By: Dr. Andrew Thorne
I hear the sirens blaring. Everyone is warning, “keep in your homes, shelter in place, the storm is coming!” There’s such panic all around. But I turn the ignition and drive, down streets previously congested beyond use, to the lighthouse. The beacon shines bright, as if welcoming what’s to come. The air here is surprisingly calm, as if even Mother Nature herself is holding her breath. It’s not until I reach the entrance that I realize something is truly amiss. The familiar crash of the surf and shrill cries of seagulls have all faded. The beach is bone dry. I look to the horizon, hoping for a ray of light. Perhaps the storm won’t break, perhaps this calm will last. Shaking my head, I must remind myself that I can’t afford this optimism today. My training has taught me one thing, and that is to prepare for the direst outcome with each and every case. I secure my mask and enter, knowing full well that the tide always recedes before the tsunami hits.
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