What I Did to Help My Grandmother as China Shifted from Its "Zero-COVID" Policy

Three years ago, I never thought COVID-19 would make me a decision-maker for my grandmother’s life and death.

At the start of last December, I was almost in a panic when China suddenly ended its zero-COVID policy. My 87-year-old grandmother, who I was raised by and care deeply about, had just received her first vaccine shot after I convinced her to get it. I cannot just sit back and hope she won’t be affected by COVID, I thought. I need to take action.

I thought about the Paxlovid first. This antiviral drug is widely used in the U.S., but it is difficult to obtain in China. Some big hospitals could prescribe it for inpatients, and some community hospitals in Beijing and Shanghai had it. But most people could not access it. On an e-commerce platform where people could buy Paxlovid during designated periods every day, the medicine always sold out within seconds. I was determined, however. 

With the help of my former editor, I joined a WeChat group organized by a private hospital in Guangzhou, in which people could buy Paxlovid by showing an ID card of a person aged 60 years or more and attending an online consultation with doctors. I was the fiftieth member of that group. It cost me 3,400 yuan ($495), including 2,900 yuan for the drug and 500 yuan for the consultation.

I didn’t realize how lucky I was then. I witnessed this group get bigger and bigger. More groups were created after the number of members reached the upper limit. At some point, the private hospital in Guangzhou also ran out of Paxlovid. 

“Hi. My father-in-law is really sick. Can I buy Paxlovid?”

“Hello. I need Paxlovid urgently. Could anyone sell it to me? I am willing to buy it at a high price. ”

Ample messages like those popped up in that group. But those people who sought help desperately usually got no response. At that time, I could not even imagine that many Chinese would be willing to spend 20,000 yuan on Paxlovid in a few weeks. 

Self-saving happened in every corner of China. An acquaintance of my friend who lives in Chengdu spent around 150,000 yuan ($21,782) on the intravenous immunoglobulin medicine for an elderly family member. Since the hospital did not have enough medicine in stock, she had to bring a bag of cash and directly purchase from the supplier. She could have used this money to buy a Hermes bag. A guy from Xinjiang sent 100 packages of medicine to his loved ones and friends to save their lives. A journalist whose surname is Liu got the medicine from his friend when his mother had severe symptoms, which was not common during a time when many people were not willing to share Paxlovid even though they didn’t need it at the time. Mutual help also happened among friends and families.

Over the past three years, China’s zero-COVID policy has created a virus-isolated environment for most of its citizens, and the side effect was that there had been a huge lack of public education about the pandemic. For instance, while many American families would prepare a finger oximeter at home during the pandemic, many Chinese families knew little about it. We had to fight against COVID with a bare hand when the new wave of the pandemic came.

A former colleague who interviewed many COVID experts informed me of the importance of having a home oxygen machine for old people. She emphasized that oxygen and the prone position are crucial to alleviating pneumonia symptoms. This knowledge was not published widely until the new wave of the pandemic swept the country after the policy shift. I quickly bought a finger oximeter and a home oxygen machine online. It cost me 3,800 yuan. Two days later, when I went back to that online shop, all items were sold out.

On December 29, the most unwelcome news hit me: my grandmother tested positive for COVID. I became alert immediately, like a warrior ready for battle. I urged my father to ask my grandmother to take the antiviral medicine I bought.  

“I wanted to take traditional Chinese medicine,” she lamented. “Only traditional Chinese medicine works for me. Western medicine made me have a stomach ache and [a] bad appetite.” 

My grandmother has always believed in the effectiveness of traditional Chinese medicine. But I was desperate. According to my research, antiviral medicine, which helps fight the coronavirus infection by stopping it from replicating in the body, should be administered from the first day of symptoms. The later you take the medicine, the less effective the medicine will be. 

My father is not skilled at negotiating with my grandmother. I asked my second aunt for help. I wrote a paragraph about how to persuade Grandma to take the antiviral medicine and sent it to the family WeChat group. 

My aunt just said what I sent to the group to Grandmother. “This is not a normal disease. You will not get better if you only take traditional Chinese medicine. This virus has already claimed many lives of the elderly. Tangtang spent a lot of money to buy it for you. You should take it.”

After a standoff, Grandmother compromised. My aunt told me that tears welled up in my grandmother’s eyes. I could envision my grandmother sitting in the chair next to the table with an inexpressive look, nodding at my aunt slowly and accepting this deal which she actually had no power to refuse. I could also understand why she had cried. For her, traditional Chinese medicine is like her faith. Suddenly others told her that her old faith could not cure her and she should worship a new God. It could be a difficult adjustment. 

I sighed, for the tears of my grandma, but do I have other choices? How? 

The good news is that with all of those efforts, my grandmother didn’t suffer too much from the COVID infection. She didn’t have a high fever. Her SpO2 levels never dropped below 90. She didn’t lose her appetite. It was a fight that involved all my family members. Many other elders might not be as lucky as my grandmother.

When my aunt persuaded my grandmother to take the medicine, in fact, she added one sentence that was not written by me, “Tangtang works in the big city as a journalist. He had more knowledge and a broader horizon. From now on, we all should listen to him.”

This made me feel that I had finally grown into adulthood, carrying the weight of responsibility to care for those who cared for me.