Any Palm Sunday at the covid floor, by Mar Calpena


The waiting room of the covid plant it’s just some benches and a coffee machine. Although we are not supposed to drink anything, because nobody can theoretically take off the mask. One family member per person, half an hour, we stand in line. no one knows very well when are visiting hours, which vary daily. They dress us as ‘astronaut’. The protocol requires that they supervise us with the PPE. A protocol that becomes more or less strict depending on the humor or the rigor of the person who applies it. The feeling is to be entering a maximum security prison. Often we will have the feeling that this is also how patients are treated.

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Must defend to the death public healthcareand provide it with resources. And that is why it is important to defend it also from those who, from within, due to bad faith or ‘burnout’, are not in a position to exercise it, and sign control visits that have never occurred (because it is asymptomatic covid, and it is ‘ only’ of a broken leg), or yell at an elderly person for vomiting again, or close the door in the face of a family member, while their inertia puts a blindfold on them and they do not see that the patient advances to septic shock. No, as long as other professionals who do work well – which there are also – instead chain interims for ten years.

The protest mechanisms are limited: a lawyer friend tells you that it is unlikely to win a trial for this reason (excuse me for not being specific; at one point, an alleged perpetrator is heard saying that “it is his word against mine” ). All you have to do is find yourself on a Palm Sunday afternoon, lengthening the telephone conversation with the person you love most in the world, because you fear that if you hang up you will never hear his voice again. Not all families will have the luck, or the courage or the resources, to complain and remove all the strings of heaven and earth within their reach: and because we do, that person is still alive.


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