Covid-19: Diary of a front-line pharmacist (24/3/20)

Hours worked: 12.5hrs

Meals: 1

Water: 1 cup

Toilet breaks: 0

Last week I returned to work after being sick at home for almost two weeks. If I'm honest, I'm not completely recovered. But I lead a pharmacy and it was time for the general to return to the war zone as the world around us imploded. But that is another story for another time.

Last week I returned to work and I thought I was in hell. I felt so guilty for leaving my staff while I was in self-isolation, for an infection that is still unknown. Yesterday I thought I was on another level of hell altogether. But today was no better.

With the announcement of growing cases in NZ, the government and public were just beginning to realise the reality the health professionals, mathematicians and scientists have been trying to convey. In the case of an infectious disease, the situation is always so very much ahead of where we think we are. The dangerous and seriousness of the situation was right in front of us but no one was listening. And now the country is in a panic, making situations much much worse.

I woke today at 6AM. It had been an exhausting day the day before, but my body would not let me sleep. My mind was buzzing with ways of protecting my staff and the speech I needed to make during the morning meeting. Due to the lack of clear direction and preparedness on several levels, pharmacies had to come up with innovative ways to protect staff and patients. We are part of the forgotten profession.

I arrived at work half an hour before opening to prepare for another battle. Lucky for me, as I walked along the aisles I spotted a few bags of rice in the supermarket my pharmacy is situated in. It's the first I've seen in a long time. I bought one immediately for my elderly parents who are at high risk and in self-isolation. Then my work begins.

The phones were already ringing. The email is flooded with prescriptions after prescriptions, faxed by doctors late last night and the early morning. I do what I can as I wait for my staff to arrive.

9AM I hold a staff meeting to ensure we are all on the same page. Health and safety foremost. My staff looks frightened and tired but they are ready to follow. My staff count is short, there were those who have to stay home and look after their young. We must soldier on with the numbers we have. I split my team into groups, and my heart wrenches as I send my youngest staff out to meet the customers. And we are open to the public.

It is an onslaught. The queue seems endless. The store manager proceeds to discuss with me strategies to manage the crowd. No one is following the social distancing rule still, putting everyone at risk. People start screaming at us about the wait time. It has grown from a few hours to 24-48 hours and now 3-4 days. The scripts and requests keep coming, the faxes won't stop. The phone won't stop ringing. The orders arrive and the space in the pharmacy diminishes. My heart sinks as one difficult script appears after another. Blister packs, compounding, errors on prescriptions. It just doesn't stop.

It is inevitable that in the face of a drastic event, people either become the best version of themselves or they show their ugly side. Most are selfish, demanding and abusive. There are precious few who understands, are apologetic and remembers to say a simple thank you.

We had to turn away a lot of customers, good customers. Ones who have not bought into the panic and simply needed help. But the system is overloaded, there is no choice. We send them on elsewhere. Then there are those who are at high risk. But there is no one to take care of them. So they risk it all and come out to us. My heart breaks as their frail figures come to the counter. Have they dodged a bullet? Only time will tell.

The grueling long hours continue. Despite all of this I still count myself lucky. My work provides security guards who can keep the aggressive customers in check. We still managed to sneak in a meal break each for all the staff. At the end of the day, we are still standing. No where close to making a dent in the growing pile of prescriptions but still alive. Our bodies are sore from standing all day. Mental and physical fatigue sets in as we wind down for the day. The doors finally close but our jobs are not finished. We set up for the next day, leave behind the untouched prescriptions and we go on to make deliveries. There are still patients counting on us.

It is 9PM and I am finally home. I didn't realise how hungry I was and I practically inhale my food. On my drive home I reflect on the last two days. I know we cannot last if the situation continues. Lessons learned and tomorrow we change tactics. We are in this for the long haul. Without proper protection we are severely at risk. No choice but to be on the front line. No choice but to put our family at risk with us as there was no consideration for accommodation arrangements for those risking their lives. No choice but to push our physical and mental capabilities to the limit and beyond.

A little voice in my head asks what for? Where would our altruism take us? While we protect those in need, who will protect us? Will those at the front lines be considered veterans? Will the government take care of us when we fall? How about after when we are left to pick up the pieces of our lives and sanity that remain? If any remains at all.

Live. Love. Laugh. Liberate.

- Avis Knows

(This post was originally posted to Avis Knows Consulting Pharmacist.)