Or at least we assume she did. We can’t be sure as the UK is not testing (except for the rich and famous of course.) And it took her to become seriously ill for me to take stock and ‘calm down’.
At the beginning of last week, when schools, pubs, playgrounds, shops and cafes were still open in the UK, I was driving myself into a panic reading all the news alerts and increasing death tolls worldwide; wondering why nothing was being done in the UK to anticipate this impending doom. Herd immunity sounded such a risky way of dealing with the situation, compared to the enforced lockdown that had been going on in Italy, France, Spain and Switzerland.
And then, last Tuesday, I got the call from preschool to tell me my 3-year-old was experiencing breathing difficulties and couldn’t stop coughing, and that I needed to collect her. I jumped straight into the car, my heart pounding. As I rang the preschool doorbell, I became convinced my worst fears were about to be realised, and I began sobbing (really unhelpful, I know, but I couldn’t stop myself).
The preschool manager and carer were so calm and caring and level-headed; luckily MiniM#2 didn’t see me crying as she was fast asleep in one of the carer’s arms. This in itself was unheard of. She stopped her afternoon naps before she turned two and is normally a tireless ball of energy. She looked so pale. With tears streaming down my face I carried her out into the carpark, cradled in my arms, with wellies, bags and coats hanging off my fingers. I stood there, feeling a bit lost, wondering how I was going to get my car keys out of my back pocket.
Back home, she awoke while still in the car. Surprised at where she was. She had a slight cough and was indeed wheezy, but didn’t seem as bad as I’d feared thank goodness. I actually felt relief that now we would legitimately have to take MiniM#1 out of school and MiniM#2 out of preschool and DH out of the office and self-isolate for 14 days. That way we would no longer be exposed to the possibility of coming into contact with the virus.
Over the next day or two MiniM#2 had a constant cough and wheeziness, but she was happy and merry, dancing and jumping and playing as usual. I began to take stock of the situation and calm down. I stopped reading or listening to the news. We would be safe and stay together in isolation.
It was Thursday night when everything changed. We were woken at 3am to the sound of rasping coughing and gasping for breath. MiniM#2 couldn’t breathe properly, nor could she even talk properly; her voice came out as a muffled squeak in between coughing. Tears were streaming down her red face and her eyes were wide and frightened. I stroked her head to try to calm her and forced myself to look calm when I was exploding with fear inside. “I want God to save me mummy,” she managed to croak.
I called 999 without hesitation and was told an ambulance was on its way. I sat in bed with MiniM#2 on my lap, keeping her in an upright position as she coughed and coughed and coughed, gasping for breath. I was shaking uncontrollably, like a leaf. “Stop rumbling, mummy!” she croaked at me.
The ambulance took me and her to East Surrey hospital where she was checked over by a doctor. I was told it was likely she had COVID-19 but they no longer tested. She was breathing better by the time she was seen and her chest and airways were deemed clear, despite all the wheezing and coughing.
DH came with MiniM#1 to pick us both up at 7am, weary and exhausted. MiniM#2 was already chirpier and excitedly told her big sister how the police had taken her to hospital (!) Back home, I managed a 2-hour nap while DH cancelled his work calls and minded the girls. MiniM#2 kept going until about 4pm when she fell into a deep sleep on the sofa. When she woke, she was burning up, still wheezy and coughing. We called 111, who called another ambulance.
The paramedics were amazing and so matter-of-fact. They said she probably did have COVID-19, but that it was just a virus and not to worry – 80% of people with the corona virus don’t need treatment. They even removed their masks; explaining that it was likely they’d catch it anyway and that masks didn’t really do much to protect.
While they were there, MiniM#2 began to rally. Her temperature didn’t go lower than 38.3 degrees even with Calpol, but she visibly perked up and began playing with the medical kit of the paramedics (they encouraged this!) and showing them her dollies and hair accessories. They accepted our offer of tea and coffee.
Just having the paramedics sitting there, in our living room with us, watching over MiniM#2 and addressing all our concerns was unbelievably reassuring. The high temperature was her little body fighting the virus. She continued to improve over the next few days.
Who’s to know what lies ahead. Whether my own recent shortness of breath, slight cough and swollen neck glands is me fighting the virus? I’ve been prescribed an inhaler and banned by the doctor from doing any form of sport for 7 days. DH and MiniM#2 are still fine.
But mentally I feel stronger and more defiant. I needed what felt like a close brush like that to put things into perspective. There’s no point wasting energy and resources worrying about countless ‘what if’ scenarios if they are not actually happening.
It’s been 10 days since preschool called me and MiniM#2 still has a cough but seems OK now. Hopefully I’ll be fine too. That’s what everyone healthy should be focusing on. I’m happy staying at home until all this passes. I’m sorry MiniM#1 may miss the end of her first year at school which she was loving so much. I’m sad they can’t see their granny at the moment. I’m sorry MiniM#2 is missing having fun at preschool, but I’m thankful we have each other. And we can spend time together as a family, even if it is full-on and exhausting at times…
As for the news alerts, I’ve deactivated them and I’m dipping in far less frequently to the news. It’s all about living in the present. And we’ve swapped our evening dose of scandi-noirs and gritty thrillers for Miranda and Fawlty Towers box sets.
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Calamitous Mummy 