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I will never eat another apple pie. Never again. I wouldn’t have said that last year or any year before that. But now, the thought of an apple pie shatters me.

It started with a Facebook post from an ER doctor treating COVID patients. He wrote about baking his single use N95 mask in order to sterilize it before using that same mask again. And again. And again.

“It comes out warm and toasty and clean. It comes out safe. I set it on the windowsill to cool, like an apple pie from easier days,” he wrote.  

I sent that to Pip, who I knew didn’t have any time to check Facebook. “Yeah,” she wrote back. “We’re doing that too.”

That’s the thing about Pip. She never complains, never tells you how bad things really are. Until I asked her some pointed questions, I had no idea she was baking her only mask and wearing a garbage bag in place of a gown. She didn’t even have a face shield.

Pip and I have been best friends, practically sisters, since kindergarten. Her real name is Erin, but she had this fiery red hair she wore in pigtails back then which reminded me of my favorite childhood hero, Pippi Longstocking. She had the personality to match too. Pip was the one who’d gallop her pony headlong through a stream, while I would trot back and forth on the bank, studying the best approach to the safest crossing.  Pip was the one who’d run to the front of the classroom anytime they’d call for volunteers, while I’d hang back. And after graduating from college, Pip was the one who had moved to LA with no money and no plan, while I followed six months later, safely set up with a job and apartment.

So it came as no surprise that when coronavirus hit her hospital, that she was the first neonatal nurse to raise her hand and volunteer to work on the COVID ward.  She has these merry blue eyes and bubbling warmth that I’m sure brought some degree comfort to even the sickest of patients.  But for those of us closest to her – me, her mom and Noah, the new guy she’d started dating a few months earlier – it was like the COVID ward had swallowed her up from the moment she had her first shift.

That first week, I bombarded her with texts:

“How are you?”

“How are you holding up?”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Do you have time for a call?”

“Hang in there!”

“I’m here for you if you need anything – anything at all.”

“I know you’re busy, but can you give me some sign you’re still alive?”

They either went unanswered or came back with that mustard-yellow thumbs up.

Her mom, who is essentially my second mom, and Noah were getting the same responses, so the three of us took to texting each other to share what little information we could glean from Pip’s hurried answers. 

By the third week we knew she was working seven days a week, which usually included two or three 24- hour shifts. We knew that she was very tired and didn’t have time to talk, except for a quick chat with her mom one night.  But we also knew she had a unrelenting sense of mission and felt very strongly that no one should die alone. She told Noah that she made every effort to be with her patients as they slipped away, lungs laboring until their very last breath. Typical Pip.

I wanted to drop food off at her apartment, figuring she didn’t have time to eat, but that was the first thing that prompted more than a two-word, one emoticon response.

“That’s so awesome of you, sweetie, but stay where you are. We’re in lockdown and you shouldn’t be risking exposure just to bring me some food. I’m fine,” she wrote.

“But when do you have time to shop? To cook?”

“They feed us here and I don’t really leave. I’m good.” She followed that with the thumbs up. Typical Pip.

And then there was mask-cooling-like-an-apple-pie moment I mentioned earlier.

“Yeah, we’re doing that too,” she wrote back after reading the FB post I sent her.

“WHAT???? You only have one mask?”

“Yeah, I wish we had more, but I sanitize it really well. Now I want an apple pie.” Laughing face emoticon.

“Do you have the other stuff you need?” I asked, decidedly not laughing.

“I’m ok.”

“Do you have a gown?”

“Garbage bag.”

“That’s outrageous! Can I find this stuff somewhere and send it to you?”

“Awww, sweetie. No, that stuff’s not anywhere these days.”

“Tell me you have a real face shield, gloves????”

“Gloves yes, face shield no.”

“PIP!!! That’s crazy! You’ve done way more than your fair share. Tell them you need a break.”

“Can’t. Gotta go. Don’t tell Mom.”

Typical Pip.

After that, Mrs. Barnhouse, Noah and I got used to not hearing from Pip. Week after week slipped by and we adjusted to the “All good”, “Fine”, smiley face and thumbs up. I hate that thumbs up.

So I was shocked late one Wednesday night, as I walked on my treadmill and binge-watched Season 3 of The Crown, to see Pip’s picture pop up on Facetime. I lunged for my phone.   

