Your doctor knocks on the door of your hospital room, somehow hitting pause on all the tension and malaise in your body. His icy blue eyes have given you some of the only comfort you could find in the last few days. The rest of his face probably would, too, if you could see through his surgical mask (pale blue, of course, to bring out those beautiful eyes).
“Knock knock,” he says. “Just checking in. How are you feeling?”
You shrug. “The meds you gave me have taken the fever down a notch. Cough’s still coming and going. I’m not super great at breathing right now.” You laugh, and the laugh hitches in your lungs. The suppression of laughter, of self-expression, of communication – that’s the hardest thing.
“That’s how you’re doing, health-wise,” he notes, “but how are you doing really?” When you look mildly mystified, he continues: “Being quarantined can be very isolating. Many people have a hard time with it.”