My daughter was accepted for a consult at NIH when she was small. I’ve never experienced a hospital remotely like it. The atmosphere pulsed with intelligence and hope, and the care was the most professional and compassionate I’d ever experienced.
Three years later I accepted my dream job at the NIH Clinical Center. I loved caring for my patients, and found my fellow providers to be exactly as devoted to their patients as those that cared for my daughter.
I eventually stepped away from patient care to take an opportunity to improve conditions for staff. But this line of work was targeted by the administration, and so at 6:15am on April 1st I stood in my kitchen, frantically refreshing my email as screenshots of RIF notices poured in from my colleagues and friends. Mine never came. I don’t know why. I still have a job, but for how long? Life is precarious.
I visited the Clinical Center last week. It felt empty and desperate.
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