Covid got me!

FOR some time, I entertained the foolish notion that I was somehow exempt from infection by coronavirus (Covid-19). I thought that only the careless who exposed themselves needlessly to crowds and teeming assemblies could be victimized. For some time, it did seem that way — and I was never fond of the mask, still less of the face shield.

Soon my officemates started falling sick until we decided one day that we should ask to be swabbed. Mayor Cristina Antonio — the spirited mayora of a neighboring town — offered her testing facilities and the services of her medical personnel. We were swabbed and, almost to a man, found positive. There were no histrionics, but it did hit me hard: I was now part of a statistic, one of the thousands of victims of Covid-19 in the country. Immediately, I read up on Covid. What used to be matter of curiosity was now a matter of life and death for me — especially that for those who have crossed the 60 line, coronavirus is very threatening indeed. Dr. Karen Domingo, my cousin, an infectious-disease specialist who manages the treatment of almost all Covid patients in Cagayan, advised me to submit to a chest x-ray and to a series of blood tests. She was not taking any chances, and she frankly explained to me the risks of a “cytokine storm” that breaks out when the body attempts to ward of an invading pathogen but in the process, endangers the body itself! I was afraid but not really frightened. First, I trusted the competence of the specialists here. Dr. Charlie Guzman, who had served my father very well, was my pulmonologist. I could not ask for a better team, and, even in Manila, they would be a duo to beat. Then, I followed Archbishop Diosdado Talamayan’s advice a long time ago to me: “Pon tu en manos de Dios . . . . Place yourself in God’s hands.” And that, truly, gave me a sense of true peace. In fact, ever since Mommy and Daddy passed away, my fear of death has ceased to be crippling because I welcome the joyful prospect of reuniting with them. A great source of strength was the family I have left behind: my brother, my sister, my sister-in-law (a physician), my niece (a nurse) and my nephews formed a chat group and twice a day they would check on me. It was good to know that there were people who cared. And text messages, Facebook posts and personal messages of friends kept me reassured that prayers were sent heavenwards in my behalf.