Our COVID19 story

Quarantine in Colombia

I didn't see my family for a year, like so many people during a pandemic who live in different places from their parents whether it be cities, states or countries. Originally, I had plans to see my cousin get married in March. It started with the airline canceling my flights and my cousin postponing her reception, though happily, she married her now husband at the courthouse and we watched on Zoom (we will celebrate this coming June).  Colombia shut down, like, really... Shut. Down.

 Everything but essential businesses were closed, like the U.S., but you also were really not allowed to even go outside (not just discouraged) and children were kept inside for months, by legal decree.  You could only go out to do grocery shopping or to the pharmacy on days associated with the last number of your I.D. and at one point, only on designated female or male days, this meant for a time, you were only going food shopping once every 20 days, though this didn't persist long and it really wound up being every 10 days as they increased the amount of numbers allowed out at once. There were designated exercise hours where people could be outside, but only adults. I didn't see a child for something like 2.5 months until children then had been designated 3 days a week that they could go outside with their families and would be sent home by police if they were unchaperoned. We were only allowed out to walk our pets for 20 minutes at a time, especially when there was a case in our building; in our 14 floor building that is well spread out and with 2 elevators (not to mention nobody else living on our floor at the time), our entire building was put on full quarantine and we weren't even told what floor the case was on. The whole country was relegated to distance learning -- again similar to the U.S.-- but in no way was the government trying to make sure that students had access to technology or even really basic sustenance. 

After our first week doing distance learning, my friends, my Colombia family, gathered for what we didn't know but probably all felt would be our last gathering for a while since our contracts were ending and we all decided to move on from the school where we were teaching, some to other cities in Colombia, others to different countries. Days later, without being able to properly say goodbye, the majority of my Colombia family took repatriation flights that only Americans could board back the U.S. to be with their families and have the freedoms that being a U.S. resident would assure. Being engaged to a Colombian citizen, this was not an acceptable option for me. As it was, many of those friends who thought they were going home to spend 2-3 months with family were unable to leave the U.S. to take their positions abroad for 6+ months, and I didn't want that distance from my fiancé for an unknown amount of time.

Random note: We never had a toilet paper problem and Colombians thought that Americans were weirdo hoarders because of the shortage being broadcasted with various memes and gifs all over social media. 

Summer came and flights were still grounded for Colombia. I watched as friends and family members in the states had outdoor/socially distanced gatherings; I felt so lonely. Of course my fiancé was great and held me when I cried, let me sleep or figured out different things we could do that were fun.

Going home to N.Y. 

It took many more months but finally, I was able to confidently book a flight and know I'd be with my family for Christmas, even if it would look a lot different than our usual 30+ person Christmas Eve celebration with our annual trip upstate for Christmas Day dinner. I'd be with my family, playing games, watching movies, eating dinner together...

I flew into NYC on December 12th I think it was. I got tested before I got on the flight and then a few days after arriving-- both negative. My family had recently been tested before I arrived as well-- all negative. On December 21st my fiancé arrived to spend the holidays with us-- he too came with a negative test. My 75 year old father and I drove unmasked to pick him up and quickly adorned our faces with them when he got in the car-- all three of us protecting each other. 

Two days later my brother, an aid at a school for special needs children and adults, felt off and was sent home from work. He went to the doctor who thought it was something maybe bacterial, prescribed him an antibiotic and sent him to get a COVID test, just incase. 

On December 24th, Christmas Eve, he kept his distance as we ate and did a family Zoom with the 30+ people I mentioned earlier. On the 25th, as his son opened gifts, he sat 6 feet away with a mask and then put himself to bed. On the 27th he received the results to the test he had taken on the 23rd-- POSITIVE. The next day the other 6 of us got tested though we were all feeling normal. My father and I came back positive. We quickly masked up and separated. My fiancé went to sleep in the spare bedroom, my mother on the couch. My brother was relegated to his bedroom in his apartment, my sister-in-law to their couch, my nephew not allowed out of his room (which isn't difficult for him, he's a teenager and a gamer). On the 2nd of January the have-nots of the family were tested again with my SIL and my fiancé coming back POS; only my mom and nephew seemingly escaped. During this time between the 2 batches of tests, my brother was admitted to the hospital. His blood oxygen had dipped low and his breathing was labored, our doctor said he needed to go to the hospital. My mother drove him  there in my SIL's car, with a 3rd bench, both wearing masks. She dropped him off as only patients were admitted entrance to the hospital. He had to stay for a week and received Remdesivir, the same drug the President received. We sent my mother to a hotel to not have to sleep in a common area with a mask on. She spent a week in the hotel after my brother came home. I told her to go and that I'd take care of him, or rather that we, all of us COVID+ people, would take care of him. This one time she'd have to leave it up to us and not put herself at further risk. 