A stranger’s face greeted me. Though half-covered by her mask, I could see how gaunt she was. Dark circles that looked like bruises stretched from her eyes to her mask, made all the more garish by her sallow skin. Deep red marks and discolorations stood out all over her face like a map of the ways she had positioned her mask on her face, no doubt looking for some relief from the unrelenting tension of the elastic. Lines I’d never seen before were etched into her forehead. It was like she’d aged six years in the past six months. And she was crying. Not just silent tears crying, but really deep heaving sobs. I’d never seen her cry like that in all our time together. The fluorescent hospital light cut shadows across her face as she huddled into a corner of what I guessed was a break room.

“Sweetie! What’s wrong?” I asked.

She couldn’t even speak and I let her sob, helpless to comfort her. Then finally, “It was awful. It was so awful. But what could I do?”

“What was awful, Pip?” I asked, trying to sound as gentle as if I were coaxing a baby robin from its shell.

She took a breath and tried to steady herself.

“I had a patient who was dying,” she started.

“I’m so sorry” I said. “That must’ve been awful --“

“She was the seventh today,” she interrupted. 

“Oh.”

“I knew she didn’t have much time left and I called her family on the tablet so that they could say good-bye.” She spoke with a flatness at that point which told me she had gone through this process many times. “I told them she’d been fighting like hell for two weeks, but was declining quickly.”

She took another breath and paused before continuing.

“I could see a little light in her eye and she tried to smile when she saw them on the screen. They were crying and praying for her. My mask was getting wet from my tears. I kept looking at the time because they were only allotted five minutes, but I couldn’t stop them. I just couldn’t. This was the last time they’d ever speak to each other.” Tears started sliding down her face again. “Five minutes went to 10 and then to 15. The other nurse was waving at the door because another patient needed the tablet. At 20 minutes, I had to tell them ‘I’m so sorry but I have to end this call because I’ve let it go on 15 minutes too long.' I just started bawling. I promised I would be with her when she passed.”

“Oh sweetie – I’m so sorry. Did they understand?”

“They said they did, but how could they? Even I couldn’t understand how I could do that to them.”

“But, Pip, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

She started sobbing again and rubbed her forehead furiously as though she were trying to scrape the skin right off.

“I didn’t do anything wrong. They didn’t do anything wrong. But it all feels so wrong. None of this makes any sense. We try and we try and we try to save these patients. And when we can’t, we at least try to ease their suffering. But they suffer anyway and they die anyway and I feel so helpless.”

The last word trailed into a pool of hiccupy tears.

“Some recover. I’m sure you’ve saved so many lives," I said.

“Not nearly enough. God, it’s hard not to put yourself in the shoes of every patient you see.”

“Pip?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you think about taking some time off?” She looked at her watch and jumped up, brisk and professional again.

“Can’t – gotta go. Thanks, sweetie.”

A few hours later, I texted her: “How are you doing?”

Thumbs up.

****

It’s been three weeks and three days since that last conversation.

Pip is gone.

I write the words. I say the words. But I still can’t believe the words.

Four days after we spoke, Pip sent her mom, Noah and me a group text: “Tested positive. Quarantining.”

After that, we spoke everyday. Sometimes three or four times a day. She made no mention of the earlier incident that had devastated her so completely. Instead, she seemed like the old Pip. Smiling, laughing, staying positive and talking about all the trips we’d take and all the crazy adventures we’d have when she was better. The silliness came between labored breaths and scary coughs and an ongoing fever, but Pip assured us this was normal and that she just had to tough it out. We believed her. After all, she was the nurse. She was young, fit and healthy, save for the stress of the past several months. Her mom, Noah and I besieged her with food deliveries, books, magazines, flowers and clothes and, for a moment, it felt like everything would be fine.

But we could feel her fading. Her speech slowed, her voice became thinner, and she didn’t have the energy to Facetime or text, so we would just speak on the phone. We all tried to convince her to go the hospital but she wouldn’t.

“Not enough beds,” she mumbled to her mom. “I’ll be fine.”

The next day, I called her.

“Come on, Pip. Call the hospital. They’ll fix you right up and then we can go hiking or ride or go to the beach,” I told her, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.

She didn’t say anything. Just those rasping breaths.

And then, so soft I could hardly hear her: “Remember the apple pie?” 

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“The story about the pie and …. baking the mask.”  

