Conquering COVID - My Battle Of Survival

I did it. 

 

I conquered COVID. 

 

I thought having Swine Flu was bad a few years back. THIS was a whole new level. 

 

I started getting symptoms mid-late march. Just before the official lockdown kicked in. I was so ill for about 10 days. I got to the stage where I was needing breathing aids when I was in bed. I had to swipe my mum’s spare asthma pump so I could breathe properly. 

 

I didn’t want to go to hospital. Other people needed the doctors more than I did. It was a waste of everyone’s time. People were starting to comment on my breathing and how I spoke. I spoke to a special team after being referred by 111. They unofficially diagnosed I had COVID and that they were putting me on a list. If I called an ambulance, I would be a priority. 

 

 

I really didn’t feel well. In fact, I’d finally admitted it to a friend/client that I needed to just give in and go to sleep. I’d be fine after a few hours kip, right? 

 

 

I woke up. 

 

I wasn’t at home. 

 

I was in a COVID unit in an East London hospital. 

 

FUCK. 

 

I’d been unconscious for 3 days. I remember nothing. 

 

My initial response was I needed to find someone. Where was Mike? Where was my Mum? 

 

A nurse came to see me. She explained that I had been admitted a few days ago. An infection had spread to my brain and I had suffered 4 epileptic seizures. Obviously, I’m not thinking straight so I try to leave. I’d forgotten about COVID and that I was now a ‘prisoner’ of HM Prison NHS! 

 

FUCK. 

 

A Doctor came to see me a little later. Talking about shoving a needle into my spine to see if they can trace this infection and diagnose exactly what it is. I can’t be treated with Penicillin because I’m allergic and apparently, I’d had a bitch fit in the brain scanner days before so they were going to sedate me to do another scan. 

 

FUCK. 

 

Mission: Contact. 

 

I’m going out to find Mum and Mike. I need answers and I need a hug. I’m still not grasping this whole COVID thing at this point. I finally found my phone in a drawer. No charger. 

 

Urgh! Obviously, an iPhone won’t have battery after 3 days 

Finally find a charger. 

… But wait. What is my passcode? Phone has been off so I can’t just use my thumbprint. 

 

Think. Think. Think. 

 

Finally figure it out. 

 

Phone lights up like a Christmas tree! Ping Ping Ping. Buzz Buzz Buzz. 

 

I’m not even sure who I called first, but I think it was Mum. 

 

Called Mike. Was lovely to hear them both. Stress left my body instantly. 

 

Everyone is relieved I am not dead. 

 

Apparently, the hospital was meant to be keeping my family up to date, but they hadn’t heard from the hospital since the day I was admitted. For all they knew, I was dead. 

 

I vaguely remember messaging a few more people “I’m Alive” before it all went dark again. 

 

Words were limited. My memory was shot to pieces. I needed to sleep. Obviously 3 days wasn’t enough. 

 

 

I think I’m ‘OK’. 

 

I am physically ok. Or so I think. 

 

Mentally. I’m all over the shop but I’ve got a one-track mind. My mission is to escape. 

 

I can’t really remember much of the rest of the day but at 8pm I remember texting my mum. ‘Come get me’. I have received my discharge papers and I am free to go. I’m pretty sure by this stage the medical staff had just had enough of me trying to escape that they kicked me out. I (half) jest. I had an official release document. 

 

The next week or so is a blur. I remember watching Tiger King but that’s about it. My short-term memory was obliterated. I have no idea what I’ve just done, who I’ve just spoken to and what I’m supposed to be doing. In hindsight, I should never have been allowed out of the hospital. I wasn’t mentally stable enough and I was physically weak. 

 

This thing, this virus had almost kicked my arse. I’m still not entirely sure how I managed to pull through. I felt like the new kid on the block, going toe to toe with the world heavy weight boxing champ. I was fucked on may levels. 

 

 

I’ve been back to work about 2 weeks. Things are finally starting to feel ‘normal’ again. Well as normal as they can feel in lockdown. I’ve contacted all my friends and family (I think) and work is pretty much back to normal. 

 

There are so many people who have been there for me recently that I’m not even going to embarrass myself and try to remember who you are and what you’ve done. I will at some point go through all the messages again and thank you all on a personal level. 

 

To anyone thinking about going out or are currently finding loopholes during lockdown, please stop. Really, please stop. I’m one of the lucky ones and I was physically and mentally devastated after my match with COVID. It really isn’t something to brush off. 

 

Being in a COVID ward was hard. Really hard. It was scary and it was lonely. If I hadn’t pulled through, I would have died alone. With no friends and family. No-one to hold my hand. 

 

It sends my blood cold just thinking about it. 

 

The whole process has left me a bit mentally unstable. I’ve had days where I wished I never woke up. Genuinely. I just wanted to die. It sounds selfish, knowing that so many people haven’t been as lucky to pull through but that’s what this stupid virus does. It destroys everything. It takes lives and destroys lives. It fucks with you physically and mentally. 

 

I’ve got a long way to go. But I’m on a path and I’m pushing forward. I have wonderful friends and family around me. 

 

I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m still suffering. 

 

Please take this seriously. 

 

Please. For all our sakes. 

 

Stay Safe 

Until next time, 

 

Dee x