My nan grew up on a black country farm during the war. When she was young, she was part of a dance group.She played on stage Arthur AskeyHe was good at tap dancing, ballet and acrobatics. I have wonderful memories of her. As a kid, when I cheekyly stole chocolate icing, I remember standing in her kitchen and looking up at her while we baked the cake.
Throughout her life she worked for NHS As a clerk and administrator. It is no exaggeration to say that she has never said bad words about someone. Her kindness was endless. When she finished dialysis for renal failure a few years ago, she was sitting with a patient alone during her treatment. During the night she climbed out of her bed and held the hand of a patient crying in severe pain.
So it feels particularly cruel that we were deprived of hugging her in the last months, weeks, days, and hours of her wonderful life. The pandemic defined everything about last year: how my Nan lived and how she died. Like many others, this month has been a year since she and my grandfather both started shielding for a pandemic in the late 80’s. The last time I met her in person was over a year ago, and the last time my mother was able to visit her was before the second blockade in the fall.
I had dementia and didn’t understand why my daughter didn’t wear a mask and touch it. She didn’t understand why her friends went in instead of standing at the bottom of the drive and waving. Not surprisingly, this was a big blow.
In January, something we were always afraid of happened. She fell and had to be taken to the hospital. Thankfully, she had already received her first dose of Pfizer vaccine, but because of Covid, visitors were not allowed.
Away from her 65-year-old husband, home, and her cat, she lay alone in a hospital bed. She was surrounded by strangers, covered with incomprehensible PPE, and no one could hold her hand. .. She was alleged to have a broken skull and was ordered to ban resuscitation because of her weakness.
We did Face Timednan many times a day, but her dementia worsened and eventually she couldn’t communicate or recognize us. I witnessed my mother’s broken heart as she saw Nan appear on the screen, looking around the room, feeling scared and crying.
The hospital returned my Nan with a palliative care package. At the same time, my mother finally made an appointment for her vaccine. She is clinically very vulnerable and has been shielded for a year. After she received the first dose of the vaccine, her mother worriedly told me: “Why don’t we go straight to see the nanny? Before she dies?” But very sadly, I had to remind her that it wasn’t possible yet because she wasn’t immune yet.
A few days later, my Nan’s dementia developed into a stage where she stopped eating and drinking. The district nurse informed us that she hadn’t remained for a long time. It soon became clear that my mother couldn’t say goodbye to her mother directly. My grandfather sat by her alone after 65 years of marriage. My mother always uses FaceTime, tells Nan how much she loves her while she sleeps, and while my grandfather has it on my Nan’s cheeks, I kissed the phone screen.
One night, my grandpa sobbed, coughed and told FaceTime that she had died as my Nan was discharged and had a contract with Covid as a nurse arrived. We saw her lying quietly in her beloved house on the screen. I called the contractor and came to collect her. Everything was done at a distance and I felt it was the exact opposite of what it was to be human.
Covid continued to define what happened next. His Covid experience isn’t that serious because my grandfather vaccinated Pfizer in December, but he still needs the drug. And the virus brutally robbed the visitor until he recovered – that is, no one has been able to call him since my Nan died.
The tension caused by the pandemic is manifested in every part of the system, with delays and difficulties everywhere. When I contacted the registry office, I was overwhelmed and said that it would take longer than usual to obtain a death certificate. The crematorium said the earliest date available to us was 5 weeks. When she tried to collect the hospital bed she died from home, she was told to wait two weeks because she didn’t have to see it every day.
For funerals, of course, there is an upper limit on numbers, masks are mandatory and singing is not allowed.
These details are not included in the daily deaths or daily cases. This type of suffering cannot be measured by any metric. But the painfully obvious thing is that my family was, in many ways, a victim of Covid. It is kept away and alone while the virus invades every aspect of life.
So my Nan didn’t die in Covid, but it defined everything about her death. Like the whole family, I was deprived of the opportunity to say goodbye. There are certainly many affected families like us. We hope it is safe to lift the restrictions immediately so that more people like us do not have to suffer.
My Nan didn’t die in Covid-19 – but it defined every aspect of her passage | Coronavirus
Source link My Nan didn’t die in Covid-19 – but it defined every aspect of her passage | Coronavirus