“More than 1,100 coronavirus patients wait for a hospital bed in Rio de Janeiro.” “Mortality at home is increasing.” “A special medical system with a capacity of 98 percent in the intensive care unit.” Now it’s here, in our house. We started making calls hoping to avoid the worst, but not sure how. We called a doctor in the United States. Unconfirmed, he said I was also infected, he advised me for rest, isolation, hydration – and more, then we started calling doctors in Brazil. They urge a more urgent and aggressive approach, “It’s important that you get [to my clinic] So that things don’t get worse, ”one of the doctors pressed. In September, a friend of mine – whose symptoms included headache and loss of sense of taste and smell – prescribed a combination of drugs that he had come to swear by. Chloroquine, an antimalarial. Ivermectin, a parasite used in raising cattle and dogs. Azithromycin, an antibiotic. Clexane, an anticoagulant. A corticosteroid. The doctor added in a follow-up letter: “We need to start your treatment soon.” Worried and unsure, we got azithromycin and ivermectin and – bottoms – we fell on the coronavirus treatment plan that has swept the country, although very few Scientific evidence. The pill plan, which officials have adopted across Brazil, has sent millions of people flocking to pharmacies and making their way to federal government guidelines, and officials call it “early treatment.” People on the streets have another name: Covid Kit. The coronavirus pandemic is a time of uncertainty and “miracle cures” everywhere. But this was especially true in Latin America. In Bolivia, people bought chlorine dioxide, a bleach used to disinfect swimming pools. In Venezuela, President N. Ecolas Maduro General Hospitals requires coronavirus patients to take antiviral and cancer drugs. Doctors across the region are finding it difficult to find patients who haven’t taken ivermectin, but few have pushed for unproven and potentially harmful drugs with the enthusiasm, commitment and theater of Brazilian President Jair Bolsonaro. Still – hydroxychloroquine. Promote it on social media. He praised him in the comments to his supporters. When Bolsonaro was infected in July, he claimed he had treated himself with antimalarials, then waved a can of it at the emu-like birds in the mansion garden in Brasilia. At a presidential party after his recovery, he brandished another packet of the drug and called himself “Dr. Bolsonaro.” “Early treatment saves lives,” declared Eduardo Pazuelo, Bolsonaro’s third health minister since the start of the epidemic, “I was skeptical at the time – and I remained so when we were hit.” But it is difficult to overestimate the emotional impact of contracting a virus that has killed millions of people and left millions more with long-term health implications. Yes, there is fear and uncertainty, but often an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. Some doctors say all you can do is wait and see. But other doctors – and government officials – say you can do more, who do you trust? What do you do? We started reaching more doctors. Six in all. One said he took the pills. Another said she took azithromycin on her own. I came away thinking of the pharmacies I saw in. All over Brazil. They are everywhere, sometimes three in one block. According to the Federal Board of Pharmacy, the country is known for one of the highest rates of pill consumption in the world, and people are quick to self-medicate. When in doubt, it seems the logic goes, wet P pill. “The culture of exaggeration was already in,” said Alexander Kalach, an epidemiologist who was interviewed repeatedly during the pandemic. “A doctor who does not prescribe is a bad doctor.” So when Dr. Bolsonaro wrote his description, Who are the Brazilians arguing? Chloroquine to meet local demand. Doctor Itagai, Faulne Morastoni, went even further. Not only did he urge taking the pills, but also urged a “simple and quick” application of ozone – using a rectal catheter. “At least it does something,” said Deborah Fonseca, Which represents the local association of health professionals, with disapproval. “He would not have been reelected in November if the people hadn’t supported him.” But whether or not the treatments were effective is another question. The mortality rate in Itagai was nearly 60 percent higher. From the average state of Santa Catarina.Amazonian city of Manaus, where federal and state officials urged all kinds of grains, was once again destroyed by the disease, and no pill saved Brazil from the burial of more than 230,000 people, the second largest in the world after the states United Tu At the creator of the Covid Kit, a doctor in Mato Grosso state, was due to COVID-19 in September, so before continuing the pill regimen we wanted more advice. We sent a message to another doctor, Joao Bantuga, one of the leading lung doctors in Rio, whose relationship Emily somehow gained. We were deprived of the idea of taking medicine, so he wrote to us, saying: “I do not believe in any of these“ miracle medicines ”to ward off the progression of Covid-19 disease. “Although I would love to have one already working at my disposal.” Become the doctor we rely on the most. But in a country and region where the coronavirus continues to spread, it is unclear how many people will listen to such advice. In recent weeks, people have reportedly started threatening doctors who will not prescribe drugs, however ineffective they are. Long queues have formed in Manaus pharmacies to buy medicines, and in some respects, the myth of early treatment is a product of the Corona virus itself. People believe that the pill has cured them – or someone in their family – when, in fact, the vast majority of people who have contracted the virus have recovered without any medical intervention. “When someone gets better, it is because of their treatment,” said Alberto Thabbo. Vice President of the Brazilian Society of Infectology. “But when it gets worse, it’s because the virus is so strong.” Emily and I were convinced. We stopped taking the pills. Instead, we focused instead on comfort, fluid, and bad television. Additional tests confirmed that I had contracted the virus, too. But after a few weeks – and a crucial loss of taste and smell – we largely recovered. For all those worries about the hospital system, neither of us was near enough sick to think about going to one of them. Almost no. The US National Institutes of Health said last month that it did not find enough data to recommend it, and the other day, my husband’s father, who lives in Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic, sent us a viral photo making the tours in Latin America. Show off a fake beer bottle, decked out with a new marketing slogan: “Now with Ivermectin”. Heluisa Traiano contributed to this report.