The coronavirus pandemic is taking a toll on medics around the world as they risk their lives treating the disease. Four brave medics share their experiences of being separated from their loved ones.
This is the hardest thing I have had to deal with
Dr Janet Sugut, stationed at Kenyatta National Hospital’s accident and emergency centre
She wears a bold smile as she walks into her work station. The smile will soon be covered beneath protective garb meant to keep her safe. Janet is in the middle of a war, and she is in the dead centre of it.
To anyone watching her, she is the epitome of grace under pressure. It is in the calm assuredness in her manner and in the steady stride that doesn’t break. But beneath the smile is an anxious woman. One who terribly misses her babies and husband as much as a soldier sent off to war would.
“I have two babies. Aged six and eight. And a man I love. But I haven’t seen them in a while. I miss their little smiles and hugs. I would kill for that right now,” she says forlornly.
She hasn’t seen her family in a month. And it has been tough for the young mother. Covid-19 has been the most challenging thing she has had to grapple with in her six-year long career. But she isn’t shying away from it. After all she signed up for it when she took the Hippocratic oath.
And that is why, when the pandemic broke out, her heart sank. She knew that this kind of war required sacrifices. She couldn’t keep her family near her and risk infecting them.
Her job offers a high risk of exposure, and if, God forbid, she went down for it, it wasn’t going to be with them. She had to protect them from it. And herself. This realisation led to a little meltdown in her husband’s arms and decisions about the separation strategy were made.
“I kept asking him when it would all be over so that we could all be together. I know he can’t answer that. We don’t know that.”
Soon after, she packed up her things and moved to the house’s servant quarters. This, however, changed after a short while when she figured out that sending them upcountry to Nandi County was the better option.
“When I moved into the isolated house in the compound, I would watch the kids play from a distance. When they would spot me, they would run excitedly to me but then I would have to run back into my isolated room and lock myself in. I feel like I was traumatising them by abandoning them.”
The bewildered tots would then run back to their dad to ask them why their mama was running away from them.
“I figured it was best for them upcountry. I did not want to traumatise them further.”
So after a long day of work dealing with patients and literally making the world a safer place, she will trudge back to her empty house and power up the chat app.
“It is how I keep sane; watching their lovely faces on video calls. Sometimes they will complain about being away from me and cry asking to come back, but ultimately, it is the safest solution.”
I miss my baby terribly
Dr Ruth Mulwa, stationed at the Infectious Disease Unit (IDU) at Mbagathi Hospital
Ruth has the kind of serene aura that many patients seek. And in the wards, she will take some time from her schedule to encourage the patients. Besides battling Covid-19, the patients are fighting stigma and a deep sadness that is bound to set in given the sombre environment. Sometimes in her counselling sessions she will draw a smile from them, other times she will just have to walk away content with the knowledge that she is doing her best. She may be a doctor but she isn’t immune to the melancholy, so she bravely fights to keep the smile on.
Lately though, when Ruth walks into the wards, she is keenly aware of one thing: that she is a mother, a single mother to the most amazing little girl, and she needs to stay safe for her.
“I may not wear my worry on my face but I am worried. Perhaps I might be the next patient, and if so, what happens to my daughter and family?” she asks, a deep crease forming on her face.
Her little girl was whisked away to her rural home in Makueni by her elder brother after he learnt that his sister was dealing with Covid-19 patients.
“While she understands that mommy isn’t sick and is just taking care of the sick, she is still a little confused about the new living situation. When we talk, she always asks me why I claim to love her yet I am staying away from her. Her words are too strong, yet I do not know how to explain the situation,” says Ruth.
“Every mother wants to go home, talk to their children, and embrace them with love. My daughter’s school keeps sending homework for her to do, but I cannot help her with it. I am now limited to phone calls that turn emotional from both ends.”
Working in the frontlines leaves her exposed to the virus, and this does make her larger family jittery. Ruth understands their fears though, as being around her could heighten their risk of infection.
“Sometimes parcels will be dropped off hurriedly at my doorstep. Things have changed,” she says with a smile.
So what keeps her sane?
“My faith in God. I read the Bible when out of the busy facility and listen to great music. I have hope that there’s a master who watches over me, and he will keep me safe.”
Going home to an empty house every day breaks my heart
Dr Dulcy Ivy* a medical microbiologist at the Infectious Disease Unit at KNH
She may not fully appreciate her place in history now, but one day, when it is all over, she will fully comprehend its significance. Dulcy (name changed on request to protect her identity) was the first medic to examine the first Covid-19 case announced by Cabinet Secretary Mutahi Kagwe on March 13, 2020.
As a result, she had to make a tough choice no young mother wants to make. She had to stop breastfeeding her son and go into isolation.
“My baby is with my mum in Naivasha. I had always wanted to breastfeed him till he was two. But well, plans sometimes fail. I took an oath to serve the sick. So I have to do it,” she says, matter of factly.
Though several kilometres away, the doctor bonds with her firstborn child through WhatsApp video calls.
“ I watch him play, eat and even attempt to ride a bicycle. I am loving his baby talk. I miss him so much. I miss listening to him speak funny and at times I am confused when I hear him say, ‘ma…ma…ma…ma’ I wonder if he remembers that I am his mother and isn’t referring to my mother.”
Though the separation is tough on her, she chooses to be optimistic.
“I can’t wait to have him back home. Getting back to my empty house is heartbreaking, but what can I do? This is my career, and I took an oath to serve the sick, so I shall, and hopefully the situation shall soon come to an end,” she says.
Our kids think we have abandoned them
Dr Philemon Kimathi, stationed at KNH’s accident and emergency centre
“My wife is a nurse, too, and sometimes she will cry the whole night long because she terribly misses the children. They are aged two and seven,” says Kimathi.
The couple made the tough decision to take their two children to Isiolo, their hometown, for their safety.
“We have family meetings via WhatsApp and Zoom. Initially the kids thought they were there for a short holiday and were happy, but now when we talk to them they seem traumatised. They accuse and blame us for not caring for them and abandoning them.”
While he hopes that things will look up and Covid-19 infections will go down, he hopes that Kenyans will adhere to the measures put in place for their safety.
“We are at the forefront in the battlefield, but are not very certain when we shall win. So be on our side. Don’t fight us too by defying orders. We need your support. Stay home.”
What vice could you never give up?