A note from the daughter of doctors who work on the frontline
Anyone who knows me knows that I aspire to be like my dad — more specifically, I aspire to emulate his natural state of being: jolly, helpful, and selfless. He has other attributes that I admire, obviously, including his perseverance, strength, and intellect, but they fade before his unique ability and desire to spread laughter and happiness. This intention does lead him to crack an alarming number of jokes per day (so much so, that I sometimes think that they modelled the term “dad joke” after him) but his antics are never distasteful or inappropriate, thanks to his high EQ. He is primarily left-brained though, and this combination translates really well in his consulting room— as a medical professional, he is able to provide the right information to his patients along with guidance tailored to their socio-economic condition. More importantly, even when a diagnosis is worrisome, the jovial atmosphere that he creates comforts the patient’s (and their relative’s) anxiety, enabling them to leave with hope and a smile on their face.
As an emergency care specialist for 30 years, my dad has led a very stressful life, including witnessing a fair share of deaths. Like most others, he has faced immense personal loss as well. But when I say that I have never seen my dad angry, upset, or jaded, it is not an overestimation; even when times got rough (which, mind you, they did), he never failed to look at the bright side and show it to others. So, when I heard his voice cracking over the phone today — something I had never experienced in 25 years of my existence — I felt extremely uneasy. I knew that something had to have gone terribly wrong for him to feel this way, let alone to allow it to seep through.
After my relentless appeal, he finally admitted that he felt emotionally devastated and helpless. He has been working on the frontline with COVID patients for months (with my mom). Lately, however, the death count has increased significantly — deaths, according to him, that could have been avoided with reasonable measures. He spends a significant portion of his day scouting for manpower and oxygen cylinders as well as helping his other patients find hospital beds, all of which are scarcely available. Moreover, all his loved ones are worried about him — he is 57 with multiple comorbidities. There is little he can do in this situation: he cannot control people’s behaviors that lead to contracting the virus, compel the government to create the necessary infrastructure to combat the situation, or stop working altogether to appease worried loved ones. He is doing his best but he knows that it isn’t enough, and that, admittedly, is a terrible feeling.
I don’t need to go into the statistics of COVID cases to show you how grim things are, I am sure you are fed that data every day via the news outlets or as part of small talk. I can only urge you to actually follow the safety guidelines — wear a mask, maintain social distancing and wash your hands often. We’ve all heard stories of people getting COVID after being vaccinated or despite having been indoors, but please don’t be discouraged and continue to follow the rules; it can literally save someone’s life. If you’re privileged, please do not hog on oxygen cylinders or remdesivir for a possible rainy day — someone is facing a storm today. If you are eligible, please go take the vaccine and encourage others around you. If you’re trained and able, please go and volunteer as a nurse or medical officer. The fewer the cases, the lesser the pressure on the healthcare system and the more lives we can save; a little bit does go a long way.
