On March 13, I received two calls while staying in my house here in the mountains of Peru. My mom was in Costa Rica at the time, where she works, and called first to tell me that my grandfather had been feeling ill. She had few specifics on the matter. My grandpa had been recovering in bed at his home for about three years now.
The second call she made to me that afternoon was truly gut wrenching — she told me he had died. In an effort to be close to my family, my mom and brother jumped on a plane two days after and came back to Peru. My grandpa passed away on a Saturday and I couldn’t go back to the city — Lima — to see my grandma until that Monday due to vehicle immobilization that was put in place as a result of COVID-19.
So I spent the day with my grandma Lulu that Monday. Upon arrival to her house her maid opened the door — it is not uncommon for people to have maids in Peru — and warned me that Lulu had symptoms of COVID. She had been tested that morning and was awaiting the results which would be given to her that evening. I decided at that moment that I didn’t care — I didn’t care she had symptoms, I didn’t care she might have COVID, I didn’t care if I got sick. I knew that at 21 years old if I got sick I could battle it.
I spent the day with her, I comforted her, answered calls on her behalf, and looked through old photo albums with her. I left that evening to go see my boyfriend Santiago and received a worrying call from my brother Lucas. He asked me where I was and told me I had to go home and isolate myself immediately; Lulu had tested positive for COVID-19.
And so I did. I isolated myself for around five days in my room — unable to see any family members or feel any comfort. I got myself tested at home in those five days and came back negative. “So I’m okay,” I thought to myself. My maid Valentina was so excited for me she gave me a hug. I laid on my mom’s bad overjoyed I could spend time with her. I even went to see my boyfriend that weekend.
And then I started to feel it. I got a horrible fever, flashes, and chills. I started coughing uncontrollably — but my cough was wet, and I had assumed only dry cough was connected to COVID. After a weekend of feeling dreadful and be assured by my boyfriend that I just had a bad cold, I took another test. 30 minutes passed in that clinic until it was confirmed to me that I had the virus. And the worst was yet to come. I spent two weeks in isolation to prevent further infection. My mom got infected. My maid got infected. My maid’s daughter got infected. My maid’s sister got infected. My uncle got infected. My cousins got infected. My grandma passed away the morning after I got infected.
I mourned alone. For two weeks, I mourned alone. Nausea, vomiting, fever, fatigue, confusion, coughing, lung inflammation — those were just some of the constant symptoms I had during those two weeks. And I’d like to say the worst is over. There are long term effects — fatigue, confusion, bumps and other skin conditions.
But I’m alive. I survived. And though they’ve died and though I’ve cried, I still see the upside. I have been grieving and in my grief I have found gratitude for the time spent with my grandparents — 21 beautiful years of unconditional love and teaching. Thank you.
