Even when I saw the babies, I thought it was a dream and they weren’t mine
In March 2020, I was healthy and enjoying being 24 weeks pregnant with twins, which had come as a joyful surprise. Then I contracted Covid-19, probably at work. I’m a rheumatology consultant at Birmingham city hospital, and had been risk-assessed to work from home. But I have a duty of care to my patients and went to the hospital for some in-person commitments. Hospitals, including ours, were increasingly overwhelmed by Covid patients.
When I became unwell, paramedics arrived to examine me at home. But I soon deteriorated and my husband, Matthew, drove me to A&E. I was moved rapidly to intensive care, where I was to be intubated. I called Matthew, and we prayed. We’re strong Christians, very close and work as a team. The idea of being apart was daunting. I encouraged him to focus on our older children, Nnamdi Ronald and Chisimdi Claire, who were 12 and 11. Although I was struggling with my breathing, I reassured him I’d be coming round in two to three days. However, this wasn’t to be the case.
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