‘This thing finds its way:’ A photographer grapples with COVID19 in Turkey

Hilaneh Mahmoudi as told to Fariba Nawa

Listen to the accompanying episode:

I’m quite a pragmatic person. So since the beginning of this pandemic, I’ve been telling everyone around me not to panic, and that we may all get it. It’s not necessarily going to be that bad for everyone, 80 percent of us will have it without even symptoms that would require hospitalization.

Many friends are now telling me I called this thing upon myself.

I would have preferred to contract it a bit later of course, maybe
get a chance to boost my immune system a bit, or quit smoking beforehand.

Like many of you, I’ve been staying in my Istanbul home with my two kids, our helper Joane and her daughter Sam, isolating from outside. I only went to the market a few times and I visited a couple of friends who are also in isolation in their home by social distancing, not getting close to them. But this thing, the novel coronavirus, finds its way somehow. It’s slow and insidious, getting under your breath and into your lungs, leaving you gasping for air.

The first day I had a cough and fever, I suspected I had Covid19, but I knew I wasn’t alone. Looking out at our empty complex, I saw televisions on in all the apartments in our compound, people walked around their homes.

But here I am, still strong enough to take these self-portraits and record my voice to take you on this journey if you haven’t been here yet. And I hope you never do.

My parents live in Iran, the country of my birth where I grew up. Iran is still reeling from the impact of the virus. My 68-year-old mom, who has heart problems most likely had it a couple months ago in Tehran, after flying back from Paris. She went through a terrible flu-like illness, ending with pneumonia, but she didn’t get tested, and she’s doing well now. My sister, a virologist, lives in Holland and she and her entire family got a mild form of the disease and have recovered. So when I thought I got it, my gut told me I’d survive it without need for hospitalization. This was going to become a part of our family connection across nations.

I video chatted with my mom in Iran and my sister in Holland. I told my mom that I was sick after seven days. I didn’t tell her at first because I didn’t want her to worry, but I couldn’t hide it any longer because my cough gave it away. I wanted my sister, a doctor, to reassure our mom that I wasn’t going to die.

I’m no stranger to sickness; I’ve survived meningitis, the swine flu, brain trauma and have vertigo. But I bounce back.

I’ve lived in Turkey for many years; my daughters were born here. Istanbul is a city of 18 million people usually bustling with life, but now it feels vapid as it becomes the epicenter of the disease in Turkey. Death rates are rising rapidly. So far, there have been more than a thousand fatalities and more than fifty thousand cases.

In Turkey, the virus made a late entry, at least as far as the public knows. On March 11, the government announced the first official case, a patient who came off of a flight from Europe. People were still out shopping, partying, going to school and working until that day — and even after for the next week until the health minister began to sound the alarm bells in the media. President Erdogan gave a speech about how Turkey would get through the pandemic but had to take rapid preventive measures. At this point, Italy and Iran had lost thousands of lives. My friends and I quickly went into isolation.

The image on the TV resembled my feelings inside. I too felt trapped inside a box. Like everyone else.

My 44th birthday was on March 13, and I had invited all my close friends. I canceled that of course. I used that WhatsApp group of guests as my sanity check once COVID19 took over my body.

The first day I had vertigo, slight back and chest pain. I thought I had laid down longer than usual, thus the body pain, so I started to move around more. Then a sudden fatigue hit me hard, followed by the infamous dry cough and a slight fever after the seventh day. That’s when I announced to my friends that I think I have it, and asked my ex-husband to pick up our daughters, ages 9 and 13. Our helper Joane and her 3-year-old daughter Sam stayed in their room downstairs because they have nowhere else to go. Our home is their home. I went upstairs into my bedroom where I began the battle with an iron fist. The closest metaphor perhaps for this virus is that it’s a monster attacking you slowly but surely, and you have to fight it with every part of your able body.

I had my breakfast with our cat Ila. I called out to Joane , told her I’m coming down, she went into her room with her daughter, so we don’t get too close.

When I went down to the kitchen to eat, I texted Joane to stay clear because she has asthma and her battle might be much worse. So we didn’t see each other or kept a distance. I ate soups and made a ginger tea mixed with lemon, orange, honey and turmeric. That has been my best medicine. The only pills I took were vitamins.

Sati, one of my cats, never left my sight. Whenever someone is sick or even in a bad mood, she stays close and keeps licking you and stares into your eyes to remind you she cares.

My mental health throughout the two weeks was up and down as friends and family kept calling. Answering their calls was hard, especially talking because it took effort to breathe, and talking sure requires a lot of breathing. But I knew I wasn’t alone, and that kept me going mentally despite the desolation I felt on some days. Each of those close to me gave unsolicited advice on why I should or shouldn’t go to a Turkish hospital and whether I should get tested. Initially, getting tested seemed too much of a bother, and going to a hospital was more exposure to the virus, and exposing others, so I just kept coughing and soothing it with tea.

