Coronavirus: My 86 days in the hospital fighting Covid-19

Babak Khosrowshahi was brought to the hospital with coronavirus at 4am on March 22, a day that many people in the UK had spent on FaceTime talking to their mothers on Mother’s Day. The 61-year-old man was finally released 86 days later.

More than 40,000 died of Covid-19 while Babak was in the hospital. He says he owes his life to the NHS.

Here is his story of surviving the coronavirus.

To be honest, I have no idea where I got Covid-19. I’m still thinking and it doesn’t make sense. I was very careful. I was washing my hands, I never used public transportation, and I always used my car.

But I do know where it all started. It was a Friday, Friday the 13th actually. My partner came to see me and I had the feeling that something was not right. Looking back, it must have been the fever, but because my body temperature was so low that I didn’t notice, I just had a feeling.

When my partner came, I was inherently trying to get away from her because Covid was on my mind. The next day I realized that this feeling was not going to go away, so I found an old thermometer and took my temperature, it was 38.5C. I saw that and I thought “this is happening and it’s serious.”

I called 111 and they told me to wait seven days before calling 999. At that time my temperature remained high and my health was deteriorating. It was difficult for me to get from one room to another. Just getting up for a bite to eat was very difficult, it was quite gloomy and eventually a friend called 999 for me.

My first day in the hospital was March 22. A couple of cheery paramedics took me to West Middlesex University Hospital. I was surprised at how happy they were because it was 04:00 (GMT). At the hospital they put me in a side room and a nurse served me food, it was chicken, and I was struggling to eat it.

That is all I remember. That room, that last meal. I don’t remember anything else. Apparently, I made calls and texted my family and spoke to the doctor before being sedated, but I can’t remember that. Three and a half weeks later, I woke up in intensive care.

When Babak was sedated, he received a tracheostomy to help him breathe, he was on a respirator, and he had high oxygen requirements. His left lung had also collapsed.

I remember waking up and not asking where I was or why I was there; I just accepted that it had to be there. I remember wondering where my glasses were because I can’t see without them. He couldn’t speak either, and was quite confused.

The nurses gave me a pad of paper so I could write when I wanted something. I started writing that I wanted water, but I looked at what was on the paper and it was just a doodle.

Then they gave me a board where I could point to the letters, but if I wanted a W, I pointed to the next letter. I couldn’t point to the one I wanted. It was a couple of days before I could write again. At ITU, my physio told me something that has always stuck with me: “You will leave this hospital.”

Part of my recovery was gradually increasing my movement. First they asked me to sit on the end of my bed, then on a chair before gradually making me stand up and walk. Finally, she was using a frame to navigate the unit with the help of a large amount of oxygen. “Well done,” he said, “you just completed the equivalent of a marathon.”

“I’m 61 years old,” I said, why would I want to complete a marathon?

Around day 30, when the physical therapist asked me to stand up, I couldn’t stop and thought to myself ‘am I ever going to get better?’ I was out of breath, I was connected to a machine and the next day I managed to get up and the physio said those words to me.

Since then that was the objective; I am leaving this hospital. I am very grateful to him for saying that.

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After approximately 50 days, I was transferred to a more normal room (acute frailty unit) to begin preparing to leave the hospital. But after a couple of days I started shaking and my fever came back. I called the nurse because she was shaking.

Within seconds there were four doctors on top of me and in half an hour I was pushed by my bed to the Acute Medical Unit (AMU) for further monitoring. It turned out that he had an infection.

One of the reasons I stayed in the hospital for so long was because my throat muscles were so weak. The medical staff gave me exercises to strengthen my muscles and evaluated how I was doing. They gave me a lot of sips of water because each sip exercises those muscles. Finally, the team was confident enough to pull out my nasogastric feeding tube.

That meant that I came home as a free man with no cables or tubes attached to me.

There are only two things that excite me: the NHS and my family. I wouldn’t be here without the help of the NHS, they are just amazing. We complain about the NHS, but when you need it and it’s in the system, no expense is spared. They saved my life.

I can’t tell you what it feels like to leave the hospital. When I went to the hospital, the trees were bare and when I came back there were leaves everywhere. It was just an incredible feeling. I still see myself in the process of a slow recovery.

I told my employer that I won’t be back soon. I see myself semi-retired. The virus is out, that’s for sure, I’m clear. But the effects of being hospitalized: I’m still recovering and it will take a while.

I am still running out of breath after walking short distances and still eating very soft foods. When I left the hospital I was eating mashed potatoes because my throat muscles had weakened.

I have put on two or three pounds since I was home, but I really miss the joy of eating an Iranian kebab.