Covid can be harsh, relentless and painful, but many of us don’t know that until we are close to it. I never imagined we would live through pandemic times, much less that my dad would die of Covid-19.
The year 2020 was a strange and challenging one. Unlike many people, I coped very well with the isolation, had no abrupt changes in my routine, and the anxiety of the situation did not consume me. I found a point of greater peace at the end of the year that made me appreciate the lessons I had learned. But life never stops, and the blows come at the least expected moment.
2021 began with difficult news. My dad got sick the first days of the year, nothing too serious at first, but after a couple of days with symptoms he visited the doctor. The results came back soon after: positive for Covid-19.
I was worried, but at the same time I thought he could overcome it quickly. My 93-year-old grandmother survived Coronavirus in 2020 with treatment from home. But unlike her, for my dad the news was more worrisome by the day. Not long after, he had to be hospitalized, his lungs were not responding well.
As a doctor, my dad knew what to expect, as well as the daily exposure he faced in attending to his patients. In Venezuela, healthcare workers have been greatly affected by the virus.
For the first few days, I stayed away from the clinic, looking for medicines and additional tests from a distance. He didn’t want me exposed and I didn’t want him to worry for no reason.
The isolation kept us from getting close but I thought I would be able to see him again when he was discharged. The anxiety of isolation affects patients and family members immensely, also, the virus often disturbs the emotional and mental health of the infected.
As the days went by, the pneumonia worsened and his oxygen saturation began to drop. His body was not responding to the treatment; however, his doctors did not give up, they sought opinions from other specialists, but all agreed that he was receiving the proper treatment for his case.
At that point, we were able to find all the additional treatment relatively easily. For instance, the Remdesivir can be bought in pharmacies, we just had to compare prices to save money, because the cost ranges from $130 to $400 per ampule. A few months before, it was almost impossible to get it, and greed played a key role. Due to desperation, people even paid $1,000 for each ampule to private individuals who, on many occasions, did not deliver the merchandise.
The ill will of the greedy shows another dark chapter in the history of Venezuela, where selfishness and opportunism threaten to finally sink hope.
The hindrances tarnish the days of the disease and make them more difficult. After more than a week in the clinic, my father’s medical reports revealed no improvement and, when his saturation dropped to alarming levels, he required emergency intubation.
Almost from the beginning, the doctors spoke of a “serious, delicate, critical” case, but we all remained hopeful. Later on, only “discreet improvements” would be observed, followed by stationary results that did not indicate deterioration or progress.
For three weeks, we did not rest. We spent our days in the clinic near the isolation area, with our masks on and lots of gel to clean our hands. The phone rang at all hours and my heart was racing. The last call made me jump out of bed in the middle of the night; the instructions were that I should go as soon as possible. Something had happened. There, at that moment, a new reality began for me.
My dad just spent a few hours in the hospital; the night before, he was stable having been transferred during the day from the clinic. The doctors recommended the transfer, and we knew it was the best option due to problems with the health insurance; the company began to restrict and hinder because of the collapse currently being experienced due to Covid.
“Patients who have been here for many days have had to be transferred”, some doctors explained to me. “We had a patient with great health insurance coverage and the company didn’t want to cover it”.
In the chaos of the pandemic, worries and decisions pile up and add to the pain of the moment, turning a painful day into a long and restless one. After death, it is necessary to follow a series of instructions because of the virus. The protocols in Venezuela for Covid deaths only admit ten people, wearing biosafety suits, for burials; cremation is also an option. No farewells, funerals are prohibited.
For us, it was the best option. I didn’t want crowds of people, I didn’t want to expose any other family members. Nobody knows who might be infected and a gathering with many people can be a trigger.
I avoided contact with the rest of my family; although I followed protocols during my days in the clinic, the chances of getting the virus and being asymptomatic were latent. After the death, I isolated myself. Grieving from a distance is difficult, the supportive hugs from our loved ones are missed but reality pressured me to be responsible and, at the same time, gave me time to rest and meditate.
Meanwhile, a few days later, Venezuela celebrated Carnival. The government lifted the quarantine in order for Venezuelans to celebrate. The streets, squares and beaches were completely crowded, demonstrating the level of collective unconsciousness. We should not live in fear, it is about taking responsibility and avoiding spreading the virus further. Not only our lives are in danger, but also the lives of those around us.
Since February, the cases have begun to grow considerably. Increasingly, we hear of a sick family member or friend. Clinics and hospitals are collapsed. By March, the Easter vacations were interrupted with a radical quarantine to try to stop the rise in the number of cases.
At present, many sick people are treated at home due to the limited availability of hospital beds. In case of requiring oxygen, family members must stand in long lines to refill, paying high amounts added to the cost of medicines.
Experts confirm that the last weeks have been the worst of the virus in Venezuela, meanwhile, on social media messages aimed at finding oxygen and medicine abound, along with notifications of deaths caused by Covid.
Would there be more concern if the real numbers were known? I don’t know. One thing I do know is that my dad was not part of the statistics. According to the numbers offered by the government, no deaths occurred in our city that day, nor in the days that followed.
It was not an isolated case, a miscalculation or a miscounting. While we were carrying out the death formalities, we could be close to relatives of three deceased victims of Covid, all belonging to the night shift; during the day more were added. How many cases are hidden daily in the whole country? What are the real numbers?
The figures will probably never be known, not even close. The virus and the Brazilian variant continue to spread rapidly in Venezuela. We expect this new wave to pass quickly, although the cycle of the disease seems to be closing more and more each day, and the hope of a vaccine looks distant for those who live in the country. In the meantime, with each death, the wounds of those of us who are in mourning open.
Image credit: Natalia Y.