Struck by Covid

 Less than a week since Covid-19 swallowed and chewed me and my family up, we managed to get back our lives in small, bite-sized morsels.

We were in the middle of clearing out our family-cave at Kim Tian Road. It has been more than 15 years since we moved in and last renovated it, and it was time for another major spruce-up. So we prepared to clear everything, and move to a smaller interim rental family cave at Robertson Quay while renovations were on schedule to begin the following week.

The move was smooth, and we managed to settle into the apartment on the first day. The boxes were unpacked, the apartment looked fabulous and shiny, comfortable and well-furnished. The afternoon light through the balcony lit up the atmosphere and the view of the Singapore River was stunning. 

There was also large, glass coffee table between the couch and the TV. 

We never had coffee tables for the past decade, knowing the danger they pose to hyperactive, careless and always-running toddlers. We made a mental note to move it.

The next day, my 19-month old toddler Zubayr looked despondent, and visibly tired. This made him really cute, the Ideal Tantrum-Free Child, if you may. He was just quiet and smiling, but not too hyperactive. My other children remarked to me that his mouth was “shivering” in the car when we were driving back from Tamil class in Little India that morning, but I didn’t make much notice of it and attributed it to the cold aircon temperature in the car.

That afternoon. Zubayr ran a fever. I was still confident that he’d be OK, and true enough, he was in high spirits after a nap. That’s when it all went downhill.

He was up on the couch, jumping up and down as Talha (my 12-year-old) and Khadijah (my 8 year-old) were glued to the TV. Just as I came out the room with my wife, and just as I remarked to her how cute he was jumping like that, he missed a step and fell headlong onto the glass coffee table.

Those few seconds replay in my mind again and again, much to my agony. With his full body weight, his head hit, face down, on the edge of the table, and I could feel the adrenaline kicking in my system to leap to save him. But not a chance. Too late.

He screamed, as I dashed to carry him. (Talha was also screaming and we had to ask him to calm down.) My worst fears had come true - a deep gash had opened up, blood flowing freely onto the table below, and all over his clothes.

As I battled my rising emotions of “how could I not have seen this coming?” and “how could I have let him down”, my wife and I went to the washroom to wash off the blood and apply pressure. It was a small, but deep gash. I felt really sad, that his natural beauty had to be affected like this, and that he was in so much pain. I could feel that he was running a fever at the same time.

I told the children to hold the fort, while we rushed to Thomson Medical Centre for Emergency services. Upon reaching there, we were shocked to find that we needed to swab him before he could be treated, and it was a 1-hour waiting time. No way could we be holding a bleeding child for that long. We immediately decided to head back home to see our family physician. 

The family doctor explained to us that the best place would be to go to NUH or KK’s Children’s emergency, as they didn’t have the surgical glue to stitch up his gash. We immediately drove to NUH, having experienced much lesser crowds before. We were getting anxious with all the driving around but not having concrete outcomes.

We finally reached NUH. It was a gruelling wait. Only my wife Yasmin and Zubayr could enter, and I had to be outside. The ER was filled with people. All treatments were taking place at the triaging area, and not even in any of the rooms. It was cold and unsettling to know that some may be Covid-positive patients nearby. We had no way of knowing. 

Close to 2 hours later, Yasmin informed me that his Antigen-Rapid test (ART) had shown that he was Covid-positive, much to our dismay and shock. Why subject the poor child to so many things in one day?

About midnight, the doctors had managed to apply surgical glue and fix his wound. We went back home, exhausted and weary that our son was the first Covid positive person in the family.

***

The weekend was challenging. We had never seen Zubayr battling high fevers like this. The temperature stayed between 39-40 degrees. We had to alternate between paracetamol and brufen, and wipe him down with a lukewarm towel constantly to bring his temperature down. We all tried our best to isolate myself and him from the rest.

On Monday, Yasmin and my eldest, Zayed, had fever, despite testing negative for their ART. Talha and Khadijah tested negative for their ART, as did I, and I sent them to school first. After seeing the doctor at about noon, both Yasmin and Zayed had tested positive for Covid, and rushed home. I felt the inevitable was coming.

The next day, Talha, Khadijah and I started having fever. We tested positive for ART, and did not go to school or work. Our visit to the doctor later that day confirmed that we were indeed Covid positive.

***

The next 3 days, Wednesday to Friday, proved very challenging. It was back to circuit breaker times. My littlest son Zubayr, had recovered, and was chirpy and ready to conquer Robertson Quay and surrounding quays and hamlets. However, the rest of us only began the descent into experiencing fatigue, fever and cough.

My daughter Khadijah and I were especially affected. My body had completely shut down. I had frequent chills, I was weighed down by fatigue and lost all energy and verve. Yasmin, who fared slightly better than me, had to look after Zubayr during his energy-filled waking moments. Khadijah’s fever refused to go down over three days. The pain-killers would help momentarily, but the fever would be back up in full force. Her perky and enthusiastic self had receded into the shadows. We were very worried for her.

Things finally started looking up over the weekend, when all of us were finally fever-free. There was some cough and sore throat reaming, but we mostly felt recovered and back to fighting fit. The children were literally jumping up and down. The still-positive ART results dampened their spirits momentarily but they were hopeful to return to school and normalcy from Monday. I, too, was sick of being sick and decided to write a long post about the family’s Covid ordeal (glad you made it till the end).

Forever thankful for the blessings. If we had contracted Covid-19 before moving in to our interim place, we could not have started the renovation works and we’d have to isolate ourselves in an empty home filled with boxes. In some ways, there was also some merit in having gotten Covid together and to hopefully be able to resume our lives more or less around the same time.