Dr. Martín Carvallo, who heads the Hospital Universitario’s HIV department, doesn’t know what to tell his patients when they ask what they can do when they can’t get the anti-retrovirals they need.
“What can I say? There’s nothing I can do, and there’s nothing they can do,” he says.
Paint is peeling off the blue walls of the Infectious Diseases Unit in what is supposed to be the flagship teaching hospital of the Universidad Central de Venezuela, i.e., the nation’s top med school. Barely any air comes in through open windows in this very hot Caracas morning. Although Dr. Carvallo says the department is pretty empty compared to other days, it feels quite full.
Uneasy faces wait for answers, and for most-likely-unavailable drugs. The hallway is long enough to fix eyes on the infinite, but narrow enough to notice the unavoidable presence of others, and wonder how much time they have spent in such an obviously anxious state of mind.
Dr. Carvallo is checking on hospitalized patients whose immune systems, because of the months-long lack of antiretrovirals, are too weak to fight Tuberculosis, Meningitis or Kaposi Sarcomas.
“There’s basically nothing to treat these patients with,” Dr. Carvallo says, as we enter a room with four patients covered by blue curtains and about five family members leaning on the walls. There is a little terrace with a couple of seats where two men and a woman are looking outside, to the people in lines, some of them tired enough to sit on the floor.
“It’s the same problem going on in every area in this country. Improvisation, unclear management of everything, change of suppliers all the time that end up not providing the products due to large debts. The WHO (World Health Organization) says we’re not yet Uganda or Ethiopia. We’re not there yet … but we will be soon,” he chuckles nervously.
A woman stands up rapidly when the doctor comes into the room. She approaches him with a broken smile. She waits for his attention while a group of nurses standing inside one of the curtains ask him what to prescribe a patient if most of the drugs he needs are missing.
“How much time did he spend without treatment before coming?” the doctor asks the brown-skinned woman. “Emmm bueno … since like December we couldn’t find one of the drugs in the combination so we couldn’t give him anything. Now we are waiting for drugs to be available. Starting May we have been able to find some, but we don’t know when they’ll disappear again.”
The doctor breaks the twenty-second silent-interchanging of disturbed looks. “How’s he feeling?” he asks, pointing to the sleeping patient whose position isn’t very natural, or at least doesn’t seem comfortable. “He’s a lot better,” his companion answers. She tries to wake him up by touching his uncovered belly, but he half-smiles and signals with his hand to be left alone.
“This is an exceptional case, to have to hospitalize a patient like this. What really happens is that the patient’s deterioration takes long, but that muchacho spent 5 months with no treatment, so he’s now in very bad shape,” the doctor says, walking as fast as he talks.
“There are like sixty-five thousand patients receiving treatment in the country. We receive about ten percent of them,” he says, referring to the Universitario, a public entity supported by the government. “There are normally about twenty types of antiretrovirals in the country, of about thirty that exist in the world. Most of them are now not available.”
The doctor stops by a little pharmacy where patients are lined up, in order to talk to the lady working the counter. He asks which drugs are missing that day, and she mentions four – the main ones failing. She shows him an article about missing medicines in the news. “Gracias Victoria, let’s go” he says.
“You saw that line?” the doctor asks, “at least half of those patients are standing there even though they know that what they need is not available. In moments like this, the government is desperate to bring medicines, but getting them is not like just going to a store and asking for 30 thousand pots of abacavir. It’s complicated, and it takes time.”
“The ministerio’s answer is always to bury their head deeper in the ground,” he says, frustrated. “They say there are containers coming and that they’re in La Guaira, but they never end up coming. Since October the failure has been more continuous than ever.”
Arriving at his office, he stops on his tracks when he hears a patient complain, “So … the doctor gets here at 10 am.”
He turns and says to me, loudly for the patient to hear, “they don’t complain about missing medicines but they do complain about doctors getting here at 10 am. They complain with us, but are incapable of saying anything to the ministry.”
He then turns to the patient: “Yes, the doctor was in a meeting, and is now here, although it is not even his turn to be here.”
He finally sits down in a small space that doesn’t seem like his personal office. It is completely empty except for a metallic table and two chairs. The walls are dirty white with nothing hanging on them, and there is a small open window. “Fijate,” he says as he takes out a piece of paper.
“Normally 70% of patients with HIV don’t get very sick while taking treatment.” He writes down some drug abbreviations and places them in various combinations. “Of course, without treatment, all of them fail. But normally when patients start failing it’s because they create resistance to a certain combination of drugs.”
He starts to draw arrows from one abbreviation to another. “So you need to give him a more complex treatment. You give them certain drugs separately and combine them with others.”
“The problem here, now, is that drugs aren’t available separately, so the patients who need more complicated treatments are the ones that are affected the most.” He crosses out some of the drugs. “And as the woman told you back there, if there’s only one drug missing, you can’t give them anything.”
With the pen he points to each drug abbreviation. “The biggest problem is that it is not only one drug missing, all of them are missing at some point.” He finally draws a big X on top of all the scribbling which makes his incomprehensible handwriting even more obscure.
