Last year was too unpleasant to remember, yet too hard to forget. I was expecting something totally normal. Nothing dangerous, nothing out of the blue. Just another ordinary year. However, 2020 turned out to be anything but ordinary.
In December of 2019, as Covid-19 first appeared, starting to infect people in China, I was already disheartened. I had a premonition that things would not be the same for a very long time.
By March, everything was locked down in Kathmandu, but I did believe that there was light at the end of the tunnel. This was just another pandemic. We have seen worse in Nepal, or so I thought.
The lockdown was quite normal for me and life moved on as it did before. School was just different, and continued remotely since there was not much else anyone could do. Learning to play the piano months before the lockdown helped me pass the time.
I spent my time writing some articles for The STEM Club at our school, and occasionally for my own blog. I was becoming quite accustomed to the fact that I was using my devices for a considerable amount of time, mainly for schoolwork. Otherwise, it was off-limits in our house prior to the lockdown.
In December 2020, just when there was a glimmer of hope in Kathmandu that everything would be fine, I fell terribly sick. There was very little cough, I was breathing quite fine, but my temperature soared. This was not normal. We did multiple PCR tests, and all of them came back negative. I did not have Covid-19 after all.
There was already this conviction in the general public that Covid-19 was a disease that afflicted the elderly, and the feeble. Those with pre-existing health conditions were supposed to be at higher risk, but young, healthier individuals usually fought back the virus. Nothing could go wrong, I assumed. I was dead wrong.
Things did get worse. Over a few nights, my symptoms amplified. I was covered in rashes and a persistent abdominal pain. I was grey with fatigue on the day I reached hospital, but worse was yet to come. I stayed for a few check-ups which concluded that there was nothing life-threatening.
However, in a matter of a few hours, my liver, heart and lungs were struggling to keep functioning. I had to be shifted to intensive care.
In the next few days, I was spewing blood and gradually becoming weaker. It was not long until I was diagnosed with respiratory failure and myocarditis, a swelling of the heart muscle. Before I was put into the ventilator, I told my parents that I would be back soon, uncertain if I would ever see them again.
Over the next few days, there was little hope of my survival. But at the nick of time, with the right treatment, I made it back to life after what seemed like eternity.