Tag Archives: coronavirus

Anxiety About Having It

Since being with Albert as he died, I’ve become more and more anxious thinking I might either have coronavirus or will get it soon. I didn’t know I was going to be sitting in a small room with a man dying of Covid before it actually happened. I’ve never done anything like that before in my life. It was a sudden event that happened without warning. I was given a blue paper mask, gloves, and an apron and told to go inside and sit with him quietly, maybe hold his hand, and keep him calm.

LUCKILY, so luckily, I’d had a conversation with my ex-husband, Paul, the day before, who’d asked about the PPE I would be wearing at hospital for my volunteering, and when I told him about the mask and gloves he said, “what about your eyes? You need protection for your eyes too.” I hadn’t thought of that, and it was a good point.

So just as I was about to go in and sit with Albert I said, “what about a visor, can I have one of those?” The nurse looked surprised and turned her head from side to side as if she’d no idea where any might be and why anyone would ask for such a thing, but I’d seen a small supply of them on a nearby trolley so was able to point them out. I strapped it on and went in.

Inside, Albert was moaning and lying in bed on a CPAP machine, which I subsequently discovered is an aerosol generating procedure (AGP), for which I should really have been wearing a FFP3 mask. But no-one was wearing that type, we were all using just the blue paper masks, even the nurse who hugged his body to her chest as we struggled to change the sheets on his bed.

I feel let down that I, as a volunteer, didn’t have it explained to me that I should be using a better mask than the normal paper ones, and that I wasn’t provided with one, or told to get one. I was just shoved in the room with my standard non-aerosol preventing paper mask. The same as everyone else.

I spent 50 minutes sitting a metre away from Albert, close enough to be able to hold his hand or stroke his leg. There was a window open behind the blinds so the room was aired, but you can’t see those tiny little aerosols – they’re so miniscule hundreds of them can fit on a human hair! And the gusts of storm Christophe were swirling in through the window, round the room, up into my nose and lungs, and back out through the window. I worry I breathed in many Covid aerosols through my paper mask that day. So now I’m just sitting here, hour after hour, waiting for symptoms to emerge.

My anxiety is getting the better of me. I’m imagining I have a sore throat or feeling breathless. I did this last year in April, and then the symptoms actually did turn out to be Covid. I don’t want that to happen again now, but there’s really nothing I can do about it. I was exposed to potentially huge amounts of aerosols of Covid-19 three days ago, and I can’t take that event back. All the nurses had no better protection and that is their daily job. Have they all been vaccinated and feel confident? Have they all had the virus and are now immune? Or are they just too busy, too caught up in their job rushing from one thing to another to worry about what kind of mask they’re wearing? Or are they not provided with any? I think this last is the most likely reason, and if so, that’s really not good enough.

My plan for me is to continue living my life, keep away from people, wear my mask, wash my hands, stay out of contact with everyone until next Friday, when I will take a Covid test. By then it will have been ten days since the exposure and if I’m going to get it, surely that will have been enough time for sufficient viral load to amass in the back of my nose and throat to show up in a test? I really don’t want a false negative test result.

If, when (yes, I must think when) I get a negative result back from that test I will give myself a reward, out of pure relief. Perhaps I should spend the next seven days deciding exactly what that should be.

In the meanwhile, just to comfort myself, I bought a pulse oximeter from Amazon (to arrive tomorrow) so I can monitor my blood oxygen levels. This evening Jack said he had a sore throat and I think I also have one. But lets hope it’s either a normal cold coming on or our imaginations.

Please God!

Update on Albert

This morning I went back to the hospital to volunteer, and to enquire about Albert. I didn’t sleep well last night and my whole body ached. Staying with him during his last hour or two of life had affected me more than I thought it would. I found out that he died not long after I left the room.

That’s one man. One man in one room on one ward in one hospital in one town in one county in England. And this tragedy is being repeated throughout the world. It’s devastating and unbearable if you allow yourself to properly think about it.

