Today marks yet another chapter in the Covid-19 situation, with tighter measures put in place by my country’s government – with travellers from Italy, France, Spain and Germany within the last 14 days not allowed to transit or enter, all cruise vessels ceased, and events with 250 or more participants advised to be deferred or cancelled.
Eight weeks ago, the “2019 novel coronavirus” (as it was temporarily named then) situation seemed quite far away from home.
Seven weeks ago, my country had its first case.
Six weeks ago, my family was thrown into the storm. My dad was hospitalised for suspected pneumonia. This was day 1. On day 2, he was tested positive for the virus. My mum and sis’ family were issued a 14-day home quarantine order. On day 3, Dad was transferred to the ICU for severe lack of oxygen. And within hours, my phone rang at 3.30am. Dad had to be intubated under anesthesia and heavily sedated thereafter for a few days at least. We did not know if we would be able to see our dad again.
What happened the following weeks were too much to be described in this post. I was waiting for the storm in my family to be completely over before writing anything about it. But it seems that this storm that has hit the world is here to stay for some time. So perhaps, I should start writing.
WEH PSALMS 