Hi to.

The second month of the epidemic.
My lovely cozy hospital has been damaged by white brass-colored patient sorting tents in front of the two entrances to the hospital, the cafeteria has closed, visits to patients are prohibited, scheduled operations have been cancelled, my nurses have been mobilized into the departments of patients with the virus, the pre-operational department has been converted into a department for patients without the virus, intensive therapy has become the epicenter of combat actions to save the most severe patients...
Changed and staff, armor and heavy masks stifled greetings, my relaxed manner of behavior with jokes-additions, so encouraging patients and their families, went into the past...we began to use circumventing corridors with less risk of infection.
The schedule changed, and I was transferred to the caste position of rescue reserve.
However, it is not possible to exaggerate - these were battles of local importance, incomparable with the heroic battles of Italian or New York physicians. But – paranoia is paranoia – and there is little pleasure in it.
So nothing surprising — this morning I went to the hospital obscure, with a disgusting feeling of the need to do my duty in an environment of dissatisfaction with myself and my life.
Arrived, Caesarean, the old tested remedy for mood improvement - work, the air of the operation itself - make you forget about the problems of the last two months.
Caesarean, in general, the best antidepressant - newborns will make any person smile, even the darkest.
Everything went as usual – a spin-off, photos, tears of happiness, congratulations.
As usual, except for the newborn.
Specifically his voice.
I did not expect to hear such an agile bass from a thirty-second boy from the family. Moreover, this bass was attached to a pair of container lungs and a tireless diaphragm: once he took the note, he pulled it with the enthusiasm of the opera singer, without stopping!! to
Yes, any aria will be on his shoulder, we decided and predicted the fate of the great opera singer of the type of Shalalapin or Pavarotti.
Grow up, baby, sing in the “La Scala” of the twenty-two century the leading part in the heroic opera “Italy, 2020”.
People by this time will live long and happy, for them the Great Pandemic 2020 will be a simple and annoying detail of the long-forgotten history of the beginning of the past, a bit barbaric, century.
The story in which we all live.
And we survive: somebody has to teach this extraordinary crawler how to sing correctly. @Michael Ashnin