Last year in October, I got a lovely surprise when I found out I was expecting my second child. And from there started a beautiful journey of my pregnancy with a few bumpy roads of nausea, fatigue and some rib pains along the way. But all in all, it was a smooth pregnancy. Then came the month of May, and I entered my 9th month. A week into it and my whole family was tested positive for covid.

Since our symptoms were mild, we all were suggested home quanrrentine. But after 3 days in quanrrentine, I was having fluctuation in my oxygen levels along with extreme weakness. We decided that its better that I get admitted in the hospital. This was the first time I had left my son for more than a few hours.

On my third day in the hospital, I started having contractions early morning. In a matter of few hours, I was having really strong contractions, but still wasn’t dilated enough to proceed with the labor. It was going to take time for me to be fully dilated. On top of that I was so weak, it was making the pain of contractions unbearable for me.
The doctor couldn’t wait longer due to my covid+ status. So I had to have a c-section.  Fortunately, my baby was born healthy. I only got a glimpse of him, and couldn’t even touch him before he had to be taken away from me.

After the surgery I was taken back to the covid ward. And the next day, it was found I was also having infection in lungs due to covid and started on oxygen supply.

From there it was a hard journey of recovery. A c-section with covid made my body really weak. I couldn’t even sit up or turn on side without assistance. And on top of that I was on oxygen support.

But the worst part that I feel about being a covid patient in a hospital is not able to meet your loved ones. Not able to hold their hands when you feel hopeless. When you see other patients, some of them had been in hospital for 20 – 25 days, some being shifted to ICU because of their worsening conditions, and other such things, it’s a real test of your mental strength.

But the one thing that kept me going was the desire to meet my newborn baby. It took 8 painful days after his birth for the doctor to give me the permission to go home.

When I met both my sons and my family once I reached home, the feeling was beyond words. I couldn’t stop my tears when I finally held my little baby in my arms.

It was my moment of victory– over covid, over my sickness, over the my weakened health.

I wasn’t delusional, I know I had a long road of recovery ahead of me. But in that moment, I knew I could beat all of it.

It’s been almost 5 months now, my body is still on the road of healing. And I just want to say to all the expecting Moms who are fighting covid, you are strong Mommy. Hang in there!

I hope my story will give hope snd strength to you all.


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