COVID-19 has changed our lives. Lockdown, social distance, and masks are our constant companions. But the horrors of COVID-19 are beyond our comprehension until we are infected. Only those families who have gone through this, lost loved ones will be able to realise it. Like many families around us, Chattogram port Senior Sub Assistant Engineer Md. Mizanur Rahman’s mother and he himself died from COVID-19. His wife Afroza Bithi witnessed two such tragic incidents in a row. Along with her three children, she herself was infected with COVID-19. Due to the risk of COVID-19, their relatives could not come to give any consolation. Afroza Bithi remembers those horrible days.
Where will I get him?
I sat next to him in the car. Never again will we go anywhere together in one car. When the car turned on the port connecting road at the Nimtala Biswa Road junction, the dying light of that afternoon fell on his face. I looked at my beloved’s face. We had talked for the first time on the roof of the house in one such twilight. He came to see me as his bride-to-be. He may be a small man, but he has a good soul. Under that wonderful light, I got to know his inner personality. In my fourteen years of family life, I have learned that he was a straightforward man. He never spoke to please anyone, nor did he speak behind anyone’s back. Only because of this I have fallen in love with him again and again. He has worked as a Senior Sub Assistant Engineer of the port with a great reputation. I have never heard any complaint from anyone in his name. How could he be so ruthless! The hearse is taking this dear man out of my sight forever. Where will I find him?
January 2020. I often see on the scrolls of TV channels that many people are dying of a strange virus in China. It is spreading from China all over the world very fast. Just like everyone else in the country our family is terrified about it. As someone’s eldest child, eldest sister, eldest daughter-in-law, I give them mental support and try to console them. Otherwise, the various physical problems of being eight-months pregnant and the anxiety meant I couldn’t sleep at all. My son Omar was born on the last day of February. The day my infant was one week old, the first COVID-19 patient was detected in the country. On the twenty-first day his father gave him Akika. The nationwide lockdown started right next week. But the port couldn’t be closed. The port must remain operational to continue the supply of daily necessities and medical equipment and medicines. So Mr Mizan had to take turns to go on duty. My body had not yet recovered from the shock of C-section. I wanted a little rest. Instead, we had to let go of the household help. I was suffering from postpartum depression in addition to overworking. What will happen this time? My father, mother, and mother-in-law are old. Mr Mizan has diabetes, high blood pressure, and has to take medication regularly.
The month of Ramadan has come. A diverse menu was not arranged, iftar consisted of simple-digestible food. I believed in my heart that even if it happened all over the world, it would never happen to anyone in my family! I’m aware! Careful! And we were ‘healthy’ people. No one goes out except Mr Mizan. He always wears N-95 mask when he goes somewhere. After finishing the office, when coming back from the market, I keep the door open. Without touching the doorknob, he goes straight to the bathroom and thoroughly cleans himself with soap and disinfectant water. At the same time he washes his clothes. Fish, meat, vegetables, fruits and all other products from outside are sprayed with alcohol and brought into the house. We were practicing and telling each other about the hygiene guidelines religiously.
Endangered life
My mother-in-law was admitted to a nearby hospital on the 27th of Ramadan due to hypoglycemia. Then her diabetes reading was two. Along with that she had jaundice, shortness of breath. After being admitted to Port Hospital, a blood test and X-ray were done. The doctor said, her lungs were completely filled with fluid and were very visible on the X-ray plate. She was referred to Chattogram Medical College Hospital on suspicion of COVID-19.This meant taking her to the isolation ward, where there was a bustling crowd. Mr Mizan called me before I came home after admitting my mother-in-law to the ward. He was asked to stay in strict isolation from the office. The baby is only three months old, will I come home or go to a hotel and spend fourteen days in quarantine? I got mad at him. It was better to die together than to stay in quarantine. ‘Come home!’ I told him.
My mother-in-law had severe shortness of breath. On the third day of being admitted to the hospital, her reading on the oximeter kept dropping; from eighty, to seventy, to sixty and dropped to zero on 31 May at 5:30 am in the morning. My mother-in-law left, with whom I used to leave children while I finished my studies, and continued to work without any worries. That mother-in-law left who I would go to when I felt bad, and say, ‘Amma, it has been such a long time since I have eaten the kachur lati or tangra macher paturi that you cook. I want to eat it.’ She used to say, ‘You are not well, right? Go lie down, I will take care of the rest.’ I used to lie down with no worries and write or spend my free time on Facebook.