 In the week since my brother had been home, he and my nephew shared a bathroom. You see, my brother came back from the hospital so weak that his 41-year-old body couldn't support its own weight without a walker--yes, a walker like you would normally associate with the elderly--let alone go up stairs. It was scary to see what COVID had done to him. Just to get out of the car and up the 3 steps we hoisted him out and up into the house where he then required 3 breaks between the car and his couch, just to sit down and catch his breath. Honestly, I hadn't worried about him before he went to the hospital, in fact, the only person I was worried about from the get-go was my father with his asthma and other medical issues. I had completely forgotten that as a child, my once very active brother, had exercise/sports induced asthma. He didn't need his inhaler without sports and hasn't been doing any athletics in long enough that we all sort of forgot about the fact he used to use one. 

Anyway, it was then unsurprising that the day my mother returned from her COVIDcation away from us, my nephew, who was terrible about wearing a mask any time he left his room to go to the bathroom or get something from the kitchen just a few feet away from the couch his father was now recuperating on-- tested POSITIVE. My mother still negative but...not herself.

We got the contact tracing calls and the emails. We believe the family route of infection was that my brother picked it up from the school where the students struggle with their masks. He then, while completely asymptomatic, spent time in the man-cave with my father watching the sports. I then spent an hour in the car unmasked with my father to pick up my fiancé. My brother shares a bed with my SIL, I share a bed with my fiancé and then as mentioned, my nephew, horrible with the mask in the house, shared a bathroom with my recovering but still symptomatic brother. But again, it seemed my mother had been spared. Maybe a king-sized bed and social distancing were the key?!?! Not one but THREE negative PCR tests.

We got out after our state-mandated quarantine time. My fiancé and I had only one day where we really felt sick with bad headache and exhaustion, he had a night of chills too. We both lost sense of smell for a week, he also lost taste, but I didn't. My dad had the same but for about a week or two and slept more than he's probably ever slept in his life with the addition of body and joint aches and COVID fog which made it difficult for him to even read the paper. My SIL had the nausea and the low-grade fever for a day and lost her sense of smell for a short time; my nephew had a little nausea for a day and we already covered my brother, who began physical therapy to start getting his strength back. Soon, those of us that work all went back to work. My brother is doing great, he and my SIL recently returning to work; my father that I was so worried about, is back to exercising and working hard (in retirement). My nephew is back to class (in person) 5-days a week. My fiancé returned to Colombia to work again. Things, were sort of getting back to normal.

Another random note: I read  also that those that lost their sense tended to have less severe cases of COVID in terms of hospitalization. 

MOM

So...My mother is a caretaker, the kind of person who is used to always being needed. But while we were all in our separate corners of the house NOT playing games, watching movies, or eating dinner together, like I had hoped for our reunion, the whole dynamic of the house changed. In a matter of weeks, my nephew had shown (with the exception of the lack of mask-wearing that got him COVID) that he could basically take care of himself; he could get himself up for school in the morning, get his snacks and juice when hungry or thirsty, make sure his school assignments were done and that his grades were kept up. We were all ordering our meals in and eating on our own, so she didn't have to make dinners either.  This left my mother with less to do and, you'd think, less to worry about. I thought this would be an opportunity for my mom to relax, read a book, just generally do something for herself. But instead we noticed that she stopped eating and lost a tremendous amount of weight in a short time. She wouldn't pick up a book or even the newspaper or a magazine. My father took her to the doctor, this time the testing was for antibodies. It turns out that at some point before December 6th-ish, when she and my SIL had gotten tested just to get tested and it was negative, she had contracted COVID and spent at least 6 weeks asymptomatic. It wasn't until mid-January that we found out that she hadn't been eating because everything tasted awful to her starting around the time she went to the hotel. Even WATER tasted awful and she'd make a face with each sip, which then turned into dehydration, disorientation and more.  

It's nearly 8 weeks after the first of us tested positive and at least 11 weeks since my mom unknowingly had the virus, assuming antibodies might last 3 months. She is suffering from COVID fog, insomnia and of course the dysgeusia (what it's called when a person's perception of taste is altered), that has her withering away. They've also found inflammation in her colon. 

While we're fortunate that we've all survived thus far, it hasn't been easy. She wants to eat and taste delicious food, so we are sent on food treasure hunts, come home hopeful that THIS will taste great and she will devour it, and all will be returned to normal! But this turning-point has yet to come to fruition. Instead, my mother, a woman that I've oft described as sturdy and "healthy as an ox" grudgingly has a few small "meals" a day that we have to monitor in addition to her liquid intake to make sure she doesn't get more dehydrated(she calls me Nurse Ratchet).  Furthermore her insomnia has her wandering around at night, which for a malnourished, not sufficiently hydrated woman is worrisome, so we have tried rotating guard in the event that her unsteadiness results in a fall. I'll say it, I'm a baby when I don't sleep in a bed so this part is unpleasant for everyone on multiple levels. 

Our story isn't over yet. Long COVID, as they are calling it, is indefinite at this point. I'll resist the urge to turn this into a PSA and just say, we continue to hope for a cure and that my mother will eat the G-D French fries and drink the G-D milkshake we got her from McDonalds already!