Goodbye, Albert. Though I’d never met you before, and we only spent 45 minutes together, I loved you and I’ll never for get you. Those moments were intimate, desperate, and anguished, but you’re in a better place now. Your suffering is over.

Our vulnerable and frail elderly don’t deserve to die like that. Nobody does of course. Euthanasia would have brought his suffering to an end a lot sooner. It’s a great shame that he wasn’t allowed to “die with dignity” and avoid the days of terrible pain he endured without hope of recovery.

What I don’t understand is that if I, a complete stranger, was able to sit and be with Albert in his final moments, why couldn’t it have been one of his relatives? That might have been a lot nicer for him.

These Covid times, the whole of 2020 and into 2021, are wretched indeed.

Witnessing The Struggle

This post is for ALBERT.

Albert is an elderly, frail black man with dementia, lying in a hospital room by himself, struggling for every breath, coughing up thick phlegm, unable to communicate, suffering so much and dying of Covid. He is in his last few hours or days (if he’s unlucky). He can’t speak. He’s half out of his mind and quite terrified.

He is there now, still in that dreary room with all the blinds closed, with nothing to see or do except fight the internal fight caused by his lungs being almost totally filled up with gunge and his organs slowly failing.

I sit here and type at my desk, writing this blog as a catharsis, as a way to get Albert some witness to his suffering.

This was my first shift as a Covid volunteer. I have no medical training but when I found out that my local hospital was close to being overwhelmed and was extremely short-staffed, I thought I should offer my services. I myself wouldn’t want to go into hospital and there be no staff to look after me. At least a volunteer is better than no-one. At least, if nothing else, I can sit and give comfort.

I think I did that today. As Albert grunted and coughed and wheezed, I held his hand and stroked his leg and talked from time to time about ordinary every-day things. I told him there was a storm coming and the wind was strong and we’d had rain over night. I described the view outside the window that he couldn’t see. I told him what people were doing right now – preparing lunch, boiling rice, cooking sauce, washing up, walking to the corner shop to get the newspaper, taking their dogs for walks. But about half the time we sat in silence too. I didn’t want to continuously chatter. He continuously groaned though.

Once I held his hand, but he gently pulled it away out of my grasp. He didn’t want that. Another time he held out his other arm towards me, moaning a bit. He didn’t form any words so I wasn’t sure if he was trying to tell me anything specific. I noticed that a bit of the sticky tape on the back of his hand where the cannula was had come unstuck, but I didn’t know whether that was something to mention to a nurse or not. Although if I had wanted to mention it there was no-one within reach. Outside this little room everyone was busy. Nursing staff were gathered from all over the hospital and not in their usual stations. People didn’t know where gauze was, or where the visors were kept.

Albert felt cold to my touch, very cold. I told him this, and searched around the room for an extra blanket and heaped it on top of him.

After 45 minutes a phlebotomist came in to take some bloods and noticed the cannula wasn’t in the back of Albert’s hand, and that, in fact, the IV fluids had been discharging onto the bed and he was lying in a pool of cold, wet sheets. How hadn’t I noticed?! I was horrified! Was that what he had been trying to communicate when he was reaching out his hand a couple of times? I have no idea. I put my head outside the door and asked for a nurse to come and help. She was busy typing on a mobile phone and said she couldn’t do two things at once, but she would come soon. I understood.

I felt so sorry for Albert, who was now lying without covers in the freezing cold. The window was open of course. Ventilation is extremely important, I was grateful for that. But it is winter, and if you’re lying in water in a thin hospital gown it must have felt bitterly cold.

It wasn’t long before the nurse and I were rolling Albert over, yanking the wet sheets out from under him, and tucking a dry one in place. A fresh sheet and blanket were put back over him, but privately I didn’t think that would be anywhere near enough to keep him warm. He was skeletally thin and could have done with a duvet, but that wasn’t going to happen.

