In Puerto Rico, we have been in lock-down and curfew since March 15, when the COVID-19 pandemic hit the island. Only those who work providing essential services can leave their homes. These obviously include health services. The rest of the population can only go out, under certain restrictions, to buy food, hygiene products, medicines, and fuel.
My husband is a health professional. He runs an ulcer healing clinic and has continued to work as usual. Although the volume of patients has decreased, the clinic always receives critically ill patients who, if not for them, would end up at the hospital. These days nobody wants to expose themselves to a hospital.
My daughter studies art, and this is her last semester. She is just taking an online class. Her ceramics class and her graduation exhibition, a rather large installation, will have to wait for now.
I am working from home, or rather, at home trying to work, and I am not complaining. I am fortunate to be able to work and to be accompanied in this isolation by my husband and daughter. I know of people with much more complicated lives who are doing their best to adapt. Still, it has not been easy, but beyond change management, media bombing, and collective anxiety, I am concerned that my husband has to expose himself outside.
A few weeks ago, I stumbled upon sad news, among many others, from a health professional who died in New York. He was a young male nurse who became infected with the virus and had complications due to his asthma. He suffered from chronic asthma as a child. That news broke my heart; that’s my biggest fear. My husband is also asthmatic, and although his condition is under control now, this wasn’t the case when he was a kid.
During his childhood, he spent months at the hospital due to his asthma episodes. His mom went to school every day to talk to the teachers and look for his homework so he wouldn’t fall behind.
He goes out to work every day. He does not use the appropriate masks because they are scarce, and he leaves them to the clinic nurses who directly take care of the patients.
Sometimes, he goes to the supermarket with some coworkers. Since the clinic is not operating at regular hours, some employees do not have enough money for groceries. So he helps them.
At home, he is the one who buys provisions. Every day he visits his mom, brings her food, or whatever she needs. Then he brings food to us, barely on time, before the curfew alarm sounds at 6:30 pm.
He doesn’t want me to go out, so my daughter and I don’t have to expose ourselves. He takes care of everything. However, he is the most vulnerable in this house. Lately, he’s been having asthma at night. Before, this hardly ever happened. He says it’s the chemicals they use at the clinic to clean up and disinfect.
He has always been a maniac of cleanliness and what could be classified as a “germophobic.” I know he takes care of himself, so I try to stay positive, but it’s so hard when you’re being bombarded by so much bad news.
Every morning when he goes out the door, a piece of my soul goes with him. Because what I feel is fear. Although I am proud of him and grateful for his sacrifices, I am terrified. And that feeling is paralyzing and powerful. It won’t let me sleep, and whenever I sleep, I only have nightmares or vivid and strange dreams.
It is challenging to concentrate and be able to do my job. But we are adapting. We are all in this together. And my responsibility is to keep going, take care of the family, stay isolated.
My husband is a very noble and helpful person who overflows with attention for others, a natural caretaker. Like so many health professionals who go out to work right now, the vast majority of them do it by vocation; because they carry it in their soul. I just hope every afternoon, he returns home well and healthy.