On an afternoon in early April, while New York City was in the throes of
what would be the deadliest days of the coronavirus pandemic,
Dr. Lorna M. Breen found herself alone in the still of her apartment in Manhattan.
She picked up her phone and dialed her younger sister, Jennifer Feist.
The two were just 22 months apart and had the kind of bond that comes from growing up sharing a bedroom and wearing matching outfits. Ms. Feist, a lawyer in Charlottesville, Va., was accustomed to hearing from her sister nearly every day.
Lately, their conversations had been bleak.
Dr. Breen worked at NewYork-Presbyterian Allen Hospital in Upper Manhattan, where she supervised the emergency department. The unit had become a brutal battleground, with supplies depleting at a distressing rate and doctors and nurses falling ill. The waiting room was perpetually overcrowded. The sick were dying unnoticed.
Ms. Feist had taken to sleeping next to her phone in case her sister needed her after a late shift.
When Dr. Breen called this time, she sounded odd. Her voice was distant, as if she was in shock.
In addition to managing a busy emergency department, she was in a dual degree master’s program at Cornell University.
Dr. Breen was gifted, confident, clever. Unflappable.
But the woman speaking to Ms. Feist that day was hesitant and confused.
Ms. Feist quickly arranged for her sister to be picked up by two friends who would ferry her to Baltimore, where Ms. Feist could meet them to take her to family in Virginia. When Dr. Breen finally climbed into Ms. Feist’s car that night, she was nearly catatonic, unable to answer simple questions. Her brain, her sister said, seemed broken.
...
March 18 - Dr. Breen showed symptoms of Covid-19. Feverish and exhausted, she quarantined at home to recover. She slept up to 14 hours in a row, was drained by small tasks, lost five pounds. But she still tried to sort out work problems, like a shortage of oxygen tanks. When a doctor texted that she could not find any protective eyewear, Dr. Breen, without mentioning that she was out sick, promised to find a pair of goggles by the next day.
When Dr. Breen returned to work on April 1, the city was on the verge of a grim benchmark: Deaths would soon peak at more than 800 in a single day. The scene at the Allen prompted a disturbing realization. She and her emergency department were outmatched.
[0]n April 26, Dr. Breen killed herself.
It is impossible to know for sure why someone takes her own life. And Dr. Breen did not leave a note to unravel the why.
Still,
when the casualties of the coronavirus are tallied, Dr. Breen’s family believes she should be counted among them. That she was destroyed by the sheer number of people she could not save. That she was devastated by the notion that her professional history was permanently marred and mortified to have cried for help in the first place.