In September of the calamitous 2020, my son got infected with Covid-19. What followed was three weeks of mortal fear; fear for him, for my daughter and for my wife and I. His health, our daughters health, our financial ability to bear the looming burdens all bore down on us as parents. To those who haven’t been through this, I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. To those who are flippant about the risk, this, our story, is for you.
My son turned 15 in October, and is a relatively calm lad. Not given to hyperactivity, nor any moods, always ready to giggle, self deprecating and far more intelligent than he appears to be. To me, he is the epitome of Lord Buddha’s ‘middle path’ Mantra.
So it came as a shock when he approached us one morning in mid-September saying he was feeling feverish.
As someone who is trained in ‘CBRN’ (Chemical, Biological, Radiological & Nuclear), a close observer of the evolution of COVID from way back in November of 2019 and as someone who was proactively involved in applying control measures in my residential society, I knew a fever was not to be taken lightly; this was not to be relegated to being a seasonal matter. His fever was at 105.
As painful as it was and with no medical evidence to support the decision, my wife and I chose to isolate him in our spare bedroom immediately.
Testing, Results and Panic
It had an attached shower and toilet so he would not be inconvenienced. The next step was to arrange a test - how to take him safely and where. Our son would not be the fully recovered young man he is today were it not for the early, professional and calm advice of someone I have the honour of calling a friend and is one of India’s leading infectious diseases experts, Dr Debkishore Gupta. A home test was arranged for the following day at a cost of Rs.3100 by Medica Hospital.
The report was sent to me via WhatsApp the day after, positive with a high CT value - he was highly contagious. By the day of the report, he was into his third day of a high fever and we were all now in formal quarantine. Our complex, Urbana on Kolkata’s eastern fringes, stood tall; all medicines, groceries and other deliveries would come to our tower as usual, but then brought up to us safely by a team of trained housekeeping staff. The logistics, medicines and the assiduous care of Dr Gupta now all in place, it was time to panic.
The instructions were clear - if my son developed any other symptoms, he would need to be hospitalised.
This brought a range of new nightmares. Which hospital? How will we get a bed? Who do I need to call, how much influence required, which politicians do I know, which IAS or IPS friend can help - these were my immediate concerns as Kolkata, indeed all of India even today, is suffering from a dearth of beds for COVID and non-COVID patients. Soon, another thought struck me - how do we pay for it? With our incomes hit hard after lockdown, and even though we had medical insurance, nobody had a percipient grasp of how much would need to be paid up front or how much might be needed in total, not even the insurance company. My wife and I took turns to keep a 12 hour vigil at his door.
All the while, my son hovered alone in a room on the cusp of extraordinary difficulties of all kinds, but all he wanted was a TV to rig his PlayStation to.
The main TV was duly shunted. The rest of us had all tested negative by now and my secondary objective was to ensure we remained that way. My son’s food would be left, covered in cling film, outside the closed door of his room, only to be taken in once my wife or I had backed away to a safe distance. He was to leave the plate outside when finished. All online classes, house chores, sleeping curfews and sweets & treats restrictions were waived.
We couldn’t hug him, hold him, or feel his forehead, we stole brief glances from the doorway. This is against the nature of things. Parents cannot stand ten feet away from not just sick children, but children whose sickness was now in the hands of science, fate and his immune system.
On the bright side lay recovery, on the other stood a hospital he would vanish into with us not being able to stay by his bedside day and night, not even to visit him. He was a whisker away from incredibly serious complications and absolute mental, emotional and financial torture for us. Even our golden Labrador knew something was wrong with his brother, constantly, yet uneasily, staying by the bedroom door.
A Waiting Game
I wish I could say my son was brave or even scared, he certainly knew what he had - but true to his Buddha like style, he was indifferent. He had his video games, he was playing them while talking to his friends who were playing the same war fighting games with him from wherever they were, life was good for him. Cold showers, ice packs, air-conditioning on full, Crocin, Zinc, Vitamin C and a wide diet broke the fever on the fourth day. No other symptoms, nothing at all after that.
We stayed well away from the hocus-pocus advice that flowed in from family and friends the world over; no turmeric in hot milk, no hot water to drink, no Tulsi or any other herbs.
As desperate as we were, we knew these would be infructuous. Faith in Dr Gupta and following his instructions got my son out of that very dark tunnel.
For those who think money, immune boosters or family wealth will save you from COVID, it might. But it won’t save you from the most gut wrenching, helpless, and completely useless pain a parent can feel. We have no greater responsibility on this earth than to, primarily, ensure the safety and well being of our children. Even without anyone visiting our home or my wife, my daughter or son leaving our home, disaster struck. Don’t be arrogant or dismissive; the danger is real and omnipresent.
(Anthony Khatchaturian is a historian and commentator. He tweets @AKhatchaturian. This is an opinion piece and the views expressed are the author’s own. The Quint neither endorses nor is responsible for them.)
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