MARIPOSA, Michelle Mariel C.

Soc Sci 3
2012-16203 Dr. Soledad Dalisay
Essay
My lockdown experience started 5 days before the official start of the lockdown on March 15.
On March 10, we rushed my dad to the Emergency Room of the hospital nearest our house,
because he had a very high fever and persistent dry cough—classic COVID-19 symptoms. Upon
admission to the ER, he was immediately isolated. The doctor was shocked to find that his
Oxygen levels went down to 48, when the normal would be at 96-99. What baffled the doctors
was how, even with such a low Oxygen level, my dad was still very lucid, giving us reminders
on what to do with certain papers, where to put his belongings, which deposits to make, and the
like. However, inspite of my dad’s still-active mind, hospital protocol dictates that he was to be
intubated. The same night we took him to the ER, he was put in the ICU. He had bilateral
pneumonia—a common ailment for men his age who have been long-time smokers, but a near-
death sentence in the time of a pandemic.
The days following March 10, we started our own lockdown. I left behind all my work
and appointments to be with my dad in the hospital, and to wait for updates from his doctors. My
siblings and I prohibited my mom from leaving the house, for fear that she would also acquire
pneumonia and COVID-19, since she was nearing 60 and she was asthmatic. My sister and
sister-in-law were both pregnant, so I was the one tasked to do hospital duty.
The COVID-19 swab test was conducted on my dad the morning of March 11. The long
wait began for our family, and for the hospital workers who were assigned to take care of my
dad. Each day passed, and his x-ray results got worse, although his vital statistics were
improving. It baffling, because, even while intubated, my dad had his strength. He would sign to
me from the ICU windows, and he would fidget around in bed and carefully observe what his
nurses would do.
On March 16, my sister-in-law saw a Twitter post from ABS-CBN News releasing
information on the latest COVID-19 positive patients. PH 129’s description was eerily similar to
my dad—67, Male, March 7 onset of symptoms, confined at [hospital], etc. We called up the
hospital to ask if my dad was PH 129, but the hospital and doctors didn’t even know yet.
Eventually, they confirmed that my dad was PH 129. My dad had caught the deadly corona
virus.
 The hospital then called my mom, and informed us that it was DOH protocol for COVID-
19 positive patients to be transported to either RITM, San Lazaro, or Lung Center. Reluctantly,
and mostly because it seemed that we had no choice over the matter, (because it was protocol,
after all, the doctors insisted), we agreed to transfer my dad to Lung Center. It was around 11:40
PM on March 16.
Past-midnight, when I was filling in my dad’s admission papers at the Lung Center, the
doctor informed me that my dad’s heart stopped beating. Officially, on March 17, my dad
became a COVID-19 death statistic. He was gone and he died alone. And I was just in the
adjacent room when he died. I didn’t even get to say goodbye. My family and I couldn’t even
hold a wake, let alone be together, as my siblings lived in different cities.
As such, my lockdown experience continues with me striving to make sense of what my
dad and family had to go through, and me navigating in however way I can throughout the grief,
confusion, and bitterness over the loss of my dad. Naturally, work continues. I have a few school
requirements, fund-raising singing engagements to record and perform on Facebook live shows;
I’m in the process of fixing and going through the documents needed to process whatever needs
to be processed after a family member dies; I continue doing research work for my employer.
Work continues with a whole new heavier dimension of grief and loss. Often, I think, is this the
way it’s supposed to be?
After the lockdown, I think what my family and I need to do is to hold a memorial
service for my dad, to help us express our grief collectively. I’ve found it hard to grieve in this
lockdown—a suspended reality of sorts. I look forward to experiencing that form of catharsis
and collective mourning and solidarity with my family after this lockdown. It seems so singular,
this yearning to grieve as a family, but it’s the only immediate thing I look forward to when
things go towards the new normal.
I never thought that I would be directly affected by this pandemic. Admittedly, I’ve lived
most of my life in a bubble of privilege, coming from a middle class family, able to pursue the
not-so-lucrative dream of becoming a professional classical singer. This pandemic and this
lockdown has allowed me to experience a different level of empathy and compassion, because
we were placed in a situation where all we yearned for was empathy and compassion. To be sure,
this pandemic and this lockdown has transformed me, and for the sake of my dad’s memory, I’m
sure it transformed me for the better.