“They’re available for 10 days and then they disappear again but then another one fails.” He looks up, touches his chin and raises his eyebrows. “And that’s the worse thing that can happen to a patient.”
Not being able to find milk is one thing, but for HIV+ people, the growing shortage of antiretroviral drugs is much more than an inconvenience.
The Government’s VIH/SIDA program is responsible for the supply and distribution of the drugs. Yet its coordinator, Miguel Morales denied that there were any shortages at all and he blamed “community organizations, non-governmental organizations, doctors and regional coordinators” that he says “aren’t doing the job of bringing the medicines to patients in the right way”.
Yet scarcity is more than evident. You can see it with your own eyes if you just venture to the Hospital Clínico at the Universidad Central de Venezuela like I did.
As I left, I wondered how cold-blooded bureaucrats like Morales have to be … to deny the problems faced by the people waiting in lines, hospitalized patients, desperate family members- like the smiling brown-skinned woman – and most of all, the doctors who encounter each of the affected ones, face to face, only to say “there’s nothing I can do”.
30 thoughts on “Life in short supply”
Que arrechera leer eso, perdón por mi inglés.
ASDF no solo aRR!@#$ sino dolor…
There is no screwing around with antiretroviral treatment. You start missing doses, mixing up meds and resistance is practically guaranteed. These shortages are basically a death sentence for people who could be treating and living with HIV as a chronic illness. But sadly those 65,000 people–65,000 individual human beings and their families–will not amount to a hill of beans in face of such widespread systemic failures.
Que soberana tristeza! ….y luego le restregan a uno las bondades del sitema de Salud cubano, o de como los cubanos son tan atentos y educados en los hoteles cuando tratan con los turistas Canadienses….
Que ARRECHERA! (no pido perdon por mi comentario, creo que hemos debido arrecharnos y salir de esta gentuza que nos gobierna hace rato!)
Que tiene que pasar para que la gente entienda lo inconveniente y nefasto de este populismo salvaje, donde solo roban los de arriba y enganan y manipulan a los de abajo. BTW los del medio se “ponen tetas” y se desentiendedn de la realidad con rumba y negacion….
In a couple years, half of the HIV+ patients would be dead, and the chavista government will use the drop in infected people numbers as a “proof” of how good the venezuelan health system is…
That is what they have done with so many different statistics, and there is still people believing them… sigths…
Surely this is part of the “economic war” being waged against Venezuela by the Imperio.
Just one more very frustrating and infuriating thing in a looooong line of deficiences!! The worst part is that the people that are affected the most do the less about it. Like the doctor said “they don’t complain about missing medicines but they do complain about doctors getting here at 10 am. They complain with us, but are incapable of saying anything to the ministry.” Getting used to everything is our own worst enemy.
Somos victimas de nosotros mismos!
Historically, Marxist governments have excelled at killing their own citizens, sending them to be killed, or allowing them to die from famine and disease. In the last century on the order of a 250 million people (that is one quarter of a billion!) have died of unnatural causes in countries organized around Marxism. And yet, they call Capitalism “savage” and “heartless”. Go figure…
Beautifully written, Rachelle. You took me right into the heart of the issue, up close and personal. Well done.
Yes, well said.
What Syd said. I admire the perseverance of the Doctors, but it is too weep.
Eso es tener patria.
No hay medicinas, pero sí hay patria.
Porque la patria ES que no hayan medicinas…
Well, as Aristobulo said a few months ago in response to the toilet paper shortage: “Bolivar liberated our country from the clutches of imperialist Spain without toilet paper”, which implies that, yes, having patria is much more important than having basic living standards.
This is a travesty! Thank you for shedding light on the issue.
Ethiopia Uganda?? We are not there yet? uhmm thats an understatement!!!
It is the “yet” that should concern everyone.
Hey dont complain so much !! we are in the process of stabilizing the economy to ensure the future of revolutionary rule !! people were importing too much stuff and now imports balance with our real export revenue !! its for the good of the country ingrates!!
Your piece is the best written and insightful account I´ve seen on this particular issue. It´s also heart breaking beyond description. Thanks very much for reporting from Caracas.
I wondered how cold-blooded bureaucrats like Morales have to be …
I doubt that he’s cold-blooded at all. He’s more likely to be a passionate chavista, capable of total delusion in the service of the Revolution. Also, probably, fairly stupid and ignorant about the program he is supposed to be directing, with a bad case of Dunning-Kruger syndrome.
i.e. dying people can’t get the drugs they need, but the good news is, the regime does not discriminate!!
That should read ‘sin comentarios’.
Good golly, Phil Gunson? This blog really is becoming a cesspool.
Phil, why don’t you take a boat to Cuba, instead of prancing around being an American spy pretending to be a journalist? I suspect a bit of time in a forced-labour camp would do you a bit of good.
a cesspool of reminders for unstable boneheads like you. No wonder you’re peeved, as pretender *Hector_St_Clare*.
What are you thoughts on the shortage of medicines in Venezuela and the suffering and death that are occurring as a result?
The following link is not related to this entry but I think it needs to be seen:
Y si yo, te escucho, tengo mucho grito al mi alrededor! y debil!
An account of healthcare in this country from an exiled doctor.
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