CHICAGO — Thomas Fisher figured he would end up in the very place he works, in the emergency room. Eventually, everyone passes through. Two springs ago, at the onset of the pandemic, he thought he might die of the thing he was treating in others. He updated his will, removed enough cash from the bank for six months, stocked his refrigerator. He doesn’t own a car so rather than risk contracting the virus in an Uber, he borrowed a car for several months. Then, each day, he drove in for his eight-hour shift in the emergency room of the University of Chicago medical center and he did whatever he could.
The next day, at home, he journaled and journaled.
When we spoke, he insisted, more than once, he was a doctor, not a writer.
