Conversation you don't want to have is the one you need most
LOS ANGELES — The couple from Santa Ana were not ready for the conversation.
Maria Apolonia Mandujanu, 53, clasped her hands across her chest. She was propped up on crisp white pillows in a hospital bed in the emergency department COVID-19 ward at Providence St. Joseph Hospital. Her mouth and nose were obscured by a mask. Her brow was furrowed.
Her husband, Arturo, was a disembodied face on an iPad screen at the foot of the bed, a nervous, tinny voice offering distant comfort. A translator was at the ready, another floating face on yet another screen.
"Has anyone ever asked you before what you would want done if your heart stopped?" Dr. Brian Boyd asked Mandujanu, who had tested positive for the coronavirus just a day earlier.
His words, gentle yet terrifying, were muffled by a double barrier of N95 mask and clear plastic face shield. Mandujanu's eyes widened. Boyd pushed on. It was a Monday evening, and the U.S. had just hit a terrible
