I didn’t even notice the balloons at first. With our laser focus on coronavirus, on our protocols and procedures, our carts of isolation gowns and our fears about mask shortages, it is easy to see only pandemic these days.

But as we stood outside the cancer patient’s room on our rounds one recent morning, I finally took note. Three “Feel Better Soon” balloons. They were the kind you might buy at the gift shop, colorful and festive. He had been in the hospital for weeks and they were shrunken by now, wilting.

The intern told us his story. He was in his 30s — close to my age, a moving target that will always feel too young for devastating diagnoses — with a cancer that we could not cure. After weeks on the general medical floor, he had come to our intensive care unit after having been intubated for a procedure, and the overnight team had taken the tube out quickly, so it would be a short I.C.U. stay. As my intern talked, I watched the balloons inside my patient’s room, bobbing hopefully. My patient caught my eye through the door and gave me a small wave.

We picked up the pace as we made our way down the hall to round on another young person — otherwise healthy but now in isolation while being ruled out for coronavirus. This would be my first potential Covid-19 case, and after all the prep, I admit that I was a little excited to find myself donning the isolation gear. I have always wanted to be in the thick of things.