Trying to work on some pictures to keep busy. The herbal tea helped me a lot with my coughs.

I took photos, watched a lot of movies, the series Ozark, and played with my two cats. I watched funny videos my mom sent me about corona because Iranians have dealt with so much violence and tragedy this year, that one coping mechanism is depending on our sense of humor. I could still walk. It was tolerable.

April 3, the 11th day, was the first day I felt a bit better. I decided to eat solid food, chicken and salad, instead of soups at the dining table. I don’t normally sit alone at this dining table.

But one night at 3 a.m., I woke up with a palpitating heart, an incessant cough — it felt like someone was sitting on my chest. I couldn’t sleep. Was it a panic attack or the corona monster winning the battle? I did some breathing exercises and tried to calm myself down. Finally, I gave up, got up, had some soup and went on my phone again.

Somehow among fear and anxiety, I fell asleep. After that I understood that the best thing to do is not to fight the symptoms, or try to go back to sleep. It worked best when I distracted myself so when the same thing happened the following two nights, I knew how to deal with it.

Unfortunately, most days have been rainy here since the quarantine. I sat by the balcony a lot with the window open to get some fresh air, and played music, which helps make every situation better.

My 13-year-old daughter texted me: “Don’t die.” I joked with her to calm her down.

But my breathing wasn’t getting better, so I decided to finally go to the hospital. I packed a bag in case I needed to be admitted and took a taxi to a private hospital. My doctor was Afghan; he spoke to me in my mother tongue Persian and listened to my lungs. He wore a hazmat-like suit while the nurses had no gloves, only masks. They gave me the corona test, sticking up a swab far up my nose; it was very uncomfortable.

As I waited to get the CT scan that would reveal the state of my lungs, I envisioned the dreaded “white lungs” you hear about that means you’re going to be hospitalized. But deep inside, I knew my lungs were clean. I could take deep breaths and hold them in.

Left: I told the deliveryman to leave the groceries in the elevator and not come upstairs. The mask I wore doesn’t prevent contagion completely. I got the virus being careful and socially distant. My biggest fear is passing it onto others now. Middle: I went to a private hospital in the emergency room on April 2, waiting for the doctor to come examine me. Right: I took a taxi back home from the hospital. The creative driver separated himself from passengers with plastic wrap.

The doctor said after the examination that my lungs didn’t sound very well but the scan results were clear. I would be fine at home unless I got worse. The corona test results would be available in the next couple of days, but the doctor said I had all the symptoms. The test sometimes produces false negatives and if that was the case, he said not to rely too much on the results.

I took a taxi back home in my mask while the taxi driver had plastic wrap plastered across his taxi to divide the passenger side from his seat. It was creative protection.

As I struggle to recover, I joke with friends that I feel like a killing machine with just a sneeze. I worry that I may have infected others: my kids, their father, my friends, my helper Joane, her daughter Sam.

My helper Joane, 43, began vomiting, one symptom of COVID19, shortly after I started to feel better. Her daughter Sam, 3, sticks to her mom like glue.

It didn’t take long to find out who was the next victim in my circle. On the 15th day, when I felt like my breathing was normalizing, Joane began puking. I called an ambulance and the paramedics said they can take Joane to the hospital but not Sam. I would have to care for her child, so Joane refused to go because Sam only wants her mom, and I don’t have the strength to care for a toddler. But the local municipality called to check on me daily since I tested positive, and medics came to our home and used a swab to test Joane and Sam. On April 9, the hospital called again. Joane tested positive, Sam was negative. So we’ll stay home together and another battle begins. If Joane ends up hospitalized, I’ll take care of Sam.

The local medics came to our Istanbul apartment to test Joane and Sam after we suspected Joane had contracted the virus from me.

Hilaneh Mahmoudi is a freelance photographer whose work has been exhibited internationally. She has worked as a photographer for international press and NGOs in social and developmental projects in Turkey, Nepal, Iran and South Africa. In 2017, she published her first photo book Myanmar: Reflections on a Reverie. She also works as a volunteer for TUVO, a group dedicated to educating teenage Syrian girls.

Her social media handles are:
Instagram: @hila_neh
FB: Hilaneh Mahmoudi photography
Visura: Hilaneh Mahmoudi

In Reporter’s Notebook, On Spec correspondents and guest bloggers share the backstory of the work they do, what is going on behind the scenes and what impression it left on them. If you’d like to contribute, contact us at onspecpodcast at gmail.com. Guest bloggers freely express their opinion.