COMMENT: Don’t take our COVID-19 healthcare heroes for granted

A BELLYACHE and trapped wind ensured a dramatic call to the hotline at Sengkang General Hospital last week. The medication had run out, the acid reflux had returned and the heartburn kept behaving like a heart attack.

As always, I thought I was dying, which was irritating. I have children’s books to finish writing and West Ham United are still involved in European competition.

So the call went in for an emergency appointment to see an ears, nose and throat specialist.

“The earliest date is in February,” the receptionist said.

February? Are patients cutting their ears and noses off? I wondered.

Presumably, there are post-pandemic backlogs to clear, but I was having none of it. I had a serious health complaint. The acid reflux was causing a slight cough.

“It’s outrageous,” I told my wife. “No appointments until February. I might be dying.”

“You’ve got acid reflux,” she said.

“And trapped wind.”

“So acid reflux and farting then.”

My wife wasn’t offering anything constructive until she mentioned the repeat prescription hotline. Two hours later, I was collecting my medication and making self-conscious jokes about trapped wind to an unflappable pharmacist. The efficiency of our healthcare system remains humbling.

Pillars of strength during pandemic

But I was still miffed with my February appointment when I read about the Healthcare Humanity Awards recently presented to 95 individuals and teams in the industry. President Tharman Shanmugaratnam called our healthcare workers “unwavering pillars of strength”. I had briefly called them other things when I couldn’t get an appointment for my acid reflux. My shame ran deep, especially when I read about their COVID-19 work.

I still get embarrassed that I was considered an “essential worker” during the pandemic as I co-hosted a radio show that required me to read out traffic updates and make daft jokes about folks queuing in Causeway jams to buy cheap potato chips. It was essential work, sort of, it just wasn’t Dr Shawn Vasoo’s work.

The clinical director at the National Centre for Infectious Diseases was honoured for his innovative approach to patient care during COVID-19, particularly his team’s “CAVES” system, which focused on caring for patients at home. This one struck a chord. My step-father was housebound throughout the pandemic. His immunodeficiency disorders ensured any infection would be fatal.

(Typically stubborn, he never contracted COVID-19, but died six months after the pandemic of unrelated causes, giving a middle finger to the disease until the very end.)

But he was treated for his immunodeficiency disorders, at home, for more than a year by indefatigable nurses, mostly from Southeast Asia. It was a warm and reciprocal relationship. My step-father learnt about the nurses’ families back in Myanmar and the Philippines. And the nurses learned about Chelsea’s shortcomings in attack.

(Incidentally, I’ll never forget a disagreement with my ailing step-father, who insisted that I was wrong and his nurse didn’t come from Myanmar. His nurse came from Burma.)

Still, the vocal cords tightened when I discovered Dr Vasoo’s pioneering efforts to provide for patients at home, along with Dr Louisa Sun’s role in dealing with the anxiety among dormitory-based migrant workers. Those men were effectively household, too, like my parents. But my parents had decent wi-fi, live Chelsea games and any reality TV show involving bitchy housewives.

The migrant workers just had each other, and the multilingual materials, audio recordings and printed booklets - in seven languages - provided by Dr Sun’s team. A lovely initiative that went way beyond the call of duty.

Laura Ho, deputy director of nursing at Tan Tock Seng Hospital, did something equally noble for healthcare workers who faced quarantine and isolation due to their interaction with COVID-19 patients. She set up digital engagement sessions to maintain any kind of human connection. These sessions were priceless. Mental health was fragile. A nurse broke down after being separated from her baby on Mother’s Day.

I remembered a tearful farewell with my daughter from behind a glass partition. But the glass partition was at the Changi Airport departure lounge and I was off to spend six weeks in Brazil on a writing assignment. I love my little girl dearly, but Neymar had a chance to win the World Cup on home soil. It wasn’t really the same thing.

Our healthcare workers were heroes. Every bloody one of them.

Consequences of tackling health crisis

And then, we inevitably moved on. The pandemic is increasingly in our rear-view mirror, but is that really the case for everyone? The initial heroics are easier to acknowledge than the uncomfortable consequences.

According to The Guardian, one in 10 health workers in England had suicidal thoughts during the crisis. The omnipresent risk of infection or death, burnout and the toll of tackling the biggest health crisis in a century affected the wellbeing of health workers across the world.

Singapore wasn’t spared either. In May, a survey by the Academy of Medicine Singapore revealed a considerable surge in job burnout, with rates reaching 39 per cent in 2021, compared to 25 per cent in 2020. Anxiety and depression also rose to 18 per cent and 16 per cent from 14 per cent and 12 per cent respectively. Weary, burnout professionals are more likely to make medical errors, obviously.

And yet, they didn’t stop, an obvious point that’s in danger of being overlooked now. The twin terrors of serious illness and death dominated all aspects of our working lives for almost three years. I remember expressing my fears of repetition, forever writing about the pandemic’s impact on elite football and empty stadiums. Poor me. How did I survive?

Eventually, those life and death conversations left my industry and probably yours, too. We indulged in a little "revenge travel" and turned the page. But were healthcare professionals afforded such privileges? Our once-in-a-lifetime existential crisis is essentially their stock in trade.

And yet, they keep going, without fuss. Their humility is humbling. Speaking at the Healthcare Humanity Awards, President Tharman Shanmugaratnam called the recipients an “inspiration for us all”, but really, they're a reminder for us all.

Healthcare workers saved my step-father’s life during the pandemic. Perhaps they did the same for your loved ones. Never take them for granted. Support them. Cherish them. And don't blame them for a delayed appointment for a bellyache.

Neil Humphreys is an award-winning football writer and a best-selling author, who has covered the English Premier League since 2000 and has written 28 books.

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