to care for others was the reason she became an electrocardiogram technician, her cousin added. “If a friend of a friend or family member went to the hospital, she would always go and visit them as soon as her shift was over,” she said.

In March, King-Smith cared for a patient she said had symptoms of COVID-19; she soon fell ill herself and tested positive for the virus. It seemed like a mild case at first, and she stayed in touch with family via FaceTime while trying to isolate from her husband, Lenny.

On March 29, Salaam-Rivers checked in on her cousin and noticed she was struggling to breathe. She urged her to call an ambulance. After King-Smith was hospitalized, she exchanged text messages with her mother and cousin. As the day progressed, her messages carried increasingly grave news, Salaam-Rivers said. Then she stopped responding.

— Danielle Renwick, The Guardian | Published April 22, 2020

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On The Eve Of Retirement, VA Nurse Succumbs To COVID-19

(Courtesy of Mark Accad)

Debbie Accad

Age: 72 Occupation: Clinical nursing coordinator Place of Work: Detroit VA Medical Center in Detroit, Michigan Date of Death: March 30, 2020

Nurse Divina “Debbie” Accad had cared for veterans for over 25 years and was set to retire in April. But after contracting the novel coronavirus, she spent her final 11 days on a ventilator — and didn’t survive past March.

She joined a growing list of health care professionals working on the front lines of the pandemic who have died from COVID-19.

Accad, 72, a clinical nursing coordinator at the Detroit VA Medical Center, dedicated her life to nursing, according to her son Mark Accad.

“She died doing what she loved most,” he said. “That was caring for people.”

Read more here.

— Melissa Bailey | Published April 15, 2020

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California Nurse Thrived In ER and ICU, But Couldn’t Survive COVID-19

Jeff Baumbach and his wife, Karen (Courtesy of the Baumbach family)

Jeff Baumbach

Age: 57 Occupation: Nurse Place of Work: St. Joseph’s Medical Center in Stockton, California Date of Death: March 31, 2020

Jeff Baumbach, 57, was a seasoned nurse of 28 years when the novel coronavirus began to circulate in California. He’d worked in the ER, the ICU and on a cardiac floor. Hepatitis and tuberculosis had been around over the years but never posed a major concern. He’d cared for patients who had tuberculosis.

Jeff and his wife, Karen Baumbach, also a nurse, initially didn’t consider it significantly riskier than challenges they’d faced for years.

“He’d worked in the ICU. He was exposed to so many things, and we never got anything,” she said. “This was just ramping up.”

One day during work, Jeff sent a sarcastic text to his wife: “I love wearing a mask every day.”

Within weeks, he would wage a difficult and steady fight against the virus that ended with a sudden collapse.

Read more here.

— Christina Jewett, Kaiser Health News | Published April 15, 2020

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Nurse’s Faith Led Her To Care For Prisoners At A New Jersey Jail

(Courtesy of Denise Rendor)

Daisy Doronila

Age: 60 Occupation: Nurse Place of Work: Hudson County Correctional Facility in Kearny, New Jersey Date of Death: April 5, 2020

Daisy Doronila had a different perspective than most who worked at the Hudson County Correctional Facility, a New Jersey lockup 11 miles from Manhattan. It was a place where the veteran nurse could put her Catholic faith into action, showing kindness to marginalized people.

“There would be people there for the most heinous crimes,” said her daughter, Denise Rendor, 28, “but they would just melt towards my mother because she really was there to give them care with no judgment.”

Doronila, 60, died April 5, two weeks after testing positive for the coronavirus that causes COVID-19. The jail has been hit hard by the virus, with 27 inmates and 68 staff members having tested positive. Among those, another nurse, a correctional officer and a clerk also died, according to Ron Edwards, Hudson County’s director of corrections.

Doronila fell ill before the scope of the jail infections were known. She was picking up extra shifts in the weeks before, her daughter said, and planning on a trip to Israel soon with friends from church.

That plan began to fall apart March 14, when someone at the jail noticed her coughing and asked her to go home and visit a doctor.

Read more here.

— Christina Jewett, Kaiser Health News | Published April 15, 2020

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An Army Veteran, Hospital Custodian ‘Loved Helping People’

(Courtesy of Michelle Wilcox)

Alvin Simmons

Age: 54 Occupation: Environmental service assistant Place of Work: Rochester General Hospital in Rochester, New York Death: March 17, 2020

Alvin Simmons started working as a custodian at Rochester General Hospital, in New York state, weeks before he fell ill. “He loved helping people and he figured the best place to do that would be in a hospital,” his sister, Michelle Wilcox said.

An Army veteran who had served in the first Gulf War, Simmons loved karaoke and doted on his three grandchildren, Wilcox said. “He was a dedicated, hardworking individual who had just changed his life around” since a prison stint, she said.

