The Star's health journalist shares her own, rather unusual, Covid-19 story

A nurse checking my roommate’s oxygen levels. The nurses would wheel the equipment around the ward three times a day to check our vital signs. — Photos: REVATHI MURUGAPPAN/The Star

Oh no, not yet another Covid-19 patient testimony, I hear you groan!

Yes, it is, but my symptoms were so atypical that even the doctors were gobsmacked at the initial stage.

Thus, I feel compelled to share my experience with you, my dear reader, so please indulge me.

My story began like this: I was in Terengganu hosting an impromptu four-day wellness retreat for a motley crew of six of my yoga students and friends.

Prior to this, I had taken a rapid antigen test before a work assignment and tested negative for Covid-19.

I never left my house during the 10 days before leaving for the retreat and most of my friends know I’m anal about following the Covid-19 standard operating procedures.

We were having a fabulous time at the resort until the last day when I woke up with a queasy stomach.

I had the runs and attributed this to a small piece of squid I had eaten the night before.

Still, I managed to conduct the morning yoga class and returned to my room for a few more trips to the toilet.

Now, except for sustaining musculoskeletal injuries from pushing my body hard, I hardly catch the common cold, cough or flu.

I am physically fit, healthy and have no comorbidities.

My weak link: an ultra-sensitive gut.

A decade ago, I suffered severe side effects to an antibiotic and was subsequently diagnosed with post-infectious irritable bowel syndrome (IBS) – a gastrointestinal disorder that frequently causes me diarrhoea, intestinal spasms, bloating, gas and nausea.

My stomach has never been the same again and I’ve since developed plenty of food intolerances.

Stress exacerbates the condition, but the symptoms also cause me psychological distress.

That day, I assumed the squid was the culprit, and by lunch time, all my IBS symptoms had kicked into high gear.

I had also started to vomit, but no one else was sick.

Four of us came in a car and what was meant to be a four-hour leisurely drive home turned out to be an eight-hour nightmare as I threw up throughout the entire journey.

Even a small sip of water would make me puke, and by the time we reached back, I was so dehydrated and dizzy, I just crashed into bed, shocking my poor mother.

‘Could it be Covid?’

A colleague sent me a hot water bottle for comfort because three blankets and two sweaters could not keep me warm in the air-conditioned ward (I get cold very easily).

The next day, the vomiting stopped, but the diarrhoea continued and I developed a low grade fever of 38.9°C.

I headed to the clinic and my first question after the doctor had examined me was: “Doc, could it be Covid-19?”

As a health journalist, I am equipped with fair knowledge of the disease as I’m constantly interviewing experts and keeping abreast with the latest information.

Highly unlikely, she said, as I wasn’t a close or casual contact of a known Covid-19 patient, didn’t exhibit the typical symptoms and all my vital signs were stable.

The dehydration could be causing the fever.

Her diagnosis: acute gastroenteritis (AGE).

She prescribed me some anti-diarrhoeals, oral rehydration salts and medicine for fever.

However, if the fever persisted the following day, she asked me to go to the nearest hospital.

Well, guess what?

The next day, all the symptoms disappeared!

I felt tired, but squeezed in a light workout, hoping it would energise me.

The day after, all hell broke loose.

I woke up with an urgent need to evacuate my bowels; I took a few steps to the bathroom and felt my legs give way.

I mustered enough strength to call my mother and collapsed on the floor as she came running with my brother.

When I regained consciousness, my heart was pounding and my stomach was churning, but I couldn’t get up.

My brother propped me in a seated position while my mother cleaned me up.

I rested for a few hours, and again, that dizzy feeling returned, but my brother caught me just in time before I passed out again.

We got out the oximeter and blood pressure monitor – everything was normal except that my heart was racing at 135 beats per minute (tachycardia/palpitations – a symptom of Covid-19).

Routine test is positive

The food served was nutritious, although I was too sick to eat.

I called my gastroenterologist and was advised to head to the emergency department immediately.

We rushed to the private hospital, only to be told I needed to be admitted for dehydration, but that there were no beds!

The situation was (and is) the same in most hospitals – not because of Covid-19 cases, but due to patients postponing their appointments during the pandemic, resulting in worsening ailments that need hospitalisation now.

Defeated, I called up some friends and they suggested going to Universiti Malaya Medical Centre (UMMC), and that’s where we landed.

I was placed in a stretcher in the emergency department and a doctor gently told me it would take two to three hours before I would be attended to as there was a sudden surge of patients at that time.

Not having a choice, I waited.

When the gastroenterology team finally arrived and assessed me, I was diagnosed with AGE and dehydration, and immediately administered drips while waiting for a bed to free up in the ward.

It was almost 10pm (Day 1) when I was wheeled into a quarantine room and past midnight when a swab for the Covid-19 RT-PCR (real-time polymerase chain reaction) test was taken as per hospital SOP.

My blood results showed raised inflammatory markers and the gastroenterologist postulated it was possibly coming from my gut.

More tests followed, but no bacteria were detected.

My chest X-ray was clear, but I was startled to discover that my blood pressure and sugar levels had elevated to hypertensive and pre-diabetic!

I would later find out that the SARS-Cov-2 virus spikes these numbers to alarming levels, increases blood inflammatory markers and triggers IBS.

On the morning of Day 2, I had stabbing pains in the chest every time I inhaled – the nurse quickly rolled in the ECG (electrocardiogram) machine, but couldn’t find anything wrong.

The diarrhoea and fainting spells continued, and it was in the afternoon when my Covid-19 test returned positive.

My biggest fear was for my elderly mother, whom I stay with, but thankfully, all my close contacts tested negative and quarantined themselves.

