A bizarre covid odyssey in god's own country for a man down under

2021 brought fresh hopes and aspirations to wipe away the emotional, financial, and general displacement deficits we all experienced worldwide. Strict border closures, world-class contact tracing and generally a well-managed health policy meant Australia remained one of the few countries that became the envy of the world.

A twist of fate so unsuspecting, cruel, out of the script, unnatural was waiting in the wings when I decided to travel to Kerala (God’s own country), India through an exception granted on compassionate grounds by my government. My Mom was in her last legs of her stage four cancer, and, as a caring son, I decided to join my siblings from other parts of the world and support each other and our older father through this painful ordeal.

The final days of our Mom's life were nothing out of the ordinary, mostly being palliative, but we ensured that she was kept in high spirits. As Hindus, we believe in reincarnations and possibilities that of future connections with her in part alleviated some of the pain. Finally, she passed away peacefully by the end of April. End of an era for a lovely lady who lit up everyone's life whom she has touched. A week's mourning, thoughtful prayers, wake and other formalities followed, and as a family, we were joyous for her being the glue to our family even though in spirits.

My travel plans were nearing their completion, and a flight via Doha into Melbourne and 14 days of hotel quarantine was all that stood between myself and my young family eagerly awaiting in Melbourne. I had by then resumed work remotely with my teams in Australia, United Kingdom and North America.

So far, so good, ride it out a few days, reduce external risks, keep healthy, and I would be out of here in no time. But as fate has it in-store, you are never in total control of your destiny. I watched with absolute bewilderment and horror how the Indian nation that announced victory against the pandemic in January 2021 was letting all the hard work slip right in front of the world. Substantial political rallies, massive religious festivals, no social distancing, optional mask usage, very little in the way of restrictions was paving a roadmap to utter, immediate and imminent chaos and destruction of the public health system. Reports of infection rates and stats being suppressed by the official narrative were reported in media, none of which brought any solace to me, who seemingly at that point had no vested interest in the outcomes that followed. 

The conclusion of state elections and Kumbamela brought with it the perfect storm of repercussions to the callous public health policies, both federal and state. Concerned scientific and pandemic experts set the tone up for what was to follow - terms like double mutant strain, a variant of concern, high transmissible rate, higher mortality rate were thrown around to highlight the risks. These were not associated with the first wave and was generally attributed to the UK and South African strains. But I had no reason to believe why I would not be able to repatriate myself as the same was allowed for Australian Citizens from the aforementioned countries. But as fate would have it, an avalanche of events has already triggered a devastating set of outcomes that would decimate a nation so scarce of health resources nationally and even personally for me on many levels.

My father was on an upbeat having his favourite political party win the state elections and took every opportunity to remind us - everyone mattered, play your part by spending in the local economy during the lockdowns. I was acutely concerned about his leaving home for essentials as the virus rampaged through the society like wildfire - test positivity rate climbed faster than the bitcoin value in 2021. The only consolation was he was inoculated with the first dosage of the vaccine but was unsure what efficacy it entailed. Eventually, my worst nightmare was just about to be realised when he tested positive for the dreaded virus but displayed mild symptoms. We immediately isolated him to a separate area within the house. We managed his illness for a number of days whilst getting the rest of the family tested, hoping like hell the infection was contained. 

Then came the devastating call from the testing centre, all of us have succumbed to the virus, nevertheless took on a positive attitude and face this adverse situation head-on. The immediate step was to put aside all the other plans to ice and recover from the infection en masse. It was heartening at least initially, to see that the plan was working, albeit short-lived. The evening of Sunday the 9th triggered events so devastating, it would test our endurance physically, clinically and emotionally for days to come. Dad had to be hospitalised for precautionary measures due to his advancing age, and my brother joined him as a bystander to help out. Whilst I was trying bravely to fend off the symptoms, albeit increasing becoming edgy and concerned being alone at home and the numerous research videos and complications associated with the virus I have read in media started flashing before my eyes. My professional training and general approach towards life allowed me to take on a balanced risk mitigation strategy. Hence, I decided to stay put unless I felt strongly otherwise subsequently.

