‘I wish I could have had one last hug’
Following her Radio 4 appearance, Sue Martin shares the pain of her husband’s decline
In recent weeks the fact that anyone can be affected by Covid-19 has become clear. For my family, that reality has come into horribly sharp focus: my husband Mal is currently fighting for his life on a ventilator in the Princess of Wales hospital, South Wales. He doesn’t fit the “vulnerable” profile – he’s a pretty fit 58-year-old and, while he has type 2 diabetes, he lives a healthy life, often doing our local 5k Parkrun with ease.
Before he got ill, I wasn’t worried about him getting it. I thought that the person I should be worried for is my dad, who has recently had his stomach removed because of cancer. As the epidemic was getting worse, Mal was making sure that everyone at his recruitment agency would be able to work from home. He always thought of others before himself, so even though he was a diabetic he was still putting himself at risk by going into the office in the last days that he could. He didn’t want to let staff go.
But one evening about two and a half weeks ago Mal started feeling ill. The next morning he had the worst cough I’d ever heard and a high temperature. These were the classic symptoms of Covid-19, and about a day or two later I and our two children, 16-year-old Hana and 13-year-old Wiliam, felt slightly ill too. We all quarantined in the house and tried to reduce contact with Mal as much as we possibly could.
I was prepared for him to be in bed for a week. But when he still showed no improvement after seven days I began to get worried. I called 111 twice and each time was on hold for more than an hour, then got cut off.
I then tried our local GP, who was incredibly helpful. She did a telephone consultation with him and was satisfied that he was all right to stay at home for the time being.
About three days after that he started getting much worse. One night he started breathing very rapidly, so in the morning I called 999: when the paramedics arrived they asked us to stand far away from him in case we got contaminated. I look back now and wish I had got one last hug.
As soon as he got into hospital, the doctors judged that he was seriously ill and told him he had to go on a ventilator. The children and I video called him one last time before he went under: he told us he would be home soon and promised the children that he would be around to see them grow up.
At first I thought a ventilator was just a form of oxygen mask, but I quickly realised it was far more serious. He was being put on life support because his body was completely shutting down as a result of the virus.
Shortly after that, Mal began to deteriorate fast. Within just a few days, doctors went from saying there was a 50/50 chance he’d survive to practically zero. We were told that even if he did survive, it would take at least a year for him to fully recover.
His whole body was failing: his kidneys shut down so he had to be put on dialysis, and his blood pressure dropped so low that he was put on the highest possible dose of adrenalin.
Last Sunday the hospital called us to say he was on the brink. I begged them to let us see him, and thanks in part to one incredibly generous nurse who stayed long after her shift, they let us in for 10 minutes.
Even though we were heavily dressed up in PPE, we were not allowed to touch him. We just sat by the bed and talked to him. Hearing my children tell their father they would make him proud was just heartbreaking.
We were expecting him to go on Monday, but my husband of 24 years is miraculously still hanging on. His blood pressure has improved a little, so they’ve been able to drop adrenalin levels slightly. Doctors still say that it is very unlikely he’ll live, but it has been enough to give us a glimmer of hope.
This week I allowed researchers to take a blood sample from him for tests they are doing into whether there is any genetic component to the virus. Mal is such a selfless man that I know it is what he would have wanted.
The children and I have really been struggling at home. We do very little each day and mainly just sit around waiting for the daily call from the hospital when they update us on how he is. That usually comes around lunchtime. Before then we can’t eat or do anything, so at the moment we’re only having around one meal a day, generously supplied by loved ones.
It’s especially hard not being able to see Mal in hospital. Usually when your relative is ill you can structure your day around a visit, or at least ring them. We’re just sitting around, waiting.
We haven’t really been going out other than for the odd short walk, but I am going to deliver supplies to my parents nearby. I talk to them through the window. I think they are finding it so hard not to be able to comfort us at this horrendous time. The children haven’t really been talking to their friends online, and I haven’t been out to the shops because I just can’t face bumping into someone I know.
The doctors say that each day Mal is on a ventilator, the less likely it is he will survive. Even so, each day he clings on gives me a tiny bit more hope.
Doctors say it is very unlikely he will live, but we have a glimmer of hope