Venezuela healthcare horror proves a national crisis
Inside a small and foul-smelling hospital room in central Venezuela, Gabriella Cuervas stands by the bedside of her 70year-old brother, Fermin. She lifts up his hand; the skin has turned gangrenous. Then she peels back the bandages on his foot to show more fetid flesh.
Cuervas has been waiting 11 days for an amputation, which is free, but the bandages they need to buy for his surgery cost 60,000 Bolivares (R150) – impossible on her 40,000 (R100)-amonth pension. “I don’t know what we can do,” said his sister, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. “He is rotting away and I can’t help him.”
Venezuela’s healthcare system, disintegrating for decades, is now in a horrifying state of collapse.
The average life expectancy of the population rose by almost four years every decade from 1950 to 1990, thanks to improvements in healthcare, living standards and nutrition. These have included major advances in reducing infant mortality and tackling infectious and parasitic diseases.
Now the medical service is in ruins: even basic supplies are non-existent, machinery has been lying in a state of disrepair for years, skilled professionals have fled, and the buildings are crumbling.
It is a devastating microcosm of the country as a whole. And it is causing millions to turn against Nicolas Maduro’s government, and embrace the alternative offered by his rival for the presidency, Juan Guaido.
Maduro says that the catastrophic conditions are the result of US sanctions, and the waging of “economic warfare”. Were it not for the sanctions, he argues, the government would have money to buy medicines and maintain health services. Few medical experts agree. They point out that the decline has been many years in the making – well before sanctions were imposed.
“This is the result of a longterm lack of investment, and mismanagement,” Dr Leopoldo Villegas, a public health expert said.
“It’s been a story of decline over the last 18 years, and things have got so bad that in 2014 the government decided to stop reporting most of its healthcare statistics.”
With more than half of Venezuela’s operating theatres closed and 73% lacking reliable running water, according to one recent report, the Maduro regime has endeavoured to keep the state of the facilities from wider attention.
National Guardsmen patrol the entrance to the Luis Razetti general hospital, a 330-bed institution built 42 years ago in the city of Barinas. Entering is risky, for everyone concerned.
“If anyone in my family gets ill, I do absolutely everything I can to keep them out of that hospital,” said Daniel, a nurse working in the hospital, not his real name. “It’s the opposite of a place that saves lives.”
Patients with pneumonia are placed next to cancer patients and car crash victims. Superbugs are a constant threat. Of the four lifts in the hospital, three are out of order, meaning everyone – patients, doctors, cleaners and stray dogs – uses the same lift, which, Daniel said, is notorious for getting stuck.
Daniel, who has worked in the hospital for seven years, said that, of the 12 or so patients admitted daily, half die from the lack of basic equipment – antibiotics, sterile solution, rehydration liquids, antiseptic, cotton wool.
“The shortages began to get really serious four or five years ago,” he said. “At first, maybe it was one day a month we didn’t have supplies. Now it’s every day. I feel like I’m in handcuffs, unable to help.”
The hospital will regularly operate for three days without running water; a generator has been installed to cope with blackouts, but it is not sufficient to light all five floors.
During the three-day blackout in March, the generator ran out of fuel and, for 18 hours while Daniel was on duty, the hospital was in darkness. Children died as their ventilators stopped working, and people who attempted to improvise kerosene lamps came into the wards with horrific burns.
Furthermore, gangs of thugs roam the corridors, stealing from the patients and extorting money. One woman, outside the hospital, said she’d seen criminals charging people money to enter the building.
Hospital director Dr Jose Fajardo, in his office, quietly admitted the shortages. “It’s no secret that it’s difficult here at the moment,” he said. “If I request 10,000 doses of antibiotics, perhaps 600 will arrive. If I request 25,000 pairs of gloves, perhaps 3,000 will arrive.
“The minister of health and the vice minister were here a month ago, and I explained our challenges to them. But they sat there with their arms folded – they knew the problems – and replied that every hospital was having the same issues.”
“This place is disgusting,” said Jani Franco, 50, who was in the ward to care for her ailing sister. “There’s not one lavatory working on this whole floor. There is no water. The ventilation is horrendous. There are spiders, cockroaches, rats.”
Jocelyn Perez, 32, added: “And they dragged us out of our beds this morning – us, the patients, here because we’re sick – to clean the corridors, because they knew you were coming.”
In another room, blood pooled on the floor, combining with other bodily fluids. The stench was unbearable.
“This country has attempted politics that did not work,” Dr Farjado said after the tour finished, choosing his words carefully. “And we are living through the consequences.”
The abandonment of the country’s most vulnerable and destitute, like the Cuervas siblings, is today Venezuela’s tragedy. And the human cost keeps growing.
Three days after allowing journalists into the hospital, Dr Fajardo was fired. —
If anyone in my family gets ill, I do absolutely everything I can to keep them out of that hospital. It’s the opposite of a place that saves lives