“Oh, right. What about it?”

“It was funny.”

She wasn’t making any goddam sense. Low oxygen affecting the brain. I’d read about that. My stomach clenched.

“It wasn’t really funny, Pip. It was sad. And terrible. You should’ve had proper equipment.”

Her voice sounded like a cloud drifting away.

“Maybe I didn’t bake long enough.”

“What?”

“The mask ….maybe that’s how I got this….didn’t bake the pie.”

I called her mother who called her supervisor who sent an ambulance for her.  They put her on a ventilator but her blood pressure kept dropping. They put her on three different meds to raise it, but nothing helped.  Even after Mrs. Barnhouse called me – barely able to get the words out - to tell me Pip wouldn’t make it, I couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t believe it. I still don't believe it. This was Pip. And Pip powered through everything with a grin and wave of her hand that made magic happen.

She died at 9:23 pm on Monday night after a last conversation with her mother over the tablet and with two of the other nurses by her side.

I am sitting on the couch in my apartment staring at the wall. Empty. My thoughts make no sense to me. There are a million things to think about, a million things to be angry about, a million things to cry about. And yet all I can hear are Pip’s final words to me in that breathy, dreamy voice. What was it about the mask-and-apple-pie that stuck with her so strongly? I’d learned so much more about Pip over those past eight months than I’d ever known over the past 25 years. I tried to put myself in her head and see what she saw in the mask-and-apple-pie story. But all I can see is her mask, steaming and safe, on the counter. A battered mask that should have been tossed after the first use. A single mask that should have been one of thousands given to her and the other nurses. A mask that should have been fresh and new and complemented by an endless supply of gowns and face shields and goggles and gloves.   A mask cooling on the windowsill like an apple pie from easier days. 

January 08, 2021 01:38

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47 comments

Kristin Neubauer
01:44 Jan 08, 2021

Author's Note: I really felt the need to write this story. Out of all the tragic COVID stories, the ones about the healthcare workers bother me the most. This is a blend of nonfiction and fiction. Dr. Jason Hill, an ER doctor, really did write that quote about baking the mask like an apple pie as part of a journal entry which he released on FB in April. Other parts of the story are drawn from the firsthand accounts of other healthcare workers I researched. Of course, there is no actual Pip, but the basics of her story are all too real.

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I really loved that you made the healthcare workers have a great part. Such a great historical fiction Kristin. Enjoyed it a lot!

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Kristin Neubauer
21:01 Jan 09, 2021

Thank you so much!

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Your welcome!

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Jonathan Blaauw
13:59 Jan 20, 2021

Hi Kristin. I've been on a Reedsy sabbatical, but I'm back. I will catch up on your back catalog, but for now, I'm glad I read this one. It's not a nice story. It's very sad and way, way too real. Which makes it an excellent story, because a writer's job is to write about what hurts, what's uncomfortable, and easier to ignore than acknowledge. I've heard some horror stories about PPE shortages, but none of the sterile news reports brought the horror of it home to me like your story. It's powerful and heartbreaking. We know by now your writin...

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Kristin Neubauer
14:40 Jan 20, 2021

Oh my gosh!!! You’re back! I thought we’d lost you to the world of upcoming bestsellers or something. I keep checking your page in hopes for a new story. I’m so glad your back!!!! Don’t worry about my backlog..... I’m sure there are a ton of writers waiting for you to make an appearance. And thank you so much for your kind words about my story - yeah, this one locked in and wrote itself right away. It just had to come out. If I manage to finish my story for this week, it will be a silly light one to balance the others. But between s...

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Thom Brodkin
02:26 Jan 12, 2021

I couldn’t have written this. I would have been overcome with emotion and the tears would have clouded my vision. In my heart of hearts I knew where this was going and yet I hoped I was wrong but there was no other way to go. It was the only way to complete such a powerful message. I’ve been off Reedsy for a while but it’s stories like this that I come back for. Thank you for writing this. I wrote a story this week for the first time in a few months. I tried to stretch myself because I am weak when it comes to dialogue. It’s called “The On...

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Kristin Neubauer
16:46 Jan 12, 2021

Thanks so much, Thom. I think my sadness while writing the story was balanced by outrage. Outrage at the way healthcare workers aren't being properly equipped, supported or reinforced...outrage over the selfishness of people who refuse to wear masks and still go to gatherings with no regard for the effect it could have on others, particularly the healthcare workers who may have to care for them. I hope things change. I really appreciate your reading and the powerful comment. I hope you are back on Reedsy for awhile now - we've missed you!

