Last week, the Gestapo broke through my door and got me by the scruff of my collar. Fever, bodyache and a feeling as if a truck had rammed through me. Agent COVID-19 hauled me into a concentration camp to determine my death or recovery. Five days later with rest, reports, recriminations and rattle tattle, looks like life is looking good. For how long, one never knows.
Though this is not about my piling, privileged predicament, it allowed me to see this pandemic through the lens from the other side of the fence.
My humble observations :
8The virus, and I’m sure it’s the mutant, still packs an enormous punch. It whacks the mickey out of you and you wonder when you are going to gasp, cough blood or simply collapse next. Despite having my man Friday Dr Krishna Garud by my side, the whole Healthway battalion on standby, I admit I was cold and dreading when my oxygen would drop. The more you know, the more terrified you become. The less you know, you attend an election rally or do a shahi snaan. C’est la vie!!
8There are a large number of us who have taken the shots twice and are still struck by the bullet. We are surviving but the vaccine is no fool-proof armour. Moral: if you don’t need to meet anyone, please don’t meet anyone! This virus is simply, simply everywhere.
8Hopefully the wave will peter out, in another couple of weeks, and reduce the gigantic crush on hospital beds, thanks to the lockdown, albeit two weeks late. But till then, pray if you know how, do not venture out and write your will.
8The State government, and indeed the private hospitals have this devious virus, which like Tyrannosaurus Rex is sitting on our oxygen, drugs and personnel. Crushing, intimidating and eventually performing sub-par. Scenes at all major government hospitals resemble war zones. The doctors, nurses, paramedics, are stretched so thin that a silk thread would seem like a firm shipping rope. Everything is tragically on the verge of a breakdown. I know of consultants and doctors and nurses who weep for hours as they see dozens of their patients shut down in quick succession, because optimal care is not possible.
8Home isolated patients who suddenly dip are frantic, they are agonized and weeping to get their loved ones to some medical attention. It is heart-wrenching to tell them everything is chock-a-block. Next day they text you their loved one died in the ambulance or before she could reach medical attention. It makes you feel like a helpless limpet clinging and serving this same medical team that is designed to fail simply because the ferocity of this wave was unexpected and unseen.
But do we cry over spilled milk? Can we get some semblance of order back, even though a situation seems unsalvageable?
(A): We need more oxygen plants and we need more personnel. Not ventilators and high-end gadgets. We need personnel, personnel and personnel: we have exhausted our current resources.
So can we urge the armed forces stationed here to help us out giving them command over, let’s say SGDH or the superspeciality block, exclusively for them to run with their tic-tac-toe efficiency? It will go a long way in assuaging fears and panic in the general population.
(B): For the time that many of you desperately start seeking beds, rushing by ambulance from one hospital to another, as gates clang shut on you: Can we recommend intravenous dose of solu-medrol in agreed dose at the ambulance or home level as patient deteriorates. Steroids save lives in a CYTOKINE storm. When you suddenly have your loved one sink, despite holding well for a week, that’s a CYTOKINE storm. So hit with a steroid dose, mask up on oxygen and then move searching for a hospital.
I will face a lot of flak for this suggestion because no medical journal recommends this. But in desperate times, we need desperate measures. Either way this patient struggling to breathe in an ambulance is going to die. So do something, and IV steroid is a standard line of treatment before you reach us. 108 staff should easily be able to do this. It may save lives!!
(C) We are in this circus for a long, long time to come. This little creepy guest is not going anywhere soon. We have to invest in a contingency plan right now, for the next tsunami sure to hit our shores.
In sum then, I did receive an outpouring of love & prayers from family & friends during my incarceration and even a cynical agnostic like me did get moved. I thank everyone who reached out and held my hand in the virtual world.
At the end of the day, the singular force that drives you to get better from this grotesque, interminable scourge is your faith in the doctors and medicines, the absolutely heartfelt love and support of family, friends and colleagues and, above all, the absolutely zealous mission that one must get back to be with the wife and kids come hell or high-water.
Post script: If States provide uninterrupted beds, oxygen and drugs to patients at crucial junctures, trust me, the love, compassion and helping hands of Goan society will do the rest. This is a pandemic that will be somewhat defeated by remdesivir and oxygen and steroids and heparin.
But it finally will be vanquished because of the humanity and capacity to reach out that is abundantly present in each and everyone of us.