From the next day, everyone in the house had fevers and a cough at the same time. That home remedies was going around then? Hot water, ginger clove-lemon tea, hot steam. We had been doing all these from much earlier. On 4 June, the baby’s fever went down, on the 5th, the eldest daughter’s, and mine. But Mr Mizan’s one decreased, and increased again. His cough, which was dry, was also more intense. First, I called 333 and started giving him antibiotics as per the advice of the doctor of the government helpline. The next day on the 6th, he went to Port Hospital with double mask, and the doctor there said that the right medicine was being administered and prescribed a COVID-19 test. He would go to give samples on the morning of 7 June. He woke up at six that morning. After many years, he missed Fajr time. He slept very well at night. But after waking up, he had difficulty breathing. He had never spoken of shortness of breath before. I was scared to hear it. My mother-in-law also suffered from shortness of breath …!
I packed breakfast. He reluctantly ate papaya bhaji, eggs, bread, and tea. He ate because he had to take medicine. The shortness of breath remained as it were. I called a very close friend of his. ‘Brother, your friend is not doing well. Please buy a pulse oximeter for us. There is no one at home who could go out of the house’. He assured me that he would bring it as soon as the shop opened. At eleven o’clock in the morning, after measuring oxygen with that oximeter, I felt like the ground under my feet was disappearing! Fifty eight! I yelled at him a lot. Why did he buy a non-functional machine? He said, ‘I bought it after measuring my own one!’ His one was ninety-seven, mine was ninety-nine. Measured his one again. Sixty-four.
Oh no! He was suffering so much! But he kept reassuring me. He said, ‘I am fine. Does that machine know everything?’ I called an ambulance to take him to the hospital. It was on the way. But there was no COVID-19 treatment in our reliable Port Hospital yet. He will have to be taken to another hospital. But no hospital other than a government hospital was ready for the pandemic. My brother managed a seat in a private hospital through a doctor friend of his. That was the destination then. But if I go to the hospital with him, who will look after the children? Omar, who was three months old, drank only breast milk. A feeder or a milk pot was not bought for him in the lockdown, as it wasn’t needed. What would happen then? What would he eat when I go to the hospital with Mr. Mizan? I mixed water and a little sugar with cow’s milk and warmed it up. I told my ten-year-old daughter to feed her brother with a spoon from a cup. I will admit your father and buy a milk pot when I come home in the evening.
I packed a small bag for Mizan. Towels, lungi, a plate, a water bottle, mobile charger, some money. He is sitting on the verandah trying to breathe in fresh air. There is so much oxygen in the world, and he was not getting even a little bit of it? In the meantime he tells me, ‘It’s getting late, you should eat something. You can’t tolerate being hungry.’ The one who is suffering from deathly pain, how was he thinking about my hunger? I wanted to feed him some rice with me. He wouldn’t eat. He wanted to drink a little lemonade with hot water-lemon. So the little girl made it.
He left me halfway through journey of my life
Mr Mizan went down alone and got into the ambulance. I was with him. The next story is very conventional. We went from one hospital to the next. We were told there were no seats, no empty ICU and turned away. As was often seen on the pages of newspapers or on social media, someone sitting next to a breathless relative broke down in tears – I felt as if I were one of them. I was reading Ayatul Kursi aloud. The ambulance was going from one hospital to another. Mr Mizan suddenly said, Bithi, take care of the children. He became unconscious while chanting the kalema. I was holding him. All the way I was doing CPR by putting pressure on his chest but it was not effective. Please look at me, Ahin’s father. If I was nervous, if I was lost, didn’t you used to say, I’m here, right? Why are you afraid? And I would be fine. I would glow with self-confidence.