I could see the country implode and exhaust its medical resources in quick time, including essentials like hospital admissions, ICU beds, O2 supply and critical medicines. Nation-wide, state after state started going into hard lockdown, further restricting people to find treatment options. All the flashy propaganda around winning against the virus, ready for wave 2, self-proclamation of being the vaccination capital of the world all appeared hollow and self-serving to the vested interests within the system. The international community was swift to react by vouching for support to the impending human tragedy whilst understandably closing its borders to protect its own interests. I watched in horror my own country Australia not only shut down its borders but also threaten to penalise or at worst, imprison any citizens who may return home. To me, it only highlighted an ineffective quarantine system for returning citizens. I was envious that neither my brother (Norwegian citizen) nor my sister (US Citizen) had to face the same predicament from their respective governments as I did. These were desperate times, and no solace would have come off a successful debate on government obligations to its citizens when your life itself was on a knife-edge.

The race was on as my health deteriorated with no access to a medical facility in a hospital. I desperately tried to pull strings through my local connections and, after forty-eight hours, managed to join my family in the same hospital. By which time, my breathing had shallowed out, and covid induced pneumonia had well and truly taken over my lung function. Within a short couple of hours of observation, the concerned demeanour from my doctor advising me to be moved to ICU immediately conveyed to me that I am in this for the long haul, and a painful and treacherous road lies ahead of me.

Having had my share of health problems growing up, I decided to grind it out but was unsure what the plan of action was for my treatment options. With novel viruses such as Covid-19, it quickly became apparent that there wasn't any templated, tried and tested, effective plan of attack. As I lie there in ICU being upgraded from essential O2 masks to intermediate ones to pressurised O2 ventilators, it dawned on me for the very first time my limited chances to celebrate my big 50 with my family back in Melbourne. Still early days, I decided to dig deep and find scraps of positivity to make it back to my loved ones. Each passing day saw me take a positive step forward only to slip back two. Intense ventilation, experimental drugs like Remdesivir, immunity suppressants, steroids, blood thinners, coagulants were liberally administered to control the infection and stabilise my O2 levels. There were improvements, but occasional bouts of breathlessness destabilised and plunged my progress even further. I began experiencing a level of desperation creeping through, and possibilities about not making it out started to take root in my fragile mindset. 

As the time crawled in ICU, occasional calls of code blue would be announced on the floor, disturbing any relative peace the ICU had to offer. More often than not, after valiant attempts from the medical personnel, a life could be pronounced extinguished. A report or stats would presumably be prepared for official records - a grim reminder of the devastation of the raging pandemic. But what often gets forgotten at the macro level is the personal loss of a family member, financial and emotional instability and a deep void that may never get filled. Irrespective, due to public health policy, the last shred of dignity of a dead soul is ripped apart when placed in a bodybag to safely wrap a covid infected body for council cremation with limited family presence. I might have witnessed this at least a dozen times during my 21 days stay in ICU and realised that it just gets progressively worse each time. But then again, a valuable resource is freed up. An ICU bed! Only to be snatched up by the next in the queue to fight another day.

As fate would have it, a ray of hope flashed in front of my eyes with my father being transferred into ICU for observation, although clinically, he was doing fine. He was placed in the next bed to mine, and I could immediately feel his paternal caring instincts kicking in through very personal words of encouragement, spiritual guidance and the raw will to fight through adversity. The interaction continued for possibly three or four days or even longer, I might have thought, although at this point, I have lost any clarity about a day, night, date and time. The glimpses of improvement markers the doctors were expecting have been met demonstrably albeit slowly during this period. I was offered non-intrusive O2 options first time since my admission into ICU and boy-o-boy, was I ecstatic? There is a definite light at the end of this tunnel. A day or so passed with discussions to move my father out of ICU. I felt he had dodged one here due to his age and the possible complications we have witnessed in the ICU due to this virus. I was thrilled for him! We had a few brief chit chats before we retired to bed that evening, clearly upbeat.

