Zoom

Over the last few months, most of us have learned to make Zoom video call.

The old-timers FaceTimed mostly. Now, we're zooming, everywhere, and many times. It's unbelievable how quickly everything has changed.

One unique reason of relying on Zoom during the pandemic is when we go to great lengths to give family members a chance to say goodbyes to their loved ones who are dying from the virus. For obvious reason, visitors are not allowed to go to the bedside of an infected patient. To get around the dilemma, we bring an iPad to the room facing the patient, connecting with family via Zoom.

We knew this isn't the best but at least we don't let the patient die alone.

One of my patients left after listening to the farewell messages from the Zoom meeting this afternoon. He died at the age of eighty-six. I entered his room, gloved and gowned, to certify his death. That means checking his movement and his eyes, feeling his pulses, listening to his chest and heart. After going through the steps, one by one, I was to check the time but realized that I didn't have wristwatch. As I looked around and found the iPad on the table, little did I know that the Zoom meeting wasn't discontinued, yet.

Okay, this means a live broadcast of my certifying an old man's death in front of his granddaughter and sons. I froze, and wasn't at all sure how the family feel. I turned and said goodbye to my patient, and was glad that I had followed the steps of checking him with due respect. I should not worry as I had also buttoned up his shirt after putting back the stethoscope.

A dignified death at eighty-six, I certified.