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A.Dot Ram
20:11 Jan 16, 2021

I forgot to convent on this last week-- promised myself I'd come back and do it when I finished my own story. Anyway, this was riveting. I started and couldn't put it down. Using the apple pie to introduce the story (and it set a certain tone), the characterization of Pip, the little anecdotes that came through in her texts, and the way it slowly became apparent that Pip wasn't going to make it through. It was all very rich and tragic.

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Kristin Neubauer
20:19 Jan 16, 2021

Thanks so much! I wouldn't say stories really come to me out of the blue like they do for some people. But this one locked in right away. And even though I hadn't been intending to write it, I just had to.

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A.Dot Ram
20:34 Jan 16, 2021

Most of mine don't "lock in" till about 2/3 through. I look at it like a game of Texas hold-em: the first part of the writing is like drawing cards. The last part is working with what I've laid out to make the best hand.

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Kristin Neubauer
20:57 Jan 16, 2021

I like that....I'm sort of similar. I spend the first couple of days scribbling whatever I can longhand. Thoughts, ideas, scenes, characters. I write what I can longhand. And then on Wednesday I start typing and that's when whatever I'm doing usually starts taking form. Hey, I just looked at your website....I think down the road, I would love to work with you as an editing coach or mentor if I'm understanding your site correctly. Right now - between work and school - I'm a little tapped out on time and money....but both will get better...

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A.Dot Ram
21:48 Jan 16, 2021

That's awesome! It's a very nascent endeavor, but I'm interested in being a freelance editor besides my own writing. My time is so limited with the two Littles at home, but that could also change later in the year.

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Kristin Neubauer
22:57 Jan 16, 2021

Cool - let's revisit later in the year and see if there is time to give it a go!

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Julie Ward
16:35 Jan 09, 2021

This is hands down one of your best stories, Kristin. It should be required reading for, well, everyone. I have friends and family members who are health care workers - it's really, really bad here, as I'm sure you know - and they are just beyond exhausted. This story takes the emotion of what they are trying to tell all of us and makes it very real. I read a story in the newspaper about a nurse who died alone in a hotel room in West Covina, where she had been quarantining - it has haunted me for weeks. You wove your story with all the ot...

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Kristin Neubauer
17:25 Jan 09, 2021

Thanks so much, Julie - and please thank you friends and family who are on the frontlines. This is not what they signed up for when they entered the profession and Herculean efforts should have been made from the outset to provide them with sufficient PPE and support. It angers me so much to see people running around without masks and having gatherings with no regard for the healthcare workers who will have to sacrifice their own mental and physical health - perhaps life - to care for them if they wind up in the hospital. I am reading a b...

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Julie Ward
16:29 Jan 10, 2021

Thanks for the book referral - I'll pass it on. I completely agree with you when it comes the horrific state of affairs in our hospitals, and everywhere for that matter. I'm still wrapping my head around our collective failure (here in the US at least) to see this pandemic for what it really is, how serious it is, how deadly. It will be a fascinating study in social anthropology once we're far enough outside of it to analyze it.

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Frances Reine
14:54 Jan 09, 2021

I love how this showed how serious the pandemic is, and a lot of people don't understand or believe that--even now. This is such a realistic story. I don't get to read much of those but I'll always remember this one. Thank you so much for writing this.

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Kristin Neubauer
15:09 Jan 09, 2021

Thank you so much, Frances! Sadly, it felt realistic because it drew on the firsthand accounts of actual healthcare workers. I read their stories and it breaks my heart to hear what they’re enduring and how they are suffering. I hope the tide turns soon. Thanks again for reading and for your comment. It means so much.

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Frances Reine
15:37 Jan 09, 2021

You're very welcome. Thank you so much for sharing.

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K. Antonio
14:26 Jan 09, 2021

This story was great. The best part about it, is that it is a "slice-of-life" story (I know, pie joke...) Anyway it really does the job referencing a real life situation and turning it into a emotional story. The character interaction seems very relatable and real. The ending and the plot twist involving Pip was great! I enjoyed how the character we feel most invested in, is not the one narrating. Overall, a great take on the prompt! Really enjoyed this. Probably one of my favorite stories you have produced!!

