The NHS saved my life. Let me save yours.
By: Olivia Samuel, Nee Skone
Tags: Covid Diaries, Nhs, London, Covid-19, Life Lessons

The NHS saved my life. Let me save yours.

Going to the toilet with a girl I had just met, my body chock full of drugs, hearing the sound of fireworks and people cheering. So far, so New Year’s Eve. But I wasn’t in my twenties, the drugs weren’t recreational but a heady mix of steroids, antibiotics and painkillers and the girl wasn’t a fellow raver but a nurse sent from heaven to save me from Covid, helping me shuffle to the toilet with an oxygen cannister that would be my crutch for the next 5 days.

I was 43 years old, it was NYE 2020 and I was in the Royal Free hospital, London, watching with horror as my oxygen stats kept going down and down as the fireworks went up and up. It was the lowest point on my Covid journey. With a banging migraine that was 7 hours in, a high temperature that had my body shaking and slick with sweat and struggling to breathe, I confronted my mortality and the terrifying fact that I might not see my kids again. Death came to me as a gnarled old man – withered, cantankerous, malevolent. I faced him head on, told him to piss off, and banished him, settling on my stomach to breathe deeply, calming myself to get my stats up. The kind nurse told me not to panic as she started giving me more and more oxygen. I knew if I let myself lose it, everything would just get worse so I gathered myself and fought back with calm. I thought about my kids. My husband. My sister. I thought about my Dad fighting his own battle in hospital miles away from mine. I started composing this article, feverishly writing a love letter to the NHS. Eventually my body took over and let me sleep.

When I woke up it was 2021. My temperature had broken and my migraine was dissipating. But I was in hospital with pneumonitis. I was on day 9 of Covid. A healthy, fit, young-ish Londoner. How the hell had I got here? I was in a room surrounded by overweight, diabetic 60+. women, but the doctor assured me that throughout the wards were people just like me, even younger. There was no rhyme nor reason to it – I was just unlucky, although given I was only in a ward and not in ICU, I was actually extremely lucky.

When I read news reports about Covid deniers or people opposing the lockdown, I feel the need to tell my story because I have experienced first-hand this awful illness. I have no underlying health conditions. I used to work out every day before I got ill. I eat healthily. Yes the majority of people will just feel fluey and that was my experience for the first few days – it felt like a bad hangover. But for both me and my Dad, who was in hospital for over three weeks because he developed clots on his lungs – Covid makes your blood sticky – it went south quickly, and it is because of the unbelievable NHS that we are ok. The nurses that go to work every day to help the sick, to give them words of comfort and help ease their pain. The doctors who have worked out a system of care, who now know what to do to give patients a fighting chance with steroids, antibiotics, blood thinners, vitamin drips, Remdesivir. The porters and cleaners who make the food and clean up the wards. And all of it free. They deserve our pride and our thanks.

This is my 5 point guide to getting through catching Covid 19.

1. Get an oxiometer. These little devices could save your life. I was so ill with fever, body aches and a migraine but initially I didn’t feel breathless. However the oxiometer was telling a different story, and showed that my oxygen levels were low even though I didn’t feel the effects. When I called 111 to get advice because I was at breaking point, feeling so utterly dreadful, I was able to tell them that my oxygen level was 91 (94 and below is when you need to call). That, along with my spiking temperature and the fact that I hadn’t left my bed for about 48 hours was enough to send me to A&E, sobbing as I walked in, feeling ashamed that I was bringing Covid into the hospital. Everyone was so kind, understanding and reassuring, and they got me on oxygen within 10 minutes of walking in there. Then the system kicked in; blood tests, lung scans, drug prescriptions and eventually after 5 long hours, admission to the ward.

2. Know what day you are on. I became obsessed with this. When Covid turns bad, it tends to happen in the second week. The first few days were nothing major, body aches and a headache. On the 26th (day 5) I woke up feeling nauseous, my sense of taste and smell were off and I started to get a temperature. By day 6, the body shakes were coming about all day and the only way I could warm up was by getting in a scalding hot bath. I could barely eat, all I could stomach was honey on toast, my go-to food after having any type of bug, and the only respite I had from feeling terrible was when I sweated out the fever and had a few moments of lucidity. Day 7 and after a night of chills and sweats I started to fantasize about going into hospital, someone putting a drip in my arm, and blessed drugs going in. I started mentally packing my hospital bag in my head at 3am.

3. Be prepared and pack your bag. Day 8 I woke up with a migraine and a temperature and lay in bed all day with a wet towel over my face waiting for 111 to call me back. After a scalding hot bath to stop the shaking, I instructed my husband on exactly what to pack in my hospital bag. He was incredulous, and couldn’t believe I would end up there, but I was insistent. Essentials included an eye mask – you will want to sleep day and night – ear plugs which only slightly drown out people coughing but psychologically helped me sleep, bed socks and lip salve – again an essential as oxygen masks dry out your lips. Have your electronics with you. Iphone, headphones, ipad, charger. There is literally nothing else to do other than watch Netflix.

4. Supplement the NHS food with treats dropped off by loved ones. They can’t visit but they can provide. I became obsessed with bananas and grapes and craved sugar, especially as everything had a slightly bitter taste – my taste buds are still slightly off. I drank water constantly though my inability to go to the toilet unaided was a source of constant frustration – I had to buzz a nurse every time I needed to go so they could unhook me from the oxygen mains and plug me into a portable oxygen canister which I would drag with me into the toilet. And doing a number 2 with an oxygen mask, a constant cough and a body ravaged by weakness was one of the hardest things I have ever done.

5. Give yourself a break. Finally, when you are lucky enough to get home – and I will never again take for granted an uninterrupted night’s sleep which doesn’t involve being prodded and poked by well-meaning nurses taking my temperature, blood pressure, blood sugar and oxygen levels – sleep, eat, watch TV, repeat. My lack of energy and constant need to sleep has been a source of chagrin, I feel like a 100 year old woman. But I am trying to give myself a break. My kids less so; “Oh are you in bed AGAIN, Mum?!” I’ve also sent the nurses in the ward a thank you – drop off anything you can to brighten up their day – cupcakes, chocolates, sweets. These people choose to go to work in hospitals every day to help the sick. They deserve more money. I’ll finish this with a heartfelt cliché – God Bless the NHS.