Not long after that, with Albert all the time moaning and struggling for breath, I doffed my PPE (visor, mask, gloves, and thin plastic apron) into the appropriate bin, and washed my hands in the sink up to my elbows. Outside, nurses were hurrying to and fro, busy, so busy, tasks piled high. I walked round the corner and stood in the corridor against the wall watching the commotion, thinking of Albert, now completely alone, fighting his last fight, probably still freezing cold.

No-one paid me any attention. No-one had any time. I didn’t know where the task force leader was, or who was the most senior nurse to ask what I should do next; but honestly, I didn’t want to do anything else next. It was a baptism of fire and I felt a little overwhelmed. Soon I went to the staff room, collected my things, and headed off to the redeployment hub to tell them I was going home. We had a quick debrief, which I found helpful. They were very sympathetic – for everything, for the whole situation, for me, for Albert.

I went home, had a shower, and made up my mind to hug my children closer than usual this evening. Covid is cruel to the elderly. I hated seeing this man’s suffering. Apparently he has great grandchildren. But he has to lie and die alone. Relatives aren’t allowed in the ward. It’s heartbreaking..

I’ll think of Albert for a long time. My next shift is tomorrow, and if I get sent back into the Covid black ward I’ll ask after him, see if I can sit with him again. I’ll let you know.

People: Wear your masks. Keep your distance. Help prevent people like Albert from suffering and dying.

The Cooking Problem

It’s Day 2 of the January national lockdown and I have cooked ALL the dishes and ALL the recipes, and now I don’t know WHAT to cook for the seven meals the kids will require tomorrow.

We’ve already had:
Pasta
Risotto
Pizza
Salad
Vegetables
Frittata
Sausages
Baked potatoes
Cold meat
Fish fingers
Curry
Chinese takeaway
Baked beans on potato waffles
Scrambled eggs

School lunches may not be very nice (especially with the lack of a salad buffet) but at least I didn’t have to dream them up day after day.

Looking in the fridge for inspiration I see:
7 x mini yoghurts
One block of cheese
A few vegetables

I’ve already spent ALL my money on ALL the food, but I’ll have to go to the supermarket yet again tomorrow. I’m going every other day and spending about £50. This can’t go on!

Basically, It’s Lockdown 3.0

Our area is now in Tier 4, a newly created extra strict Covid safety tier that means there is a stay-at-home order, and we can only meet one other person, outside. Christmas is cancelled. The new mutated version of Covid-19 is up to 70% more contagious than the first, which is very alarming, so I accept we need to follow the rules and keep safe.

We are now living in Narnia. An everlasting winter has descended. To keep our spirits up and get us through the festive season we’re going to pull together as a family, stay inside, watch films, and play board games. I’ll order our groceries online and we’ll go for one walk or bike ride per day. I’ve bought a skipping rope too, so I’ll be popping into the back garden to get my heart rate up, hopefully once a day. I’m organised. I’m prepared. We can do this.

Trump is History!

Or will be as soon as January comes along.

The American people have come to their senses and voted for Democrat Joe Biden to become the 46th president of the United States of America. Thank goodness. Proper Covid measures can at last be brought in to protect the people (mainly from themselves) and the US can now rejoin the Paris Climate Agreement and the WHO. Nasty, aggressive, policies brought in by Trump can be reversed and deleted. What a relief. Democracy is back in America. Everyone I know is delighted.

Meanwhile the UK is on Day five of Lockdown 2.0. We’re doing okay. I’m taking the children for walks at the weekends and they’re still going to school during the day, so nothing much changes for us, which is good. No eating out though. No going swimming, visiting the shops, or meeting up with friends. No getting professional haircuts. Paul and I did Jack’s hair with clippers in the kitchen on Saturday, and to our surprise it came out very well. Saved us £10! We may continue with this after lockdown (if he’ll let us).

Fireworks

On the day of the American Presidential election, when Joe Biden looks as if he may actually get enough votes to win (please God), and Donald Trump is screaming electoral fraud, demanding that vote counting be stopped, and stoking the possibility of violence at the ballot box, England has entered the first day of the second national lockdown.