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Kristin Neubauer
14:56 Jan 09, 2021

Thanks so much! That is really insightful feedback. Most of my stories are pretty thought out and planned - beginning, middle and end - but this one was from the gut. It locked in the second I saw the apple pie post and I wrote it in about two hours. That never happens for me. I have always been someone who operates more with an analytical mind rather than emotional. Perhaps, if I want to grow as a writer, I need to start paying a little more attention to those gut feelings. I appreciate the comment.... it gave me a light bulb moment!

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Josh C
13:04 Jan 09, 2021

Wow, that was a tear-jerker. Thank you for writing that. I've been getting angrier and angrier recently feeling that people don't take this pandemic seriously. I saw a video the other day where nurses in the covid ward were practically breaking down on camera when asked how they were doing. I nearly broke just watching them. I know this story with these specific characters, is fictional. But the emotions the story inspires are very real, and borne out of our own (as writers) emotions. So to read this and know that there are other people ou...

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Kristin Neubauer
13:26 Jan 09, 2021

Thank you so much for taking the time to make such a deeply thought comment. And I’m glad to know there are other people who feel the same way. As I see so many people running around without masks and having get togethers, I think “if you want to risk your life, so be it. But what about these healthcare workers who are already stretched well beyond their max? You may put additional strain on a system that is already way overwrought.” I’m a journalist now, but am also in my second year of grad school for a Masters in Social Work. Once I...

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Josh C
14:47 Jan 09, 2021

Thank you. That's a very noble choice of career. Sadly, I don't think it will be difficult to find healthcare professionals suffering PTSD after this. And sadly, I worry they will be forgotten by the majority of people out there. Especially nurses. A good nurse should be worth their weight in gold, but with the way (at least my) government treats them, you'd be forgiven for thinking exactly the opposite.

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Kristin Neubauer
14:48 Jan 09, 2021

I agree! Same here. Thanks for the conversation - let’s see what happens.

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Josh C
14:57 Jan 09, 2021

Thank you too. Let's try to remain upbeat!

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Maya W.
01:52 Jan 08, 2021

Aww, I feel so bad for Pip. And for the protagonist, who will never taste apple pie again. It's really interesting that you're writing these stories based on facts, maybe it's the journalist inside of you coming out (I read your bio, btw, we live pretty close!). This was a very well written story. The characters really came to life. My only complaint is that Pip's ignorance, if that's the right word, sorta confused me. Maybe clear that up a bit? Then again, in the real world, plenty of us are ignorant, too.

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Kristin Neubauer
02:22 Jan 08, 2021

Thanks so much, Maya! Where do you live? And thanks for the perspective on Pip....I didn't intend for her to be ignorant. Rather, I meant for her just to be stubborn in the sense that she always tells everyone she's fine to the point where she sacrifices her own well-being. Clearly that didn't come through, so I'll have to think about how make that clearer. I have a lot going on tomorrow and Saturday so I'm not sure I'll be able to fix it before it gets approved because it may require a big rewrite. But I am glad to know how she comes...

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Maya W.
02:25 Jan 08, 2021

Oh, I think it's fine. Once you explained that, it made a bit more sense. And I'm from Baltimore.

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Kristin Neubauer
02:28 Jan 08, 2021

Nice! Maybe someday when the pandemic is under control we could meet up. I'd love that. I see on your page that you've been busy writing and will catch up on your stories over the weekend!

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Maya W.
02:30 Jan 08, 2021

Awesome!

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Cal Carson
18:56 Mar 08, 2021

Wow. You don't get many stories like this on Reedsy, and we need more. This just hit differently. It sucked me in and wouldn't let me go until I'd finished. Actually, scratch that, I don't think I'll forget this one for a long time.

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Kristin Neubauer
02:14 Mar 09, 2021

Thank you so much, Cal. It felt really important to me to write this one. I’ve been hearing so many stories about healthcare workers sacrificing their own lives to take care of covid patients and it really struck a chord. I appreciate your kind worlds!