It’s still a mystery as to how I contracted the infection.

Had the protection from my vaccine waned?

A bit perhaps as I received my second Pfizer/BioNTech vaccine dose in August (2021), and from data, we know that the vaccine’s efficacy drops to 78% at 90 days.

As for my chest pain, the doctor ordered more blood tests as he reckoned the virus could have caused blood clots in my lungs, which do not show up in the X-ray – again, this came out negative.

The gastroenterology team decided to transfer me to the Covid-19 ward as they felt my diarrhoea was a symptom of the disease.

Ward full of warmth

The two kakaks who motivated me to keep my spirits up – both my fellow patients and the ward staff were very caring and comforting throughout my stay.

As I entered the ward, a bunch of frontliners in full personal protective equipment (PPE), along with a cacophony of coughs, greeted me.

I couldn’t see their expressions, but one very warmly welcomed me: “Don’t worry, we are all here to look after you.”

Comfort me, they did, and as the ward was not full, they willingly attended to every patient’s call.

I was put in the “critical” four-bedded room, equipped with all the necessary equipment to save a life.

Every morning, a doctor would do his rounds, and when he came to my bed on my first day in the ward, he informed me that my CT (cycle threshold) value was 18.

This meant that my infection was still in its early stages and hadn’t peaked yet.

The CT value indicates the number of rounds (cycles) needed to increase the amount of viral RNA (ribonucleic acid) in a sample for it to become detectable in the RT-PCR test.

The lower the number, the more virus there is in the sample.

Since Covid-19 is a respiratory disease, I was placed in Category 2 as my lungs were clear, although the doctor pointed out that it is a progressive disease and things could rapidly change.

Noting the anti-diarrhoeal drugs on my table, he forbade me from taking them as these agents apparently delay the clearance of virus from the gut and could prolong the course of infection.

Instead, I was prescribed drugs for my stomachache and headache, as well as to provide a protective lining for my irritated stomach.

I found out later that a significantly higher proportion of Covid-19 patients who present with diarrhoea develop a severe course of disease, compared to those without diarrhoea.

The next four days saw me lying horizontal in this room – the diarrhoea wouldn’t stop, my head throbbed, and I lost all appetite and became weaker.

Almost everyone in the ward was above 60 years of age, in Category 4 and needed oxygen supplementation.

I was the odd one out.

One afternoon, my two roommates, Kakak A and Kakak B, who had already been there for a week, walked over to my bed and tapped my leg.

“Adik!” whispered Kakak A.“You have to eat!

“Even if it’s just two grains of rice, you must put something in your stomach.

“How are you going to recover otherwise?”

Kakak B, a dialysis patient, added: “You cannot let Covid-19 defeat you!”

We became fast friends and they’d motivate me to eat as I struggled to swallow a spoonful of rice.

Until today, Kakak A texts me to find out if I’m eating!

Can’t smell

I lost my sense of smell on Day 4 and this greatly affected me as I relied on sniffing my peppermint essential oil to keep the nausea down.

The writer, still ill from stomach symptoms, but with stabilised and non-infectious Covid-19, waiting to be discharged home.

On Day 5, my doctor informed me that my Covid-19 was stable, but that I still needed monitoring due to my diarrhoea, so I was moved out to a two-bedded room.

My two kakaks were also moved out to make way for other critical patients – they went to the “recovery” room.

That night, I received the good news that I would be taken off drips as my electrolyte levels had normalised.

To celebrate, I decided to have a quick shower, but opted not to call the nurse for help.

While I was accorded the best of care at UMMC, the facilities need some serious fixing – the toilets overflowed, the sinks were clogged, shower heads were broken, etc.

There wasn’t a single fully functioning toilet on my side of the ward!

I emerged from the shower breathless, only to find my new roommate, Aunty Loh, standing outside the door with her walking stick.

“Girl, I was so concerned you would fall, I stood here to listen.

“Remember, self-love goes a long way,” she remarked as I gazed at her guiltily.

The next day, Aunty Loh was moved to the recovery room and Makcik C became my new roomie.

She had Bell’s Palsy – a facial muscle paralysis that is also a symptom of Covid-19.

It broke my heart to see water dripping down her chin as she tried to drink, so we rang the nurse for a straw.

One night, just before the nurse turned off our room lights, she began to cough badly and told me: “Adik, Makcik dah redha (I accept my fate).”

I didn’t know what to say, so I lay quietly as she turned up the volume on her phone and listened to religious verses.

The next morning, she was transferred to the intensive care unit (ICU) as her oxygen levels had dipped further.

Before she was wheeled out, she turned around and asked for my mobile number.

I touched her arm and said: “Makcik, you promised to make me nasi lemak, so you must get better!”

She gave me a crooked smile.

When the drips came off, I started to practise some yoga breathwork and my sense of smell returned a little the next day!

My pre- and post-walk (40 steps) oxygen levels were also measured when I could walk, and on Day 8, they were both 99% – hooray!

Finally, on the evening of Day 8, the doctor said my blood results were all within normal parameters and asked if I wanted to be discharged or transferred back to the gastroenterology ward to tackle my IBS.

Of course, I chose home!

Ten days after the onset of symptoms, Covid-19 patients are no longer contagious so the RT-PCR test was not repeated.

But how long the virus stays in the body varies.

A new study published in The Lancet journal last month (November 2021) found that the virus can take as long as 83 days to shed.

It’s been almost a fortnight since I was discharged, but my IBS (or long Covid-19?) symptoms haven’t petered out.

Some days I’m flat in bed from non-stop diarrhoea and abdominal cramps; other days are manageable.

I am overwhelmed with emotion when I think of the kindness bestowed on me by so many people, and for them, I will rise again.