Much to my surprise, shortly thereafter President Trump took credit for the gift, saying that his “friend” Joe Tsai gave the ventilators essentially to him. In all the conversations I had with the Tsais, Trump’s name had never come up. I think in the president’s mind, the gift highlighted the federal failure, and he couldn’t bear the idea that he wasn’t included. In any event, when the press asked me if the president was involved, I just never responded. The president’s ego was fragile, and it wasn’t worth the risk of angering him.
In the midst of this, the state of Oregon and its governor, Kate Brown, announced they would donate 140 ventilators to New York, an act that displayed that we are all in this together. Now, if only the federal government had that perspective, leadership, and credibility to bring such a message to the American people, imagine how much better we would be. What if there had been a national effort, with states working together to help other states in need and implement a national Surge & Flex program? It was infuriating that every state needed to scramble for equipment, staff, and material when we knew the timetable for each state’s critical need would be different. We would lose lives; that was unavoidable. But not doing the best job that we could was unacceptable.
APRIL 5 | 8,327 NEW CASES | 16,837 HOSPITALIZED | 594 DEATHS
“It’s been a long month.”
I WOKE UP FEELING AS IF I hadn’t slept a wink. I went into the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and saw my father’s face, that face of lines and crevices. Some call it character, but to me it just looked like old age. For fifty-five years of my life, I was always “the son,” and the son is perpetually young. In my mind I was still in my thirties. How could this be?
I asked Michaela later that day, “Do I look older to you?”
“Oh, no, Dad, you just look a little tired.” That’s Michaela, so sweet that sugar wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
I asked Cara the same question later when we were alone.
She said, “Yes, Dad, you look older, but maybe when this is over and things are normal, you will look better.” That’s Cara, kind but realistic, even if it’s hard.
I felt that every death from COVID took a little piece of me. I believed we did everything we could to save every life, but it didn’t give me peace. A bus driver died from COVID. He was an “essential worker.” I determined that buses had to operate. He went to work because I said he should. If he stayed home, maybe he would be alive. I was committed to beating this thing, but it was harder and more debilitating than I had even imagined.
I still very much wanted to do the briefings every day. It was my way of being present and saying to people that I knew every day was a struggle for them and I respected and appreciated that reality and I was living it with them. But every morning when I first opened my eyes, I lay there and thought, “Maybe I could skip today. Let me sleep in just once and catch my breath. And I will be better for it tomorrow.”
I would review in my mind the many reasons to give in to that urge:
I was too tired and I would convey the wrong tone.
I could not deal with the stupid press questions today.
The team needed a break and skipping one day would be good for them.
But the sense of obligation and commitment to the relationship I had formed with the public was paramount. It was personal. I was reading their emails, taking their phone calls. I knew people relied on me. They never quit on me, and I would never quit on them. My instinct was that consistency was important. People needed to comply with these new rules every day, and I wanted to be there for them every day. Some days I was just exhausted. I tried to keep my tone factual and calm. Other days I just didn’t have the strength to control my emotions, and they were apparent. Some days I was so exhausted that I was in a daze.
These were not only long and exhausting days; the information was so extreme and extraordinary I was actually finding it hard to compute. If I had not been in the room hearing for myself, I don’t think I would’ve believed it.
Many times, I just had to get away from it, at least to the extent possible. I didn’t want to seem distressed for my team or family. That would alarm them. I would take my dog, Captain, on long walks just to restore my sense of reality and try to clear my head. But even on a walk with the dog, everything seemed strange. There were fewer people on the streets, stores closed, people who were out were social distancing, but at least the walks presented the semblance of normalcy. There were still trees and buildings and familiar landmarks. The entire world had not gone mad, yet.
—
NEW YORK CITY was a surreal place at the height of the pandemic. The streets were largely empty of cars and people; storefronts and offices were shuttered and dark. But the quiet was punctured by the constant blare of sirens as emergency vehicles answered COVID calls, one after another after another. Sirens were
