‘If the Virus Doesn’t Kill You, Fear Might’

The week before China finally confessed the truth about the extent of the deadly pneumonia-like outbreak within its borders, some students in elite universities were already staring the epidemic in the eye.

“There was total chaos. It felt like the end of the world,” said Luo Yan, a 20-year-old engineering student who lived in the dorm where many of the 60 SARS cases were reported at Northern Jiaotong University, the hardest-hit campus in the capital. “If the virus doesn’t kill you, fear might.”

Severe acute respiratory syndrome has led to panic and quarantines in this country where the virus originated. Major institutions have been forced to close as public life has ground to a halt. Face masks and other special precautions have become a way of life.

The toll has been steadily rising since China finally bowed to international pressure and admitted it had hidden the real impact of SARS. On Thursday, Beijing reported 125 new cases and four new deaths, raising the national total to about 2,422 sick and 110 fatalities.

The growing death count pushed Beijing to take drastic measures Thursday, shutting down the People’s Hospital and ordering about 2,000 medical staffers not to leave the site.

This morning, Beijing health official Guo Jiyong said 4,000 people who have had “intimate contact” with others showing symptoms of the disease have been ordered to stay home. Guo didn’t say who the quarantined were or what constituted “intimate contact.”

Officials said they are also ready to take even more draconian steps, using police to enforce the new restrictions.

At closed Northern Jiaotong University, the difficulties caused by the outbreak are visible. To get on campus requires going through heavy security, which barred visitors. Inside, the campus appeared deserted, although a few students wearing masks were seen.

The situation at the university also shows how Beijing’s previous policy of minimizing the virus’ impact inspired fear rather than calm. The policy of concealing information also made it harder for students to recognize and cope with the disease.

Apparently, the outbreak at the university started with a 35-year-old foreigner who taught English at another school. He rented an apartment in a campus teacher’s dormitory, where he lived with his Chinese fiancee.

University officials said the man was hospitalized during the April 11 weekend for high fever and dry coughs. When he was told he would be sent to another hospital for those suspected of having SARS, he bolted. On Tuesday, medical officials called on the police to force the man to go to the hospital. Nor was that the only case.

A student went to a hospital with flu-like symptoms, but doctors sent her back to class with a clean bill of health. Then, people around her fell ill and she became so feverish that she could not get out of bed. University officials called an ambulance but the medics -- fearing contamination -- refused to fetch her. According to one account from an Internet posting, the university paid two migrant workers a hefty $125 each to carry the sick student down to the vehicle.

Officials remained mum, but news of the cases, spread by the Internet and word of mouth, began to strike fear across the campus. Part of the panic rose from an information vacuum that fueled the rumor mill and intensified the doomsday atmosphere during the virus’ initial spread in Beijing’s university district.

“First, we heard 15 people were isolated next door, then there was four more, including one dead,” Luo said. “The news was getting worse and worse. We didn’t have anything to believe but the rumors.”

On April 17, officials announced that 19 students had indeed been isolated and that end-of-term exams had been canceled. Students were told to not leave campus. “That was a terrible night. We all freaked,” Luo said. “We felt like death was all around us.”

Lots of students fled, defying school orders. At first, Luo and his three roommates hung tight. They cheered each other up by joking about being the only four people to crawl out of the city alive. They tried to play video games. “I remember all of our hands were shaking,” Luo said.

The next day, the quartet rushed out to buy surgical masks, but they were sold out.

“I heard only the ones with 16 layers work. But we could only find ones with eight,” Luo said. “They are basically useless.”

Eating also became a test of will. The four roommates feared the trip to the cafeteria. But slurping instant noodles all day didn’t offer enough nutrition at a time when they needed to beef up their immune systems. So they hit a supermarket, stocking up on vitamins and fruits.

Before they could settle back into their fortress of fear, more panic broke out. It was Friday night. Luo and his buddies had just finished a game of badminton. Suddenly, someone said that the phone lines had gone dead and that cell phone signals had disappeared. Most expected the worst: Forced quarantine.

“They were cutting off our only connection to the outside world,” Luo said. “You have no idea how terrifying it was.”

Then someone saw a signal on his mobile phone, so he called his girlfriend, telling her to get out if she could, because “We’re going to die here.”

Bright and early on Saturday, Luo grabbed his bag and dashed to an airport. However, he was so torn that he canceled his flight twice during the day. What if he was already infected and carried the virus home? What if the university punished him for disobeying orders to stay in town?

Some chose a middle ground -- moving off campus to stay with friends. “A lot of people left because other people left. I’m not sure it’s safer to leave Beijing. I might catch it on the train or I might catch it back home,” said Zhou Huaqiang, a student from Jilin province, which has reported seven cases.

Luo, however, was thinking about his mother. “I didn’t dare tell her the truth about how bad things are here,” he recalled. “My parents are already worried sick. If I don’t go home now I might not be able to leave later. My mother would be devastated.”

As he wrestled with the choices, many Beijing students poured out their worries online.

“My hometown does not yet have SARS. I cannot be the one to bring it there,” wrote one student from northern China. “If the government had prevented people early on from traveling out of Guangzhou [where the virus is believed to have originated], it wouldn’t have spread so far. Don’t go home! Protect our family, protect our home!”

That voice of altruism appealed to a lot of students. So did a different kind of e-mailed sentiment: “I want to go home, I want to go home!”

By Saturday afternoon, Luo had decided to go after classes were officially canceled.

When he reached Yunnan in southern China, he scrubbed himself and threw away all his clothes. But the nightmare was not over. On Thursday, he got a cell phone message saying a classmate on his floor had SARS. So did the man’s girlfriend.

Luo said he knows he should get himself checked, but he’s afraid that if he doesn’t have SARS, he runs the risk of catching it during the hospital visit. If he does have it, he could unknowingly infect his family. “It’s my life or their life,” he said. “What a dilemma. It’s too much.”