Covid

I had Covid starting in mid-December 2021. I first became aware of it when I collapsed on the bathroom floor. At the time, a lady from Living With Covid called to check on us. On hearing that I had collapsed, the lady caller enquired about my blood oxygen percentage. Fortunately, Living With Covid provided us with a  blood oximeter. 

Upon hearing my blood-oxygen ratio, she was shaken and immediately arranged for an ambulance to take me to a hospital. The ambulance arrived within minutes, and I was placed in isolation upon arrival at the hospital.

I spent some time in this isolation room surrounded by the most depressing wallpaper. An elderly doctor entered, and after encircling my bed, he said, "You may never leave here." He went on to mumble something about intensive care. The staff who attended to my needs wore transparent helmets fed by air from an apparatus slung on their backs.

I was eventually transferred to a ward full of very sick people. I was finally discharged and sent home after two weeks.

I arrived home, and I began to run at a high temperature. At home, we could not control my temperature with the resources available. I returned to the hospital and remained there for the next four weeks. 

I have no recollection of anything during the first week in the hospital. No one could know what I was going through after that; my entire body was wracked with pain, and to cough was agony. The illness had entirely drained my body of strength, and I could only lie wholly paralysed. My mind constantly hallucinated, leading to outrageous dreams. It was so distressing that I have no desire to recall or discuss any of it. 

I would dream of being in an arid landscape of nothing but an endless terrain of nothing. I'd be walking, searching, knowing there was nothing to find, only darkness.

The nursing staff were mainly of foreign birth, knowing sufficient English for the job. Everyone was extraordinarily supportive; nothing seemed to be too much trouble. Still, I think few appreciated what I was experiencing—left to lie in isolation with no contact with the familiar outside world apart from an occasional call from home via the ward telephone.

Because I had no bladder control, the nursing staff constantly changed my bed linen and pyjamas. Meanwhile, other nurses lined up to insert fluids into my ailing body or withdraw the precious content.

Internet access was denied, and no visitors were allowed. I was left to lie and reflect on my imagination and hallucinations. I felt like a caged rat in a laboratory, a living source of research material. It was probably the most horrendous period of my life, mentally or otherwise.

A doctor emerged out of the fog. Leaning over my bed, he exclaimed, "The trouble with you is that you are not cooperating." I had no idea what he was eluding to, for there was nothing much that I could do to please him. I pleaded with a visiting doctor on several occasions to go away and leave me alone and let me slip away peacefully.

After that experience, I was moved to various wards where life continued as before. Physiotherapist nurses were around visiting patients, but I received little more than promises for tomorrow. I had gained a little strength and realised that I should be trying to restore my mobility.

Doctors visited me but rarely spent any time with me. Finally, a doctor informed me that I would be transferred to another hospital when space was available and then to a specialist nursing home.

Early one morning, I was surrounded by three physiotherapist nurses who informed me that they were to get me up and mobile. I had a complete 'meltdown' and said I had as much as I could and would go nowhere except home. 

Peter had come out from Australia to be with the family, while John and Myrtle were eager to have me home. John had bought me a hospital bed, and all were prepared to have me return.

About three days later, late in the afternoon, I was awakened from an afternoon slumber. I was informed that a taxi had arrived to collect me. I was loaded into a wheelchair and finally winched into the back of the waiting vehicle.

It was a late winter's evening, dark and cold, and I was unsure of my destination. The journey took forever; I could not identify landmarks but assumed it was homeward. I texted John as best I could in the jolting taxi to inform the family that I was on my way home.

When we finally arrived after a gruelling journey, I was relieved and delighted to see Myrtle, John and Peter on the curbside waiting for me. However, I wondered how they intended to get me to a bed because  I was emaciated without any vestige of strength. It was a relief to find that the wheelchair could enter the house and take me to my bedside. 

It was now late January 2022; the month had been one of my life's most gruelling periods. Upon my arrival home, I could do very little for myself, but I did begin to recuperate. I steadily recovered, grateful for Myrtle's unwavering love and untiring support. Carers were provided and called thrice daily to assist and oversee my exercises. 

During February 2022, carers would arrive early morning, midday and evening; I seldom felt like tolerating their intrusion while washing or having a shower as they supervised. At first, exercise was such a burden; I knew I had to make an effort to recover and be more self-sustaining. 

Recovery was slow and steady throughout February. In March, I quickly regained strength and could get about quite easily with a walking aid. I could walk down our passage unaided by mid-March, much to my carer's astonishment and delight.

April, I can now walk about normally, except there is an element of weakness in my legs, and my balance is not good. Myrtle and I exercise every morning. Our regular session, provided mainly by the carers, leaves me exhausted. 

I have come so near to the termination of my presence on this ailing planet on more than one occasion I do not doubt that I have a benefactor in some undisclosed and secret place where I will live forever.