The following day started as nothing unusual with my morning struggle to get my breathing right, do basic morning chores and get ready for a well-deserved morning cuppa. A glance over to greet my father revealed a distressed face, something I have not been accustomed to seeing very often. Something was wrong but he just brushed it aside and asked me to focus on the day ahead, the rehab and breathing routines. The day progressed visibly quicker, I felt, due to doctors dropping by to check on my father, and the curtain separator between us would progressively be drawn wider by the staff. A slow sinking feeling started to set within me, but I continued to maintain a prayerful and hopeful disposition. Towards the mid-afternoon, chaos erupted with medical responses to the impending deterioration of my father's condition. Time, by this point, seemed to have accelerated as the medicos administered adrenaline shots, assisted breathing, and other resuscitation procedures. A pause, seemingly long one too, followed all the preceding action. I could see my father face, eyes closed, saintly and calm. With not much information forthcoming, I hung on to my eternal optimism that it is just not his time yet to leave us behind. An hour or so passed with no much change to the status quo, but an impromptu visit from my brother indicated the ominous. He sat beside me, reassuring the magnanimous and fulfilling life our father has led and the fact that he didn't have to wait any longer to rejoin my mother, who passed away barely four weeks prior after fifty-five years of marital bliss. Some point shortly afterwards, the medicos called it in, our father was no more, and the sense of being orphaned in a month losing both the parents was beyond devastating. Before my brother left to manage the logistics of performing the last rites, he sternly instructed me to put the day's events behind and focus on my personal recovery to avoid potential health complications. I vividly recalled my father being moved in a body bag to the mortuary despite me being sedated. We had to wait for my sister to arrive from the USA later that week for the funeral or at least the council version of a covid cremation. Possibly the longest night of my adult life, I lay there wondering the absurdity of how none of it just doesn't fit into any script, even of the worst or tragic kind.

Formalities followed in my absence on our outside while I kept my fighting spirits up. I had to follow through with the silent promise I made to my dad, my family and myself. But my emotional state by that time was in tatters, I was demonstrating typical PTSD symptoms, constantly failing to string together words to communicate without bursting into tears and just deep dive into a state of utter muteness. If I can ever call it a blessing in disguise, the constant sobbing interlaced with long periods of absolute silence started clearing the mucous and inflammation in my lungs and my breathing was starting to ease off with my O2 levels started to pick up. A significant breakthrough for me, the medicos can now commence rehab work and construct a recovery roadmap. Four to five days of intensive rehab therapy, breathing exercises, staged weaning off O2 ventilation followed and I never felt better even through the constant pain I endured. I felt confident at this point to come out of this illness, possibly unscathed. 

The day arrived when the head of ICU came over to me to discuss shifting me out of ICU after 21 days to a private room to complete my remaining therapy, and I was clearly on the mend. I have had my share of reasonable triumphs in my life, but I would like to think that this ordeal and the eventual outcome would place it right up there on top of that list. Without the support of my close-knit family, I would not have made it out of it, and I am eternally indebted to them for helping me through this.

I still have a very long road ahead to be functionally fit, get back to things that really matter, refocus and reprioritise my life and make sure every day counts in my second innings. I sincerely hope the latter half of 2021 brings the much needed healing anticipated at the start of the year.

I just want to sign off sharing my horrid covid experience by highlighting that this is a global problem, waves of the pandemic and new strains might reappear, the efficacy of vaccines might improve, border closures and local shutdown may become a reality, alternative quarantine facilities may get built, expatriates irrespective of the virus strain in their country of residence may get equal opportunity to repatriate, we may share each other’s pain and support one another because ultimately no life deserves to be a mere pandemic mortality statistic or a proud occupant of a body bag. 

Chao!