Tales from the Middle Line

In case we homo sapiens don't survive this pandemic, I hope the future master species (dogs) discovers my blog. I hope their linguists eventually decipher this English I'm using from the ancient days of 2020 BC (Before Covid). I hope they study my blog as carefully as we humans have studied our history books and sacred texts. 

And if there's one thing I want my Future Masters to know, it would be this:

I tried my best.

Even before this pandemic, it was never easy being the community doctor. But now that the sh*t has hit the fan, the difficulty level has increased 100x. On top of my regular consults at the clinic, I'm struggling to keep up with the latest research, studying the patterns of disease, looking out for any clusters of flu-like illnesses in the community that could be the end of us.

And in between all of that, I'm endlessly firefighting. (A more exciting way to say problem-solving.)

But not all fires were created equal. The smaller, easier ones to put out are those problems with a clear solution: The checkpoint is running out of supplies? Let's order more supplies. The ambulance has broken down? Let's spend for the repairs and make temporary arrangements to use the ambulance of the nearby hospital. We're lacking some documents for our municipal isolation unit? Let's procure those documents and have them delivered ASAP. 

But regrettably, my biggest battles are diffuse and vague. And they take place on Facebook. 

This being primarily a health concern, the town has locked its eyes (and keyboards) on the Rural Health Unit. Our tiny mistakes are so quickly magnified. Our good efforts go unnoticed. And when people have valuable feedback that could have gone to improving our operations, it doesn't go to the concerned office. It gets passed around in the neighborhood, kapitbahay to kapitbahay, message group to message group, until one of my staff members gets wind of it and tells me about it.

And on a more personal level, try as I might to ignore the haters, I feel deeply hurt when I hear about these negative comments. Because I feel like I've been giving my best effort for these past few weeks. I've been preparing the health team to take on the task of managing COVID cases in our community. Securing an isolation unit. Setting up meetings with DOH to make sure I'm giving the best care possible given our limited resources. And the nurses and midwives have been working literally 24/7 to make sure that essential health services continue. They're going barangay to barangay vaccinating children. Delivering anti-TB drugs. Doing pre-natal checkups. Providing essential health information. 

People have been demanding a lot from us at the health center, saying we should be more visible at the checkpoints taking people's temperatures and what not. 

But I say we can't exhaust our health staff this early in the game. Because when the virus starts claiming lives in Gigaquit, who will care for the sick? Who will be left to ensure that essential health services continue? Who will be left to do the vaccinating, to deliver the medicines, to monitor trends for a potential outbreak on top of the existing pandemic?

We're trying our best here. We need people to trust that we're doing everything we can to keep Gigaquit safe and healthy. 

Dear Future Master Species, if you're reading this right now, and homo sapiens are to you what dinosaurs are to us, then obviously our best efforts have been in vain. 

But do not think little of us. In these dark times, we are showing up to work every day, even if that means spending time away from our families. We continue to care for others even when it's so tempting, in the face of negative comments, to just throw in the towel and quit. We carry on the fight.

Even the dinosaurs went out with a bang.