On the way to the medical hospital, I realised that I had lost my Mizan. They did an ECG, all it showed were flat lines. I had never seen such an ECG. I was shouting, ‘The connection must be faulty! Connect it properly!’ How could the man die? He left his three-month-old son at home! The young doctor in the emergency room at the medical college was crying. ‘Apa, calm down. Sign here. Tell me your names.’ A sample of the COVID-19 test was taken, the death certificate was being prepared, I had to do all the paperwork alone. I called Al-Manahil Foundation and they would bathe him and perform janaza. I called Hakim Hujur to prepare a new grave next to Amma. There was a wave of phone calls, I could only say – no, he wasn’t there anymore. Our little girl called. ‘Mother, how is our father?’ After swallowing the tears, I said in a very calm voice, ‘Your father is sleeping.’ No more trouble. How can I tell those two girls alone in the house, that their bicycle race partner, the person who took care of them when they were sick, the father who would walk with them on his lap all night when they were sick was no more! Is there any language in the world that can describe the pain I felt that day?
Due to COVID-19, only a few relatives and colleagues could be present at the janaza! After burying him, I am climbed the stairs to the fourth floor with a heaviness in my body. At the end were two newly orphaned girls, a child not old enough to hold up his own head, who would never be able to call someone a father in his life. I hugged the girls with both hands and said, y’Your father is no more.’ The boy is crying in the next room, who knows whether it was from hunger or sadness? Seeing the way the two girls were crying, I also became unconscious. In a haze I heard my older daughter’s voice, ‘Mother, are you also going to leave us? Mother, please don’t die like our father and grandmother!’ I sat up. I wiped away the tears and said I am here, I am fine.
And whatever else may come, they have to be taken care of. Because we had definitely also been affected by COVID-19. There was no way for anyone to come to my house, to comfort me, to feed the children. I cooked the rice myself, the meat was already cooked in the fridge, I warmed it up and fed them. Ah, if only someone would have fed me that day! But such is the pandemic, it has taken away the opportunity to sympathise with each other. At that time, I didn’t even have the freedom to cry for a day. Who would look after the children then? The boy was calling his father so many times. His first word was Baba. Could he hear? He had said he would start going to the mosque with his son as soon as he had learned to sit. Now Omar can not only sit, but can also walk, will you not take him to the mosque?
The day after Mizan’s death, father and uncle came to the house. I didn’t want to open the door. Because even though there was no test report till then, I was somewhat sick with all the symptoms of COVID-19. I always kept thinking that I would leave behind the children and die alone in my room. On top of that, there was no point in putting two diabetes patients at risk. But logic loses to emotion. Father couldn’t say anything because he was crying and his voice was choked up. His daughter’s husband was like his own child, everyone was proud of the port engineer. In the death of that man, he could not perform the janaza prayer even though he was in the same city. Uncle came with his favorite Qur’an. He always carried the holy book which he had bought from Makkah when he came back from Hajj. He sat in Mr Mizan’s room and read the Qur’an aloud for three days. We ate together, and cried together. The results of the COVID-19 test came eight days after he died. Three months old Omar, the girls, myself, and Mr Mizan all tested postive for COVID-19.
Exactly ten months later, on 7 April of the following year, uncle also tested positive for COVID-19 and died at Andhar Killa General Hospital. The one who raised me alongside my parents. Taught me how to read. He had explained percentages, had told the story of Khizir (A.). He was the one who had chosen Mr Mizan as my husband. Who, just twenty days ago, with immense satisfaction had eaten rice with the simple mashed potatoes I had made.
Life moves on, but I can’t
How strange human life is! We have lost so many of our loved ones, but life goes on all the same. Yet sometimes I am overcome with so much pain that I have no energy to move. I can’t even move my hand. Yet we get hungry, sleep. It’s almost as if the family lives with a dead person every day. If I do something which he didn’t like, I can feel an invisible pair of eyebrows expressing disapproval. I was arguing with Mr Mizan that day too. Why was I cooking cucumber curry with katla fish? He wants to fry the fish with onion. I say, it’s hot, there will be no frying. A light broth with light spices is easy to digest. At one point in the argument, I said, ‘Will you fight with me even after you die?’ Then I realised that I had been arguing with a dead man for all this time! The two girls are peeking into the kitchen. Mom is talking to someone alone! God, don’t make me go insane. I have to stay healthy.
The Chattogram Port Authority arranged a job for me, thinking of this distraught, upset family after Mizan left. I was appointed as an assistant teacher last November at the CPA High School. I am also connected to the secretary department. This is why I am able to live with dignity with my three children without being dependent on anyone. I have no happiness, but there is peace from hard work.
We do not know how many more relatives will be taken away by the pandemic. But it has taught us how uncertain human life is! Stay close to loved ones. If you lose a loved one, where will you find him?
