I’m often asked what it felt like to have Ebola. Eight years later, I still struggle to respond. But the truth is that having Ebola felt like guilt. Guilt for getting a diagnosis only hours after entering a hospital in New York, knowing my patients in Guinea waited in limbo for days or longer. Guilt for having so many providers care for me while remembering the dozens of patients I frantically treated simultaneously back in West Africa. Guilt for feeling helpless as my patients died, the worst possible feeling for any doctor.