It’s also fireworks night. Celebrations are muted this year. A couple of hours of fireworks going off in people’s back gardens, hand-held sparklers in the porch by the front door, and then silence. No big displays this year. The kids are normally disturbed by loud noises and screaming fireworks until about midnight and beyond, but this year it’s deadly quiet by 9:00pm. Which is strange (but good).

I’m pretty tired. I need the weekend to recoup – I need to spend some time in bed. I need rest. Things have been so busy and non-stop lately. And the weather’s turned cold, although still not nearly as cold as it should be at this time of year compared to my childhood when it was frost and hats and gloves.

For three weeks before the lockdown I asked Jack if he would please allow me to take him to the barbers for a haircut, but each time he loudly protested. “I will NEVER get a haircut!” ADHD/ASC means he doesn’t answer questions politely or reasonably, or even sensibly. Each week it was the same answer. NEVER.

ON THE DAY OF LOCKDOWN, TODAY, Jack asks for a haircut. Practically begs for one. All hairdressers are closed of course so there’s no chance for a haircut for a month at the very least, but he was inexplicably suddenly desperate, so I had to do a DIY session with him standing in the bath and me wielding a beard trimmer (I don’t have a pair of clippers). I didn’t get a chance to get my own highlights done, so I’m going to be going grey for Christmas. I wish I’d organised a trip to the hairdressers before lockdown started. Too late now.

Ah well, perhaps I’ll wake up tomorrow to hear that Biden has officially won. That’ll take a great weight off my shoulders, if not the entire’ world’s shoulders. We want to see the back of the pouting, tantrumming man-child that’s occupied The Whitehouse for four excruciating years.

Lockdown 2.0

As expected, the Government has announced that a second national lockdown will take place, although this time schools, colleges, and Universities will stay open. It will last for four weeks and then regions in England will go back into the tiered restrictions that have become familiar recently.

I agree that a lockdown needs to happen – and probably one more stringent. I intend to follow it to the letter. I’ve decided to socially distance from everyone, including Paul (my ex-husband and father of the twins) and my parents. I want it to just be me and the twins in the house, no-one else. Coronavirus cases and deaths are rising alarmingly exponentially in the UK right now, steeper even than during the first wave of the pandemic. I think I’d prefer the children to stay at home this time too. For safety’s sake.

I’m worried about getting the virus again. I feel short of breath from time to time, but as happened during the first wave, I can’t tell whether it’s psychosomatic or real. If it’s real I wouldn’t know whether it’s one of my usual long Covid flare-ups or the start of something new. I have no other symptoms, really – perhaps the hint of a sore throat – but I’m trying to ignore that. In winter I usually have a sore throat and a cold for about three months solid so it’s nothing remarkable. I don’t want to panic myself…

But still. These are very worrying times.

Brace, Brace, Brace!

Much of the UK is living under severe restrictions now, with some places in local lockdowns. The area where I live is unchanged from where it’s always been… but I think a national lockdown could be imposed soon. I’m trying to make the most of my freedom whilst I still have it, continuing to be very careful with hand washing and mask wearing, of course. But the figures don’t look good. France is currently faring the worst in Europe, and today president Macron announced a second national lockdown for the country. I think I will manage to squeeze in one brief trip away before school starts again after half term and we in the UK are all told to stay at home once again.

It Is Upon Us

It’s the middle of October 2020, and the world is now deep into a second wave of Covid-19, Europe especially. It’s relentless and terrifying and has many of us cowering in our homes. We wash our hands and wear our masks, but in many ways it’s up to chance. Even though we take precautions we get it anyway. Since I’m convinced I already had it in April, I have many questions… that can’t be answered.

Am I immune to getting it? If so, for how long?
Will the illness be worse if I get it a second time? There are reports of people who have been confirmed as having had it twice with the second infection more severe than the first.
Will schools close again? Will I have to do the dreaded home schooling?
Will there be another national lockdown? If so, for how long? At the moment, the area where I live has the least stringent rules. We are Tier 1. Medium.

And lastly, what is this irritating dry cough I suddenly have?