January 25, 2020, marked the diagnosis of Malaysia’s first Covid-19 case, an event that would irreversibly change our lives.
Five years later, we look back at a pandemic that plunged our health care system into chaos.
Neither experienced UD56 consultants nor novice UD41 house officers were prepared for the scale and intensity of the crisis.
It was a race to gather knowledge, adapt it to local resources, and implement strategies in real time. Guidelines were updated as frequently as twice a day.
Thankfully, the pandemic occurred in the era of social media and instant messaging, enabling the rapid dissemination of new information among health care workers.
Despite this, the learning curve was steep, and the frontliners were thrust into the spotlight as heroes. Billions of ringgit were poured into health care, and 37,000 lives were lost to the disease.
Remarkably, Malaysia emerged as one of the top 20 countries in managing the pandemic effectively, but the personal and professional toll on health care workers remains immeasurable.
As someone directly involved in managing the pandemic across four hospitals in two states, I can attest that the experience was overwhelming. We faced a novel disease with no established management protocols.
Knowing it was airborne and highly contagious made every patient interaction a potential risk. Like firefighters running into burning buildings, we trusted our experts and embraced our duty to save lives.
Remarkably, I never encountered a single colleague who refused to work. However, the price we paid was steep — all of us either treated Covid-19 patients or became patients ourselves.
While the rest of the country found solace in Dalgona coffee, gardening, and new hobbies during the Movement Control Order (MCO), health care workers faced an entirely different reality.
I witnessed nurses breaking down after being exposed to the virus by irresponsible patients. Doctors slept in their cars to protect their elderly parents and young children at home.
The heat inside personal protective equipment (PPE) was unbearable; half a litre of sweat would pool inside coverall suits during doffing.
Once you wore the PPE, you avoided eating, drinking, or going to the bathroom until the shift ended, which could extend up to eight hours. Tight-fitting masks caused facial ulcers, a common and painful occurrence.
We endured not only physical exhaustion but also social ostracism. Health care workers were avoided by the public out of fear of infection, and our children were sometimes rejected from daycare facilities.
The emotional toll was immense, especially the hopelessness of watching the pandemic rage on for weeks without relief. Perhaps the most harrowing aspect was making life-and-death decisions as ventilators ran out and patient numbers soared.
These choices forever changed us, leaving parts of ourselves irreparably altered. Holding the hands of patients as they died alone, without their loved ones, was an agony that words cannot capture.
Junior doctors under the contract system bore the brunt of the pandemic, often being the first to manage Covid-19 patients in makeshift centers.
Their sacrifices were hailed as heroic, but what has become of them now? Many were not offered permanent positions, and the contract system persists to this day.
Nurses, already overworked, are now expected to work 45 hours a week. Doctors are pressured to take on additional workloads while facing cuts to their on-call claims.
Three years after Covid-19 was declared endemic, and five years since the pandemic began, little has changed.
Promises of additional leave for frontliners, who worked tirelessly while others enjoyed the respite of the MCO, never materialised. The sacrifices of health care workers — their sleepless nights, emotional wounds, and physical toll — seem to have been forgotten.
What did health care workers do to deserve this treatment? We answered the call when the nation needed us most. The pandemic tested our limits and revealed our resilience, but it also exposed systemic flaws that remain unaddressed.
As we move forward, it is imperative to remember the lessons of the past five years and honour the contributions of those who bore the heaviest burden.
One can only hope we don’t face another pandemic, as our trust and confidence in the authorities to guide us through such a crisis have been deeply shaken.
The author is an emergency doctor from Perak. CodeBlue is providing the author anonymity because civil servants are prohibited from writing to the press.
- This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of CodeBlue.
