Go towards the light: COVID 19 in Iran

About a week ago my 80+ year old Grandpa was diagnosed with COVID19. Here's Grandma's poetic retelling of her lachrymose experience in the past week. she compared the situation to the book “blindness” by Jose Saramago. I wanted her story to be heard as soon as possible, so I translated everything she wrote:

"when I returned home after 48 hours of stress and sleep deprivation, I realized there is no choice but to be strong, for my husband and for my daughter who had traveled to stay at her father's bedside so I can rest. I realized there is nothing to do but rest and regain energy. for now past and future must be forgotten, for now I must sleep. But as soon as I shut my eyes a barrage of imagery from the past few days flooded my vision. I saw myself, scrawny like never before, traversing an endless white corridor. the corridor is endless and my husband sits on the wheelchair. I open my eyes.

I get out of bed. at first I contemplate taking sleeping pills, but I change my mind. I know I mustn't forget. I don't want to wake up hazy from all the horror that has happened in the past few days. this time I need to jut down everything I remember.

life was not easy before the corona virus, each day the news would cast a new shadow over our heads. but I kept busy with friendships and brief outings; all until there came news of an outbreak in our city. the same day my husband came down with a fever. first we tried painkillers and some rest, until one night he woke me up unable to breathe. we got through the night with some hot water and compassion, but it was evident that home remedies were no longer enough.

in the morning we started searching for doctors who could visit him at home. we found a young doctor who came with his even younger assistant and found my husband's blood oxygen levels to be low. He said we must admit him as soon as possible. we had a new problem: where to find a bed? I called each and every hospital, private and public, no space. my husband's condition was worsening and it was only through some family connections that I was able to take an ambulance to a hospital.

I carried my husband down the stairs, who could hardly breathe at this point. the paramedics did not help me, they stood a safe distance away and watched me help him up into the ambulance. one of them asked me then and there: "don't you have any sons?" I did not answer. I thought of the 30 years that we both spent working in this country , thought of how my former job as a nurse was often so important to me that I'd sacrifice my domestic life for it. I remembered being stationed in wartorn villages in Kurdistan and having to work for so long I had to send my children to relatives just so I could stay stationed and help those in dire need of medical attention. I was too exhausted to convey any of this to a man , who without any consideration for how we vulnerable few had no choice but to bend to each and every breeze felt about a stranger "feeling sorry for us" for not having sons.

we finally got to the hospital where I got my husband off the ambulance and wheeled him into the crowd. this "Crowd" that I'm speaking of was a swarm of sick and healthy who were fighting medical care without any consideration for the queue or even for our age. when I saw the lack of respect for my age, I too joined the swarm and fought for audience with the doctors. reception did not take long an i thought we were almost done, but we were only joining a new queue to get examined. the doctor did a quick examination and after handed me the tongue depressor to throw out. he immediately moved on the next patient and left me there confused. I asked where to go and e said I still needed to see a doctor, which after much asking aroundd lead me to a new corridor with dozens of coughing patients, masked and unmasked. a scene I had only seen in movies that are made to guilt trip the upper classes into appreciating the life that they have.

another door we had to wait behind. at this point I had lost all measure of time and space. all I could think of was the ever worsening condition of my husband. the guard asked me to go in to see the doctor, but as soon as I went in the nurse yelled at me. I am a nurse and have trained countless nurses for Iran’s healthcare system, which puts me in a position where I can confidently say these nurses lack compassion and professionalism.  either they never had compassion to begin with, or they have lost it somewhere along the way. I don’t know.

I got to the doctor who ordered a CAT Scan. again I was lead down corridors. How I got through all these obstacles with a wheelchair and a limp is for another time. after the CAT scan we were told we need to wait two hours for the result. at this point it was midnight. we had neither eaten all this while, or had taken a break to rest. I felt profound helplessness and lack of refuge. I found a little corner so we could both sit down.

I questioned many times until we got the results. I thought this is it, we have a bed, but the night was long. we had to go back to see the doctor for the results. while waiting someone kept screaming about how he was a war veteran. how the whole hospital reeked of infection. he went in out of line since they said he was “Shellshocked”

I don’t remember when it was our turn, but we went in and heard my husband’s lungs were compromised, that he needs to be admitted. we went to the ward we were referred to, which was a kerfuffle of its own. a mixture of patients, doctors and nurses, masked and unmasked, roaming around in chaos. they took my referral letter and said they didn’t have any empty beds. they told us to go home and come back the next day. I told them my foot was aching and I no longer could go home. they told me this was the sickness of the century, told me it wasn’t their fault that there was no place for my husband. they told me I can wait till the morning if I wanted. I told them my husband’s condition was critical, that he could no longer breathe. in the end they sent me to another ward where they could finally a bed for him, but he couldn’t be admitted yet.

I kept to myself, tried to ignore the patients who were vomiting, filling the air with a thick aroma. I sat facing my husband and tried to shut the world out. I don’t remember how long we waited until a doctor came and said it was time to admit him, but there were no wheelchairs left. I found an abandoned wheelchair and took him through another corridor. I carried him through the dim cold light of corridors, me, an 80 year old woman with a haphazardly tied scarf, carrying an old man with a shawl on his shoulders, an old man who shall soon be 82.  this image will always stay with me.

I felt like all those with near death experiences, who come to recounting tales of an endless corridor with a bright light source at the end. the light they sought and followed, the light that I was now following into dead ends. after searching for an indefinite amount of time we finally got to where we needed to be. I could no longer move, I was sweating profusely. I plead to a nurse, that I too am a nurse, even though I am retired. she nonchalantly pointed at a room where an old woman was coughing without a mask. we finally got a bed and some bedsheets, but there were no hospital issue pants, so we helped my husband onto the bed in his own clothes. the nurses were also exhausted and frustrated. there was no ventilation and the air was heavy and toxic. I asked for gloves but there were none. I was told to stay in the room and keep the door closed. There was no acknowledgment of my worries that staying with him inside the room without gloves guarantees my contagion. it was around noon when the door whipped open and my daughter took my place so I could go home. as soon as I saw her I slammed both hands on my head. we couldn’t even hug or kiss. I took a taxi and went home.

I re-read the recounting of this story, feel a weight removed from my body. I try to forget that endless corridor so I may sleep. now four days has passed. my husband is doing better. my daughter is still with her father. my brother in law also spent some time with my husband so my daughter can rest. now I’m at home in self-quarantine. I only speak to family on the phone, but there is nothing they can do. no one can do anything.  only my sister and her daughters try to supply me with medicine and enough food for survival. I don’t know if I’ll stay alive long enough to make up for what they’ve done for me or not. All I know is that if we don’t care for one another there is no chance of survival. I’m alive to see the day where our family unites once again in health.”