The first wave of Covid took me in its fold. I could not escape its wrath in that September of 2020. The effects refused to go away till two months later, though I cannot be sure even after if they fully did. It did stop bothering me. I am yet to indulge in any strenuous physical activity or sport to gauge my fitness level post-Covid. Suffice to say, I have not faced any issue while discharging my daily chores.
When I first got to know I am infected, after a brief spell of disappointment, I was glad it got me and spared my family. I was the first victim of the virus in my family, in my core group of colleagues (I work closely with) and my inner circle of friends and their family. A colleague who leads a team at work, joked how I led by example. I laughed, though that’s not quite how I wished to be remembered as a leader.
I wrote and shared my experiences online and found many readers who were either struggling with the virus or were apprehensive, as it was yet to touch them. Writing helped. I got to download what I felt while being quarantined from the world. And it helped many readers find comfort. When you share your experience, you invite others to a world they may not have seen. The anxious ones felt a little more at ease after reading. A few of those who had already been there and seen what I had or different, responded with their take.
The second wave was lethal and much more dreaded. I lost two close colleagues, a relative, relatives of colleagues, and many more who I knew had succumbed to the Delta strain of Covid-19. In the first wave, I was a little scared. In the second, I was petrified. And helpless too.
When the wave receded, there was talk of the third wave and how children were likely to be most at risk as they were not vaccinated. I continued to live in fear till I read interviews of a couple of medical experts and gurus from other (non-medical) sectors who declared there would be no third wave. I was jubilant. I did not know enough to be sure if the third wave would arrive or not. But one tends to believe the good news more than the bad. I found my peace.
My wife and I have a single child, born after seven years of marriage. Every child is special for the parents. The late-to-be-parents tend to be even more indulgent with their kids. They worry too much even if the child sneezes, or coughs. I belonged to this club.
I remember when my daughter was a toddler, I would contemplate what if she fell in school and hurt herself. I even considered working from the car, near her school compound. I did not share this thought with anyone other than my wife. I knew some will be amused. Others will think I have lost my marbles.
Over the years, I conditioned my mind not to worry too much. By the time my child was ready for school, I was ready too. I not only did not work from car outside her school, but I also let her use the school bus to commute. It was a huge improvement from where I was a few years ago. But I still struggled to come to terms when my child was sick. It is not just about my child. I worry when I find children in bad health. Even if I may not know them.
Back to the third wave. A few days ago, my daughter who is nine years old, showed symptoms of cold and fever. My wife started paracetamols and I began praying. I ran a home test — Rapid Antigen (RAT). I could see two distinct lines emerge on the test device much before the stipulated 15 minutes mandated for the result. I waited in silence and hope. The test required to take a snap and upload it on the application. The result on the app showed negative. I was relieved, though I was not sure. I had read enough to know one could still be Covid positive after the RAT, if symptoms prevailed. I repeated the test after 8 hours. This time, she tested positive. My wife decided to move into my daughter’s room. Leaving our girl alone all night at this stage was not acceptable to my wife. Medical opinion be damned. Parents are parents, Indian that too.
While I was still processing the result and my next course of action, I received a text from my sister 1,100 miles away. She was down with fever. So, was my brother-in-law. My sister has been temporarily residing in the apartment next door to my 76-year-old mother, ever since my mother was diagnosed with the onset of dementia. My mother struggles to walk and to remember and is troubled by a host of other age-related issues. Just after the first lockdown was lifted, we retained a full-time resource to help her once my mother became dependent for some of her daily chores. Yesterday, tests showed my sister and the girl who helps my mother tested positive. So did my brother-in-law. My mother would have to manage on her own for a full week.
Yesterday, I also learnt that a former colleague who despite double N95 masking, both doses of vaccine and following social distancing to the hilt, fell prey to coronavirus. He was so careful; he would check if air leaked out of his double N95s by blowing out and breathing in.
I am not trying to insinuate that masking should not be followed. One must take every precaution possible. But bear in mind, the latest variant of the virus is more contagious than you can think. However, you should not worry. If it does not trouble the infected too much, it is not a bad thing, At the very minimum, it could boost your immunity for a few months, protecting you in the short-term. At best, if one immunologist is right, it could act as the final dose of vaccine protecting you for life from Covid-19.
The third wave has truly permeated far and wide. It could well infect the bulk of the population without many even knowing they had it. Whoever named Omicron missed a ‘n’ in the spelling. It’s OmNicron, mind the spelling.
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