Front-line casualties in war on virus
Over 3,000 Chinese health workers have been infected. At least 18 have died, some from exhaustion.
BEIJING — A woman in a hazmat suit and protective mask let out a cry as she ran after a funeral van.
Her husband, Liu Zhiming, director of Wuhan’s Wuchang Hospital and a respected neurosurgeon who’d led the institution’s coronavirus response, was inside the vehicle. A video of the moment went viral, showing Liu’s wife, Cai Liping, a nurse who had been on the front lines with him, staggering forward as his corpse was driven away to be cremated.
Cai had begged to take care of Liu after he became infected in late January, when thousands of patients began crowding into Wuhan’s overburdened hospitals. But he refused, fearing she would get sick too.
“Can you see my messages? Can I come take care of you?” she texted him from outside his ward. “No,” Liu wrote. He died on Feb. 18. A spate of recent deaths
at China’s coronavirus epicenter highlights how COVID-19 has strained medical workers struggling to stem an outbreak that has killed more than 3,000 people and infected nearly 90,000 worldwide. Chinese health authorities and a team from the World Health Organization reported last week that 3,387 health workers in China had been infected with COVID-19, more than 90% of whom were in Hubei province, the outbreak’s ground zero.
The rate of new infections and deaths overall appears to be slowing in China. But the toll on medical workers reflects the costs of a politically delayed response that overwhelmed Wuhan’s healthcare system. Hospital staffers were left underprotected, overworked and increasingly vulnerable, even as they became the nexus between a frightened public and a misdirected government.
State propaganda has glorified their sacrifices, and authorities have announced measures to bolster support for medical workers, including higher salaries and a “martyr” title for the deceased. But their deaths and infections have sparked criticisms that the Communist Party has not taken responsibility for shortcomings that allowed the spread of the virus to accelerate.
The Times counted at least 18 reported deaths of medical workers involved in the COVID-19 response as of Feb. 24, including nurses and doctors who died not because of infection but because of cardiac arrest or other ailments due to overwork and fatigue. One victim was hit by a car while taking temperatures on a highway.
The most recent were three doctors who died in one day, all infected with COVID-19. One of them, Xia Sisi, a gastroenterologist in Wuhan, was 29. Another physician, Peng Yinhua, also 29, died in Wuhan of infection on Feb. 20. He had delayed his Feb. 1 wedding, promising his pregnant fiancee they’d have the ceremony after the outbreak had passed.
Most of the infected medical workers are in Hubei, many of them part of the initial response in Wuhan, when shortages of protective gear, understaffed hospitals and transportation shutdowns collided with an overwhelming number of patients. The stories of doctors and nurses tell of improvisation and perseverance.
A doctor in Wuhan told
The Times in a phone interview Jan. 29 that 12 out of 59 doctors in his hospital were showing symptoms of the virus, including lung infections — but continued to treat patients while wearing insufficient protective gear.
Since then, he and other medical workers have been told to stop speaking to the press.
The death of Wuhan front-line nurse Liu Fan, 49, shows how some medical workers have to confront the virus spreading through their own homes.
Liu’s brother, Chang Kai, a film director, wrote a final letter describing what had happened to his family. All four members, including Liu, were infected with the virus after being quarantined at home. Unable to get a hospital bed amid Wuhan’s shortage, Chang’s father died at home Feb. 3. His mother died Feb. 8.
Addressing his son in London, Chang’s letter reads: “I went to hospitals begging and weeping, but I am too low and insignificant .... All my life I’ve been a faithful son, a responsible father, a loving husband, an honest person. Farewell! To those I love and those who love me.”
Chang died Feb. 14; Liu hours later.
The work has been overwhelming. Song Yingjie, a 28-year-old pharmacist, was single-handedly managing his hospital’s medicine prescriptions, then checking temperatures at a highway stop at night. He worked until midnight on Feb. 2, standing on the roadside in freezing wind, according to a colleague who was with him. It was his 10th consecutive day on the virus response team.
He was found dead in his hospital dormitory the next afternoon. The cause was cardiac arrest from exhaustion.
Wang Tucheng, 37, a doctor in Henan’s Xinwangzhuang village, was found dead Feb. 10 in his clinic. The cause was also listed as cardiac arrest due to overwork.
In Nanjing, Xu Hui, leader of a hospital’s virus control group, worked for 18 days straight, then went home after a meeting on Feb. 6, “lay down and never got up,” according to state media. She was 51.
John Nicholls, a Hong Kong University pathologist who worked on the 2003 SARS outbreak, said poor training, exhaustion, contaminated surfaces and operating outside areas of expertise leave medical workers susceptible. When severe acute respiratory syndrome broke out, doctors from different departments were asked to join the front lines, Nicholls said. But many medical workers weren’t properly trained for procedures such as intubation in a high-risk infectious environment.
In a crisis situation without proper training, medics rushing to the front then easily became infected, and spread infections to others. Nicholls sees a similar pattern with COVID-19.
“I’m disappointed that people didn’t learn from SARS,” he said.
China has sent tens of thousands of medical workers from all over the country to bolster relief efforts in Wuhan. It’s a major focus of state propaganda. The narrative features few details on whether the teams receive protective training or other safety measures. Instead, many state videos play inspirational music as doctors and nurses pump their fists, shout patriotic slogans and prepare for “battle.”
Medical workers’ love for the motherland, Communist Party membership and self-sacrifice have become major propaganda themes after the death of a whistleblower, Dr. Li Wenliang, prompted unprecedented calls for transparency and freedom of speech in China.
But some Chinese feel state media have turned medical workers into props.
One article by the Wuhan Evening News praised a 28year-old nurse who went back to front-line work 10 days after a miscarriage, calling her a “warrior.” Many online commenters objected.
“Stop this type of propaganda! Stop putting unprotected medical workers on the front line,” one user wrote.
State channel CCTV also aired a report about a pregnant nurse only 20 days from her delivery date but still working in an Wuhan emergency ward, calling her a “great mother and angel in a white gown.”
Internet users, feminists and academics were furious.
“Hospitals should not be allowing a nurse who is nine months pregnant — or the one who’d had a miscarriage — to work. Their immune systems are weakened, and it’s highly possible that they will be infected with the virus,” feminist writer Hou Hongbin told the South China Morning Post.
Both nurse stories were deleted after the public backlash.
The language of “warrior” and militaristic sacrifice obscures individual rights, said Peking University historian Luo Xin in a recent Chinese podcast that has since been censored online. “Fundamental laws are broken, basic human rights are destroyed. Why? Because it’s ‘wartime,’ ” Luo said. “In ‘wartime,’ we can do anything. There is great danger in using this type of language.”
While state propaganda continues to praise heroic sacrifice, one front-line nurse in Wuhan, Long Qiaoling, expressed her feelings in a poem:
Please allow me to remove my protective gear and mask
To separate my flesh from the armor
Let me lean my body down Let me breathe quietly Ah….