When I was approached about writing an essay about our rural lab, I was initially stymied. There’s a universality about the work we do; tech work is pretty much the same wherever you go. A differential is a differential in the biggest cities and smallest towns. The thing that makes us unique is that we’re 50 miles from a city with a full-service hospital and many of our patients are elderly and don’t drive, so we try to cobble together as much care as we can give them in a clinic setting.
Our clinical laboratory is a small independent lab in Cairo, IL, midway between Memphis and St. Louis. We are attached to a regional system of rural clinics that provides care for the residents of the poorest counties in Illinois. We are the only high-complexity FQHC lab in the country, and we’re extremely proud of the work we do with our limited financial and geographical resources.
Our part in battling the COVID-19 pandemic feels a little odd compared to the work of hospital labs. We see our job as keeping our patients out of the overburdened hospitals for as long as possible. We screen everyone who presents with a fever for flu and strep. That includes the prisoners from the two local prisons, the nursing home patients in all the small towns scattered around rural southern Illinois, the teachers, daycare and home health workers. The criteria for a C-19 test is still very stringent in Illinois and most of our patients don’t yet meet it. We generally send them home with free samples of over-the-counter palliative meds, instructions about avoiding other people, and what new symptoms they should watch for.
Even so, we’re running low on basic supplies: PPE, swabs, disinfectant, etc. Like everyone else, we’re having trouble finding more. Yesterday I took a couple of hours to open every cabinet and paw through every box, hunting for overlooked supplies. There was a stash of sixty N95 masks in a closet and forty painter’s masks left over from when the lab was built. The box claims the masks “have N95 properties”…whatever that means. Hopefully we won’t have to find out. I distributed the N95 masks to the clinics that were running low and traded a box of disposable lab coats to our local clinic for 3 hazmat suits for our lab staff. I sent a few dozen more nasopharyngeal swabs to the prison with instructions to use them sparingly. We’re currently backordered until mid-April for more.
All the techs I know (locally and all around the country) are pretty fatalistic about this. We expect to be infected. We’re hoping it’ll be later rather than sooner and we’re trying to protect our more medically fragile and/or elderly colleagues. As you probably know, the average age of MTs in this country is about my age…56. A new virus brings attention to the medical lab profession, and that causes a brief uptick in new interest in our field, but we’re chronically understaffed and techs are retiring faster than we can train new ones to replace them.
In the meantime, of course, we continue to test and treat our regular patients. Mostly poor, mostly elderly, for the diabetes, hypertension, cardiovascular diseases and cancers that are the meat and potatoes of rural health. The concession they’ve made to social distancing is that less of them hug me, although a fair number say “If it’s my time, it’s my time” and hug me anyway. Many of our patients don’t drive, and they arrive one by one on the transit vans designed to seat 12 that pick them up from home. I wonder if the van driver disinfects between patients. I wonder if the patients know he ought to. I assume they hug him, too, so it probably doesn’t matter. This coronavirus crisis will eventually wind down, but the ongoing needs of medically underserved rural communities will continue unabated. Our hope is that this pandemic shines a big light on the many challenges of providing quality care to geographically large, sparsely populated rural communities.
-Evelyn Rubinas is a Medical Technologist at Community Health and Emergency Services, Inc. (CHESI) in Cairo, IL. She is a graduate of Southern Illinois University and the University of Arizona and has been a laboratory generalist for over two decades. She lives in Cairo, IL with her wife and a small menagerie of rescue animals.