A procession of death and some haunting memories.
It is 8 March 2021 now, a year has passed since the first case of the coronavirus was detected in Bangladesh.
In my experience as a doctor I have never seen so many bed-ridden patients and so many deaths all at once like I have since the wake of Covid-19.
While the hospitals around the city are bustling with patients and restless doctors and nurses, the streets and highways are empty. One of the most bustling and populous cities in the world seems like a ghost town now. Honestly, this pandemic is completely changing the face of the earth as we know it.
I check my mobile phone for the time, it is almost one in the morning. Initially I had thought we would be able to overcome this phase in no time, that our country would not be that much affected but I was entirely wrong. With all the bad news that’s coming in, I am beginning to doubt our collective expertise as doctors nowadays.
I used to think of doctors as real-life superheroes when I was in high school. Well, I think that notion served as my earliest inspiration to become a doctor but mostly I wanted to be helpful to my society. Unfortunately, Biology was not my favourite, but I figured being a doctor is the best way I can assist the people of the community. I doubted my choice a lot when I first started studying as a medical student, but as years passed, I became more confident in my skills.
As time went on, I found that doctors often form a very personal connection with their patients, which makes the patient trust them and let them supervise their health. As a doctor, you end up becoming an important figure in the life of the patients you treat.
Frankly, all these years, not once did I regret my decision to become a doctor. It is a blessing to be able to assist patients and sometimes even bring them back from the verge of death, which mostly happens miraculously though. But now in this pandemic situation, all my confidence is crumbling; I am barely keeping myself together. Witnessing deaths and sufferings every day has become more like a ritual. However, you never quite get used to seeing people struggling to breathe, struggling to take in air, one of the most basic and involuntary act for humans.
As I pass the dark corridor and look at the records of each patient, each report makes me feel hopeless. Though the reports are somewhat better than the patient’s reports of last year, no specific antidote has reached our country yet. Many of my fellow doctors and nurses also got infected by the disease, so the number of assisting doctors has also decreased. Only I and one of my other colleagues are responsible for the patients on this floor.
I enter each Covid-patient ward to examine some of the patients, wearing the most absurd attire I’ve worn in my entire life. But that is what is required now to remain safe and alive. The plastic sheeting around me feels like it is suffocating me every moment. The mask is so tight around my face that it is sometimes hard to breathe, not to mention the scars it would leave behind on my face. I have to change the gloves every 6 hours, still the skin on my hands would feel like my hands have been underwater for the past 24 hours. The head shield I am wearing brings back memories of my past when I used to play fencing in middle school.
I still remember sending my parents a picture in this suit during the initial days, to which they could only express dismay. A smile lights up my face which quickly fades as I think of these memories. It has been almost 365 days since I met any of my close ones.
After visiting all the wards and ICUs as usual, I begin to feel so weary, like I have aged 10 years. It was hard to adjust to this new normal. So, I shortly find my way to my cabin and grab a packet of biscuits and mineral water from the table. I then take off my mask and shield, as well as the gloves. The scorching summer season is not helping in any way.
Despite being sleepy and hungry, none of it compares to what we have been through in the last year. In this one year, even social media has grown to become a source of anxiety, hence nature is my only escape. I open the windows and let some air in.
I stare out of the window of my cabin to watch the soulless, pitch-black sky. Below the dull sky, the city looks dead. Though the streets are better lit than before and there are some masked people around, lights are still lacking in the once-bustling streets of the capital. I have always hated the city traffic, but this sight is more haunting.
The world around me has changed for the worse and the news of new variants cropping out every other day offers no comfort.
I take a seat on my recliner chair and lean back with other reports in my hand. I notice that vaccination is showing some progress, which gives me a hint of relief.
I start to think about the role of doctors, which is all the more important now as this murderous disease is causing the collapse of even the most powerful nations. It is our job, our solemn duty now to help the patients by keeping them safe and treating their ailments the best we can even though it has cost us the lives of several doctors and nurses in the process.
They will never be forgotten. Their sacrifice will always motivate me to continue serving.
The thought is distressing, but this is the reality now. The horrible fact that more than 8,000 people died and more than 562,752 cases have been recorded in these 365 days still haunts me (Worldometer, 2022).
After about half an hour, I again start to get ready by wearing new gloves and fixing my shield so that I can go check on the ICUs again and discuss the vaccine matter with other doctors. While I’m dressing up, suddenly I hear the miserable scream and an alarm signal, both sounding at once. I hurriedly come out of the cabin and find nurses hurriedly passing by with oxygen cylinders and more patients coming in. As the chaos passes by us, the cabin door across from my cabin opens up.
“Dr. Rahman?” Dr. Chowdhury comes out of his cabin donning the same outfit as mine and asks “What was that?”
“That, Doctor, is the sound death ushering in,” we both sigh and with a heavy heart, walk on to do our job.