100 Days of Burnout: Surviving COVID-19 as a Jewish Resident Doctor

There is no question in my mind that the pandemic has impacted my relationship with Judaism. COVID-19 has made me in awe of the uncanny superpower of the Jewish People. Call it what you will — the invincible willpower, the unwavering spirit — but the result is the creation of something sublime.

I am specifically referring to the Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, where I am a resident. Today, I cannot call this merely a “Jewish” hospital. The diversity of the people, ethnicities, cultural backgrounds, languages and countries of origin that work in this institution is staggering, to say the least. But the foundation of this hospital was based on the Jewish values of patient care, dignity, and respect. As Cedars-Sinai Health System President and CEO, Thomas M. Priselac, aptly put it, the “…core Judaic value remains visible and deeply embedded in the very fabric of today’s Cedars-Sinai, as evidenced by the diversity of people and communities we care for…”

Cedars Sinai has always been a part of my Jewish identity. Growing up in the San Fernando Valley, my childhood dream was to become a doctor and work at the foremost “Jewish” hospital in Los Angeles. You know, the one with the statue of Moses in the Steven Spielberg Building parking lot, mezuzahs on every patient room doorway, and if that wasn’t clear enough, a giant twelve-foot Star of David affixed to the front! Some people call it Cedars-Sinai. I called it my grandparents’ hospital because that is where they went for their care.

And it finally paid off. A decade of studying, sleepless nights and too many prayers to count led to me opening my match letter this year and seeing my dream transform into reality. It’s funny, though, these blissful moments. They never truly take into account what’s happening around you — for instance, that I would be starting my residency in June 2020, right smack in the middle of one of the worst worldwide pandemics in the last century.

During the last several months of my residency, times have truly been dark. I have seen things my nightmares couldn’t come up with. In the Medical Intensive Care Unit (MICU), I’ve had end-of-life discussions with family members of patients dying from COVID-19. I informed one family that their father’s organs were failing, despite maximum ventilatory support and hemodialysis. He would likely not survive the night. I still can hear their shrieks after telling them the news. It makes me light-headed.

In other instances, such as when I worked in the Acute Care Surgery/Trauma Unit, I participated in primary and secondary exams of patients after horrible accidents. I still shudder every time I remember the little girl whose head had been torn into by the family dog. The memory of seeing her parents nervously circling outside the trauma bay still sends shivers down my spine.

There are so many of these moments on a daily basis that words … just can’t cover it.

But when you work at the place where dreams are built, during a time when nightmares come to life, something incredible happens. At every instance of pain, sorrow and sickness, there has been a team of healthcare providers critically dedicated to offering patients the best and highest level of care I have ever seen. I can only count my blessings to have been a part of these teams.

Each day, I am reminded of why I started this journey. I’m constantly reinvigorated by the people around me. As a result, I have never worked so hard in my life, often working the maximum number of permitted hours. At times, I’ve felt so defeated, yet simultaneously so rewarded for the work that has been done by everyone. These are the moments when we remember to turn on the light.

The year 2020 has brought with it terrible tragedies to the world and to Los Angeles that will forever remain in our hearts; they will also guide us to a future our grandparents could have never imagined. The pandemic has only sparked in us one intangible Jewish value, heating it down to its rawest alloy and quenching it in icy water, forging something believed lost long ago: ownership.

Ownership is the sense that we cannot watch idly by as an unseen enemy takes hold of our loved ones and our community as a whole. It is in our hands to fight for a better future for families. That’s what this pandemic has taught me about my own Jewish values: we will never be content with the way things are because there is always something better that we can offer our future selves.

We will never be content with the way things are because there is always something better that we can offer our future selves.

It is time to take a deep breath. Take a look at all the ancestors that came before us. We are just another generation of survivors. This year is our ordeal. Like all the previous generations, we also will prevail. Like the immigrants who formed the Cedars of Lebanon Hospital and the European Jewry who began the Mount Sinai Hospital, Cedars-Sinai stands today as more than just a Valley boy’s dream hospital — it is a battleground for the lives of a community I call home. 

Dr. David Chernobylsky is a Resident Physician at Cedars Sinai Medical Center. He is the author of “The Perspective: A Medical Volunteer Experience” and has authored over 16 chapters in the forthcoming textbook, “Clinical Physiology in Anesthetic Practice,” due out this year. His most recent medical invention is being overseen by Cedars-Sinai Technology Ventures Department. He is proud of his time serving as president of Los Angeles Pierce College Hillel, Los Angeles Valley College Hillel, and as a Board Member of Hillel 818 before transferring to UCLA.

*Disclaimer: All patient identifying information has been altered or removed in accordance with HIPAA patient privacy policy*