My COVID Journey…
/My COVID Journey: Fear, Strength, and Kindness
My COVID experience was incredibly painful and traumatic, but it also brought with it a beautiful element that I want to share. As you read this, I hope you can connect with the struggles many of us faced during the pandemic, particularly the intense isolation. The fear and panic were overwhelming at times. However, through it all, I realized that no matter what life throws at you, there’s always a beautiful aspect and a lesson to be learned. That’s the essence of my experience, and I’m grateful to be able to share it with you
————
I felt so tired on that day, cleaning my home and getting ready for pooja as it was Thursday, my routine day for doing pooja. My phone rang, and I rushed to pick up the call. The very next second, everything turned topsy-turvy. A rough voice conveyed, "I am from Corporation Hospital. Your blood results came—Covid positive." I felt as though I was drowning in an ocean, suffocating for breath. My eyes welled up with tears. I had never imagined being caught up in the pandemic wind.
My whole family was stuck by the news, speechless for an hour. My husband consoled me, and without further delay, we went for scanning. The moments were highly traumatising, and I became so nervous. The doctor recommended isolation and immediate medical assistance. I started crying and became anxious because I had never been alone. The doctor counselled me, and all my friends and family members encouraged me to cooperate with the treatment.
It was late at night, and a thunderstorm with heavy rain made me feel frightened. The hospital arranged an ambulance, but we refused it. My husband took me to the container home by car. My husband patted me with lots of encouraging words, but I was down and kept thinking about how this was happening to me and where I got infected. We reached the container home, fully furnished with all the facilities but looking like a horror room to me. Doctors checked and asked my husband to leave, and I panicked.
Full of sadness, my husband left me alone and went home. They started treatment with nerve injections in both hands, steroids, and other antibiotics. They also provided sleeping pills. Heavy rain continued outside. I panicked and heard my heartbeats. Lots of questions pricked my mind: "Will I be alive? Will I take care of my family? What would they do in my absence?" No ray of hope filled my mind. All these frightening thoughts made me experience shortness of breath. I tried my best to breathe but in vain. I rushed to the intercom and tried to connect with the doctors, but immediately a thought stopped me. This time, I tried heaven to earth to breathe. I was afraid that if I called for medical assistance, I would surely be in ICU for oxygen. I couldn’t imagine myself in that situation. Somehow, I started breathing normally.
Not even for a second did I sleep due to a severe headache. Mobile access was impossible. I played all divine songs and watched outside through the window.
The next morning, the door was opened by a Sister, full of injections and medicines. I felt like screaming. Mechanically, she did the procedures. She looked tired, as the 100 container homes were filled with COVID patients. "Wear your mask always," she advised me. With a painful smile, I replied, "I require a mask for my mind to filter all my negative thoughts." She stared at me and left. Morning breakfast came, fully nutritious but tasting like sand due to the odourless smell and tasteless tongue. I threw all the food items and started speaking to my family members and friends. I received loads of motivation and love, but I kept searching for a human connection in person.
Afternoon lunch came—of course, for the dustbin. I felt so guilty for wasting food, but I couldn’t eat due to my mental and physical illness. "May I speak to the nearby patients?" I asked the Sister. She expressed a different gesture, "No, not allowed to go out of your container." "Why? Everyone here is a COVID-19 patient, so why is it not allowed?" I asked. "I don’t know; it's hospital norms," she replied. I felt too
dejected. I wanted to talk with someone. "Okay, can you spend some time with me?" I asked. "Can’t, I have lots of work to complete. Eat well and rest," she said.
Holding the window strings, I searched for someone to talk to. I felt like I was in a prison, longing for human interaction. Day one passed like a hilarious hill ride. I suffered from mood swings and was so tired. The worst moment was taking steroid injections—a much more painful experience.
The next day, the door was opened, and my hands started shivering, frightened of the steroid injection. "Sister?" I heard a male voice and turned eagerly. A male nurse with all medical aids stood nearby. I searched for the regular nurse. "I am Pandidurai," he said. "The shift changed, so for the next week, I am going to take care of you." He spoke with a broad smile.
Not much interested in conversing, I replied, "Oh." "Had your breakfast?" he asked. "No, I don’t like to have it; everything is tasteless," I said. "No, no, you should not say that. You need immunity to fight against this deadly disease, so please take your breakfast. Then I will inject," he insisted.
"Please carry on with your work. You may have lots of responsibilities; don’t try to convince me," I said. I tried to eat, but with the first bite itself, I felt like vomiting.
"Okay, I will come back," he said, shutting the door and moving away.
Thank God, today I escaped the steroid injection. With a sigh of relief, I watched outside the window, the only entertainment I could have.
Within ten minutes, he came back with an apple and guava fruits. He cut the fruits into slices and asked me to eat them. I felt warmth in my heart at this kind gesture. He started speaking a lot about his family, his job, and even his girlfriend.
I wondered how he could be so friendly within ten minutes. Meanwhile, I ate all the fruits. The sweetness of the apple I could sense not by my taste buds but by his continuous speech.
"You are spending a lot of time here. Is it okay?" I asked. "It's okay, Sister. I can manage. I couldn’t give steroids on an empty stomach," he replied.
"I think you are a very good person, but you too, Brutus," I said, kidding him. He smiled and finished all his medical procedures. He gave me his mobile number and asked me to connect when required.
After two days of confinement, I felt a little relaxed. A ray of hope emerged in my heart. I was there for six days, and Pandidurai treated me so well, full of compassion and love. He encouraged me with positive case histories, and I slowly recovered from my illness.
The day before the discharge, I had a conversation with him. "Why are you making so much effort to help me undergo this treatment? You spoke a lot, smiled a lot, and gave me special care. I am so curious to know the answer: do you treat all the patients like this?" I asked.
He laughed and started asking me some questions. "Sister, I know you are a professor, but if you find a student in your class who is very poor in academics but trying to learn, what will you do?" he asked.
"I give special attention and motivate him to learn. Before that, I tried to understand his psychological issues more than academics," I replied.
"Okay, do you treat all your students equally?" he asked. "No, because a classroom is always diverse with students of different capabilities," I said.
"So, you are more than a teacher," he said.
"Yes, I am also a mentor for my students," I replied.
"Okay. Take care of your health and connect with me when time permits," he said.
"Oh, you are not answering my question," I said curiously.
"Answers are already told by you," he said with a huge smile, waving his hand as he moved away.
My heart always brims with gratitude whenever I think of Pandidurai, who proved that any profession requires not only a skilful, intelligent person but also a mentor who can handle human emotions.
By Sujatha Ganeshan
From: India