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[Special Report] Medicines Are Being Continuously Sent to the Front Lines

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发布时间：2020-03-24

【概要描述】 Profile: Rong Yanyan, 37, is the workshop director of Workshop 102 at Shijiazhuang Sihua Pharmaceutical Co., Ltd. Since the outbreak began, she has been working around the clock on the front lines of epidemic prevention and control production, walking 20,000 to 30,000 steps each day. Even getting home at 11 p.m. is considered early for her; she has hardly had a single peaceful night’s sleep.

Character Introduction

Rong Yanyan, 37, is the workshop director of Workshop 102 at Shijiazhuang Sihua Pharmaceutical Co., Ltd. Since the outbreak began, she has been working around the clock on the front lines of epidemic prevention and control production, walking 20,000 to 30,000 steps each day. Even getting home at 11 p.m. is considered early for her; she has hardly had a single peaceful night’s sleep.

Suddenly assigned a task, canceling the holiday.

My spouse and I had originally planned to take our child back to our hometown in Wangdu, Baoding, after the Spring Festival holiday to visit my in-laws. However, on the eve of the festival, the sudden outbreak of COVID-19 completely upended everyone’s lives.

January 23 marked our first day off. Just after 5 a.m., an urgent phone call jolted me awake. It was Han Shuqin, the deputy general manager in charge of production at the factory. Her voice on the line was frantic: “The epidemic situation in Hubei is extremely severe. We urgently need to mobilize Abidor capsules and moxifloxacin infusions. The factory has ordered that the production lines be restarted immediately. Please inform everyone to overcome the difficulties, return to their posts as soon as possible, and resume production by starting raw-material input today.”

As the workshop director, I fully understand the weight of the saying, “The epidemic is an order; ensuring supply is our responsibility.” Without delay, I promptly notified the team leaders at each workstation in the workshop to contact the plant’s electricians to restore power—power had been cut off the previous day after work was completed—and coordinated with the warehouse and other relevant departments to prepare for material retrieval. At the same time, I “directed” my spouse to take our 7-year-old son to his grandmother’s house, because I knew full well that a tough battle was about to begin.

From that day forward, I devoted myself wholeheartedly to the fight against the epidemic. Over the past two months, all 110 employees in our workshop have been on duty, working around the clock with no downtime, operating at full capacity, and becoming the busiest unit in the entire plant.

Walking 20,000 to 30,000 steps a day makes my legs feel stiff.

Every morning, I arrive at the office before 7:10 a.m. to inspect the shop floor and prepare for temperature screening of all employees. By 7:40 a.m., everyone is in place. I then conduct personnel assignment and key operational procedure training, issue and sign off on production instructions, and by around 7:50 a.m., everyone promptly gets busy, each performing their assigned duties.

Although I don’t work on the production line, I still walk through the 6,000-square-meter workshop at least twice every day. My duties include randomly inspecting batch numbers of finished pharmaceutical products, verifying that the batch numbers on the drug packaging match those on the medication itself, and checking the batch numbers on the medicine boxes. In addition, I’m responsible for ensuring that employees follow proper operating procedures, wear appropriate personal protective equipment, and refrain from any unauthorized or unsafe practices. Completing one such inspection round takes nearly two hours. As a result, I end up walking 20,000 to 30,000 steps each day, leaving my legs feeling stiff and sore.

If I have time at noon, I’ll eat in the cafeteria while discussing work with the team leader; if there’s really no time, we’ll wait until evening to eat together. Once lunch is over, we get straight to work.

Since the start of the production shift, the workshop’s daily output has more than doubled compared with normal days, reaching a peak of over 1.4 million capsules. From January 23 to the present, the Abidor capsules produced in our workshop have exceeded last year’s total output by more than tenfold.

I have learned that the Arbidol capsules produced at our facility are being continuously dispatched to the front lines of epidemic prevention and control. Hearing that patients in Wuhan are now receiving our medication fills me with a profound sense of responsibility and pride as a pharmaceutical professional—knowing that we are contributing, however modestly, to supporting Wuhan and bolstering China’s fight against the pandemic.

Even returning home in the dead of night, I still can’t sleep soundly.

Since the outbreak began, as the “frontline” treatment protocols have been progressively refined, demand for Arbidol capsules has surged, prompting the state to issue two consecutive “emergency task dispatch orders” to our factory.

Overtime has become the norm; I usually don’t get home until after 11 p.m.—sometimes even as late as 1 a.m. Even after I return, I can’t help worrying about production in the workshop, so I keep checking the workshop’s WeChat group from time to time. I make sure to respond promptly to any questions raised by the shift leaders, for fear of delaying production.

Late at night, when a production issue arose in the workshop and couldn’t be clearly explained over WeChat, my colleagues called me for clarification. On one occasion, I didn’t get home until after midnight, only to receive a call from the factory at 1:53 a.m., requiring urgent communication and coordination with the relevant departments. It wasn’t until 3:40 a.m. that the matter was finally resolved—but by then, I was wide awake. By shortly after 6 a.m., I had gotten up as scheduled and arrived at work before 7 a.m.

I remember the evening of New Year’s Eve so clearly. We got home at 11:30 that night, and my spouse had already prepared the cooked dishes, stewed a fish, and mixed the dumpling filling. We hurried to make dumplings and managed to enjoy them just before the stroke of midnight.

I’m deeply gratified that my son has become sensible.

Although I have been working for more than ten years, this is the first time I have been entrusted with the urgent task of producing medicines for epidemic prevention and control. During this period, many aspects of daily life have had to take a back seat to work.

My spouse and I both work for a pharmaceutical company, and to focus on our jobs, we sent our son to stay with his grandmother in Baoding. Speaking of my son, as his mother, I sometimes feel quite guilty.

When I head to work in the morning, my son is still fast asleep; at lunchtime, I’m busy discussing work with the team leader; and by the time I get home in the evening, he’s already in bed. So being able to video chat with him once a week is already pretty good. Every time we video, he always begs us to come pick him up. We’d originally agreed it would happen at the end of February, but with work so hectic, we still haven’t been able to make it happen.

While I miss my son dearly, what moves me most is how much he has grown up and become sensible. In early March, schools switched to online learning, but with my in-laws living in the countryside, they couldn’t offer much help—so it was all up to him to figure things out on his own. I remember one evening, a little after 8 o’clock, when he called me, bursting with pride: he had finally managed to get the online-learning app working! That very morning, the teacher had praised him as the only student in their group who’d successfully joined the class chat. At the time, I felt both overjoyed and deeply guilty, and said to him, “Son, you’re really amazing!”

As the Spring Equinox arrives, hearing the news that Hebei’s medical team aiding Hubei is returning home in successive waves fills me with a profound sense of relief and exhilaration, instantly sweeping away the exhaustion of two long months.

These days, production of Arbidol capsules has gradually returned to its normal pace. Just thinking that I’ll soon be able to see the child I miss every day makes me quite happy.

Source: Special Issue of Yan Zhao Evening News — Guarding Spring

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