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Daniel R. Hayes
07:18 Mar 08, 2021

Wow Kristin, what a powerful story. You captured the real world event that we all find ourselves living in. The story was sad but beautiful at the same time. It really captured my attention. I'm glad you wrote this story. I think it's so good it needs to be published somewhere. I love the way you write your stories, and I'm very impressed at the talent you have. I also love the way you include an authors note, it's like a bonus look behind the writing. Great job :)

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Kristin Neubauer
02:03 Mar 09, 2021

Thank you! Sometimes I really labor over stories. Like this week - it’s just not coming. But Easier Days almost wrote itself. I felt so strongly about it. I love reading author’s notes because I love having some idea of what inspired someone’s story. I’ve been wondering that with yours - no pressure for author’s notes, but I’d sure love to know where some of your ideas are born!

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Daniel R. Hayes
06:30 Mar 09, 2021

I can definitely tell that you felt a strong passion for this story, because it shines through with your beautiful writing. I really can't stress enough how much I loved this story. I also think you have a good idea about author's notes, maybe I should try it. You gave me something to think about :)

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Thom Brodkin
21:07 Jan 18, 2021

I would read and comment on your most recent story before asking you to read mine but this is your most recent story and I've already told you how good it is. Now can you go to mine and let me know what you think? :-)

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R. K.
20:54 Jan 17, 2021

This is the voice of all those who can't speak. The apple pie made me assume it was cheerful, obscuring the tragic truths until they constricted when I got to those points. With healthcare workers in my family, this hits home. The absurd, devastating reality of lacking supplies/PPE and workers redeployed against their will with threats of layoff. Pip was such a fighter which made it all the more heartbreaking. This has so much emotion woven through, it feels like a window into real life. This should have been shortlisted, it really should have.

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Kristin Neubauer
21:38 Jan 17, 2021

Thank you so much! But more importantly, thank you to all those healthcare workers in your family. They are soldiers who never signed up to be soldiers and are not receiving the equipment, nor the support, nor the reinforcement, nor the danger pay that they most assuredly deserve. It's outrageous and I get so angry when I see people not wearing masks or gathering together. If they want to risk their own life, so be it. But what about those healthcare workers who might sacrifice their physical and mental health - or lives - to take care ...

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Nainika Gupta
23:43 Jan 11, 2021

I loved this soo much...absolutly speechless...you...gHAA I just can't!! *twenty minutes of trying (and failing) to calm down later* YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH YOU PULLED ON MY HEARTSTRINGS... (obvi not calm enough yet ugh) *another twenty minutes later* I have a close friend who's a healthcare worker, and I really felt that she needed a voice, but was never able to put pen to paper...or text to screen, and I think you've nailed it in the bag... I made her read it, and she had tears in her eyes. thank you so so much Kristin for this s...

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Kristin Neubauer
00:45 Jan 12, 2021

Oh, thank you so much Nainika. And please thank your healthcare worker friend for all that she does, all the sacrifices she's made. She truly is a hero. I don't know how she is doing, but there's a book I've been reading meant for healthcare workers who are trying to deal with the pandemic. It's called "Why Cope when you Can Heal?" It's short, direct, and very good - maybe suggest it to her if she's looking for some support. The position that healthcare workers find themselves in now infuriates me - they are soldiers who are not getting...

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Nainika Gupta
02:08 Jan 12, 2021

Of course!! And of right now she’s doing well, really well and I’m super proud of her!! Thanks for asking!! I Will def recommend it to her!! Aww, hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoy yours!! Of course!!! You deserve it!!

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Yolanda Wu
02:56 Jan 08, 2021

Okay, wow, this story really hits hard. You weren't wrong, it was certainly depressing, but as you said, this story is much-needed. Before this story, I totally wasn't aware that healthcare workers just had the one mask that they would need to keep baking. Covid has really affected the lives of so many, and I think the saddest thing about this story is while the character of Pip may be fiction, there are so many people like Pip working in hospitals, willing to sacrifice their own well-being for others. The story itself is written so well, I...

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Kristin Neubauer
12:41 Jan 08, 2021

Thank you, Yolanda - this story is the first time I’ve used my writing to express something that was weighing on me. Up until Wednesday, I was working on a completely different idea that had nothing to do with covid. And then I came across the mask-apple pie post and this story locked into my head immediately. I had to write it.

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Yolanda Wu
23:28 Jan 08, 2021

Yeah, same with my story, I was originally gonna write something totally different - I think I will pick up the idea for next week's story, but then I got the thought of Olive's and Blue's wedding into my head and I couldn't not write it.

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