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Bolsonaro calls the coronavirus a ‘little flu’. Inside Brazilian hospitals, doctors are aware of the horrifying reality

Brazil's favelas struggle as coronavirus cases skyrocket
Patrick R Lanz
Written by Patrick R Lanz

At Emilio Ribas Infectious Disease Institute’s massive Intensive Care Unit (ICU) in Sోo Paulo, there is growing anger among doctors when asked about their president’s comments. “Rebellion,” said one. “Irrelevant” declares another.

Dr. Jacques Stazenbock is more restrained. “It’s not the flu. It’s the worst thing we’ve ever had in our careers.” His eyes were slow and narrow, when I asked him if he was concerned for his health. “Yes,” he said twice.

The reasons are clear within the ICU’s high silence. Behind the veil of the Coronavirus Hospital Curtain, silently killing, it is too far and alien to the global rebellion and noisy political divisions. But when it takes a life, it can be spiritually awful.

The first noticeable break in serenity is the glowing red light. Second, the therapist’s hairpin moves up and down the privacy screen, as his rigid hands provide the patient with harsh, unforgiving chest compressions.

The patient is in her 40s, and the odds on her survival are worse over the days of her medical history. But change, when it comes, is abrupt.

Another nurse runs inside. In this ICU, the medical staff is allowed to pause and wash the gown in the outer room, but only for a few moments before the bet. Outside the corridor, a doctor fumbled, clumsily pulling on his gown. These moments have come countless times in the pandemic, but, today, it is not easy. This ICU is full, and the summit in Sోo Paulo is probably two weeks away.

Through the glass, the venerable staff jostles tightly together and circles the patient’s head; To replace tubes; To change posture; To change their position and relieve each other from the labor of labor. Their unforgiving contractions on the sternum of the patients keep her alive.

A doctor emerged, sweating over her brow, cold, to pause in the corridor air. One sliding glass door slams – a rare noise – while another goes inside. For 40 minutes, the silent silly vision continues. And then, without an audible warning, it suddenly stops. The lines on the heart monitors are flat, permanent.

The coronavirus has greatly damaged our lives, but its murderous pattern is often hidden within the confines of ICUs, where only brave health workers see injury. And for the staff here, it feels closer every day.

Two days before our visit, they lost a nurse colleague, Mercia Alves, to a 28-year job. Today, they stand together at the glass of another isolation chamber, a doctor in their group inside, Intubate. Another colleague tested positive that day. The disease that filled their hospital seems to be moving on them.

A school in the spacious favela of Parasopolis is used as an isolation center for people with coronavirus.

Emilio Ribas Hospital is full of bad news – there is not much bed space before the peak, and staff are already dying of the virus – but the best facilities the city of Sోo Paulo has. It was a dark harbinger of weeks before Brazil. Its largest city is its wealthy, where the local governor insists on lockdown and face masks. More than 6,000 and more than 76,000 confirmed cases of deaths are indicative of the best-prepared region in Brazil.

Wealth is not health, it is Bolsonaro who has recently begun calling the war a “war” against the virus. But on May 14, he said: “We have to be brave to fight this virus. Are people dying? Yes they are, I am sorry. But if the economy is destroyed because of this, many more will die.” [lockdown] Measures. “

The disease is prevalent in the favelas

Across town, there is no debate on favelas. It is common to be beside the point, and some time ago the rest of the city took its own form. But the priority here has long been clear: survival.

The virus was only “cold” when Renata Alves smiled, shaking his head and asking about Bolzonaro’s view that “this is irrelevant.” Her business is serious and per hour.

Around her, hum are the most urgent tasks to be alive. In one room, rows of sewing machines are laid out, where women are taught to go back to their streets and make masks from anything they can find. In another, 10,000 meals are brought in, prepared, and then transported to the streets, where a small number, on lockdown, cannot put food on their own tables.

Alves, a volunteer health worker with the G10 Favela relief team, left for one of the worst affected areas in the Parasopolis suburb. Its narrow, dense streets and alleyways explain why the disease is prevalent here.

Alves learns that only half of the 100,000 patients know the image. Only when someone has three features, is she allowed to give them the Covid-19 test, and it is paid for by a private donor here. Most of the cases go unnoticed.

As Brazil's hospitals are on the brink of collapse, Bolsonaro flirts with supporters

“The most likely test is when the person is already in advanced stages of the disease,” she said, as she headed to Sabrina’s home to isolate asthma in three small rooms with her three children. Doctors inspect the back of her throat with a flashlight using a wooden swab and greet her irritated, irritated children before proceeding.

“The cases are tough,” Alves tells me. “An obese woman needs eight people to take her to our ambulance. And a person with Alzheimer’s. The woman survived, and the male died.

High on the packed street – when everyone seemed to be out to meet the garbage disposal lorry – Maria Rosa da Silva. The 53-year-old says she thinks she got the virus without going to market here, even though she wears masks and gloves. So without her railing, she was “locked” three floors over the leaf terrace. Social distance is only possible here if you do it vertically.

“People like me in the risk group are dying,” she stressed. “Yesterday the pharmacy owner died. Many people are losing their lives because of one’s carelessness. If this is for the good of society, we must do it.”

Volunteers make some of the 10,000 meals that Parasopolis offers to Favela residents every day, so they don't have to leave their homes to eat.

Social responsibility in these dangerous and poor streets has also made it a lonely center from the desert school. The government gave the building a privately funded project, which currently houses dozens of patients. It’s ready, shiny uniform hostels are overseen by CCTV, and more.

Other signs of readiness are less comforting. In the hills above Sోo Paulo, the Vila Formosa cemetery is filled with grief, and the gourmet of hope – endless empty and lined with fresh graves. It seems like a funeral every 10 minutes and it doesn’t even dent in the many new holes dug into the red dust.

Brazil has a headstart – the coronavirus tragedy has rocked the world for at least two months.

But there is mixed news from the government, instead of undeniable evidence of the horror of the disease. And the number of new cases of death and the data set – they are alarming – fail to reflect the amount of tragedy that is already happening.

What has already happened elsewhere – and sending alarm fires around the planet – is happening here, identical and could be worse.

About the author

Patrick R Lanz

Patrick R Lanz

General troublemaker. Bacon fan. Student. Tv buff. Internet junkie.

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