According to Wilcox, Simmons began developing symptoms shortly after cleaning the room of a woman he believed was infected with the novel coronavirus. “Other hospital employees did not want to clean the room because they said they weren’t properly trained” to clean the room of someone potentially infected, she said. “They got my brother from a different floor, because he had just started there,” she said. (In an email, a hospital spokesperson said they had “no evidence to suggest that Mr. Simmons was at a heightened risk of exposure to COVID-19 by virtue of his training or employment duties at RGH.”)

On March 11, he visited the emergency room at Rochester General, where he was tested for COVID-19, Wilcox said. Over the next few days, as he rested at his girlfriend’s home, his breathing became more labored and he began to cough up blood. He was rushed to the hospital on March 13, where he was later declared brain-dead. Subsequently, he received a COVID-19 diagnosis. Simmons died on March 17.

— Danielle Renwick, The Guardian | Published April 15, 2020

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Nurse At Nevada VA Dies After Caring For Infected Colleague

(Courtesy of Bob Thompson)

Vianna Thompson

Age: 52 Occupation: Nurse Places of Work: VA Sierra Nevada Health Care System and Northern Nevada Medical Center in Reno, Nevada Date of Death: April 7, 2020

Nurse Vianna Thompson, 52, spent two night shifts caring for a fellow Veterans Affairs health care worker who was dying from COVID-19.

Two weeks later, she too was lying in a hospital intensive care unit, with a co-worker holding her hand as she died.

Thompson and the man she treated were among three VA health care workers in Reno, Nevada, to die in two weeks from complications of the novel coronavirus.

“It’s pretty devastating. It’s surreal. Reno’s not that big of a city,” said Robyn Underhill, a night nurse who worked with Thompson in the ER at Reno’s VA hospital the past two years.

Thompson, who dreamed of teaching nursing one day, died April 7, joining a growing list of health care professionals killed in the pandemic.

Read more here.

— Melissa Bailey | Published April 15, 2020

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Dr. J. Ronald Verrier Was Busy Saving Lives Before The Pandemic

(Courtesy of Christina Pardo)

J. Ronald Verrier

Age: 59 Occupation: Surgeon Place of Work: St. Barnabas Hospital in the Bronx, New York Date of Death: April 8, 2020

Dr. J. Ronald Verrier, a surgeon at St. Barnabas Hospital in the Bronx, spent the final weeks of his audacious, unfinished life tending to a torrent of patients inflicted with COVID-19. He died April 8 at Mount Sinai South Nassau Hospital in Oceanside, New York, at age 59, after falling ill from the novel coronavirus.

Verrier led the charge even as the financially strapped St. Barnabas Hospital struggled to find masks and gowns to protect its workers — many nurses continue to make cloth masks — and makeshift morgues in the parking lot held patients who had died.

“He did a good work,” said Jeannine Sherwood, a nurse manager at St. Barnabas Hospital who worked closely with Verrier.

“He can rest.”

Read more here.

— Sarah Varney, Kaiser Health News | Published April 15, 2020

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America’s First ER Doctor To Die In The Heat Of COVID-19 Battle

(Courtesy of Debra Vasalech Lyons)

Frank Gabrin

Age: 60 Occupation: Doctor Places of Work: St. John’s Episcopal in Queens, New York, and East Orange General in New Jersey Date of Death: March 26, 2020

At about 5 a.m. on March 19, a New York City ER physician named Frank Gabrin texted a friend about his concerns over the lack of medical supplies at hospitals.

“It’s busy ― everyone wants a COVID test that I do not have to give them,” he wrote in the message to Eddy Soffer. “So they are angry and disappointed.”

Worse, though, was the limited availability of personal protective equipment (PPE) — the masks and gloves that help keep health care workers from getting sick and spreading the virus to others. Gabrin said he had no choice but to don the same mask for several shifts, against Food and Drug Administration guidelines.

“Don’t have any PPE that has not been used,” he wrote. “No N95 masks ― my own goggles — my own face shield,” he added, referring to the N95 respirators considered among the best lines of defense.

Less than two weeks later, Gabrin became the first ER doctor in the U.S. known to have died as a result of the COVID-19 pandemic, according to the American College of Emergency Physicians.

Read more here.

— Alastair Gee, The Guardian | Published April 10, 2020

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This story is part of “Lost on the Frontline,” an ongoing project from The Guardian and Kaiser Health News that aims to document the lives of health care workers in the U.S. who die from COVID-19, and to investigate why so many are victims of the disease. If you have a colleague or loved one we should include, please share their story.

Lost On The Frontline published first on https://nootropicspowdersupplier.tumblr.com/

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