Touch

I had learned many lessons these past six months; some of them are so dense that could have hidden from our narrowed eyes, so deep that I didn't realize until I sat down and looked back.

For many of us, the novel coronavirus outbreak is the first time to experience the specter of a highly infectious virus jumping continents, across the community, and changing life for everyone around the globe.

Back in early months of this outbreak, the rituals of "seeing" patients are by and large through the CCTV cameras and their chest x-ray films. During that period, it was as if the virus will get starved and die on its own after being isolated. The patients were young students from overseas, healthy pilots, businessmen coming back to town; they simply got better with time and gave us chance to get a grip on the dynamics of the disease. Most of our morning rounds were carried out though telephone conversation. Even if we're meticulous in infection control measures, we can't prevent the little tug in our gut that gives us jitters about entering patient's room.

And so it went, one after another, for several months. After taking care of so many suspected and confirmed cases, I had gone through the umpteenth times of donning and doffing personal protective equipment, visors, masks. I had seen so many patients. I had learned so much about the virus. The set of unknowns was shrinking, and the fact that we could step out of the comfort zone actually energized me. Going to greet patients face to face no longer generated armpit-drenching anxiety. And I discovered to my surprise that I am now getting used to take history from my patients during the blood taking - and not on the phone.

And then we are now seeing older and older patients from the local outbreak. Most things we don't get from history taking alone; much of our knowledge on the patients is incomplete without putting our hands or stethoscope on them. I was caring for a veteran in his eighties - let's call him James - who came to my hospital last night with cough and lethargy; James turned out to have been infected by coronavirus. Although the answer of his diagnosis came before I met him, I believed that I should not just make a phone call to "see" him. A thorough examination and inescapably human touch are necessary, I figured. "A bit of being drained out from not eating well this week," James told me. "And a bit of allergy or eczema after taking herbal medicine."

"Okay," I said, nonchalant but still cautious. I pressed on to find out what James meant by eczema, and discovered that he had shingles at his groin - only after taking off his pants.

For a moment I felt content with the choice I had made.