Jorvi Hospital was on the other side of the greater Helsinki area from where we lived, and I had to figure out how to get there. Cycling would have meant some twenty kilometres each way, and I was far too exhausted for that. Public transport would have required several bus changes and well over an hour of travel, and besides, we were supposed to be avoiding people. So I put on a mask and went to find a taxi.
I had already got used to wearing a face mask in Barcelona, but back in Finland at that point almost nobody wore them. Walking around outside with one on, I noticed people kept their distance from me. Maybe the mask made me appear ill, or at least somehow suspicious. I got into the taxi and decided to explain to the driver that I was perfectly healthy but wore the mask as a precaution since I had just come from abroad. He didn’t mind the facemask, and mentioned that he had barely any customers lately. The fare to Jorvi was around fifty euros, and I realised this wasn’t going to be a long-term solution to get back and forth to the hospital. As it turned out, though, getting around wasn’t much of a problem, because Elli’s sister Anna lent us her car for as long as we needed it.
When I arrived at Jorvi, I was quite surprised: we had our own spacious room, which had everything Saimi needed, plus a single hospital bed and even a private bathroom. I don’t think I had ever appreciated having my own bathroom as much as I did then. At Sant Pau, the toilet had been out in the corridor outside the neonatal ward, and the men’s side was often in a sorry state. It was cleaned frequently, but for some reason users seemed to have considerable difficulty hitting the target. I also noticed that very few men washed their hands when visiting the toilet, which I found a bit unsettling. Needless to say, hygiene was important in a hospital, and especially so in a neonatal ward.
Our room at Jorvi was also very bright, with a large window along one wall. My surprise aside, in reality it was just an ordinary Finnish hospital room, but being exhausted, having a quiet space mostly to ourselves felt like a blessing in that moment. It was also a relief to be able to speak Finnish with the nurses, although it was amusing to realise that we knew some medical terms only in Spanish.
Following the hospital’s guidelines, we kept ourselves in quarantine as best we could. Our movement within the hospital was restricted, and we couldn’t use any of the communal facilities. In practice, we could only move between the entrance of the hospital and our room, and we had to wear face masks whenever other people were present. Outside the hospital, we got around in our borrowed car, picked up food from drive in -restaurants or had it delivered to the hospital entrance, and avoided contact with people as much as possible. We didn’t even go to the grocery store, as my sister Annika and her husband Mikko did our shopping for us and brought everything to the hospital car park.
The nursing staff of course had to come into our room from time to time, which led to some unintentional comedy. With our growing family in mind, we had been planning to buy a larger apartment, and I had arranged a phone consultation with our bank about a mortgage, which was scheduled on our second day at Jorvi. Just as I was waiting for the loan officer to call, someone was about to come to perform an ultrasound on Saimi, but the person doing the scan refused to enter the room if I was there. We puzzled over this for a moment, until I suggested I could wait in the bathroom for the duration of the examination, which was accepted as a solution. I had just shut myself in the toilet when my phone rang, and the bank employee asked: “Is now a good time to talk?” Amused by the situation, I answered: “Of course, perfect timing.”
Saimi was tested for Covid and the results came back negative. The hospital refused to test me, and Elli was not considered to need one, apparently because she hadn’t travelled on a commercial flight. However, we would remain in quarantine until it was certain I wasn’t covid-positive, which meant either two weeks without symptoms or a negative test result. This odd logic probably reflects the contradictions of the early pandemic, when guidelines were still being worked out on the fly.
I started looking into where I could get tested. Various private companies provided covid testing, but the idea of queuing in a small waiting room alongside potentially infected people seemed insane. Fortunately, I found that there was a drive-in testing site near Jorvi, where you didn’t even have to get out of the car to get tested. I booked a slot and drove over, joining a queue of cars waiting to reach the staff in protective gear. The scene looked like something out of a dystopian science fiction film. When my turn came, I opened the window and tilted my chin up slightly to make it easier for the tester to reach my nose with the swab. Yet, she practically rammed it in, and it felt like it went all the way to the back of my skull. My eyes filled with tears and I could barely see. I somehow managed to pull the car off to the side, where I had to wait a while for the irritation to pass and my eyes to stop watering before I could drive.
A couple of days later I received the news that the test was negative, which meant our family’s quarantine was over and we were allowed to move more freely around the hospital. This made our daily life much easier, as we could now use the laundry room, showers, and parents’ lounge, which had a small shared kitchen. These kinds of facilities were not provided at Sant Pau, apart from a parents’ room with a microwave and a table and chairs, so having access to them at Jorvi felt like a real luxury.
In Finland, covid restrictions were tightening and the borders of the Uusimaa region (Helsinki and the greater metropolitan area) were closed to slow the spread of infections from the capital region to the rest of the country. As Prime Minister Sanna Marin later remarked, this was not the time to head to the summer cottage. In our own lives, however, the pandemic was more of a side story. Of course the threat of infection and the restrictions affected us too, but since the end of January our lives had in any case revolved mostly around the hospital and home.
The goal at Jorvi was for us to live as normal a family life as possible. Of course we were still in a hospital, and Saimi’s care occasionally required professional help, but we took care of Saimi as much as we could ourselves, and the nurses only came into our room when needed. Those nearly two weeks we spent at Jorvi were a happy time. Saimi was developing as expected and she was growing fast. Although Saimi still needed additional oxygen from time to time, it was no longer constant, and we were close to getting rid of the nasal prongs altogether. If I remember correctly, the oxygen was mainly needed while Saimi slept, as oxygen saturation tends to drop during sleep. We no longer needed the nasogastric tube for feeding, as we were now giving Saimi milk from a bottle. Elli also breastfed, although Saimi often got frustrated when the milk didn’t come fast enough. However, Saimi had a great appetite, and her weight was approaching two kilos.
During the days, we focused above all on being together. We held Saimi in our arms a lot, and we read books out loud in turns, sang songs, or listened to music. Elli slept at the hospital a few times, but mostly we went home at night. We came to the hospital in the morning, spent the whole day with Saimi, and went home in the evening. Looking back now, years later, it seems like a bit of a peculiar choice, but at the time it felt natural to us. In Barcelona, spending nights at the hospital hadn’t been possible, at least not in any restful way, so we had got used to going home to sleep. Saimi also slept peacefully through the nights, and the nurses always reassured us in the evenings that they had enough staff and everything was taken care of, which I believe was the case. It was also probably the right choice to get rest, so we had the energy to be truly present during the day. Getting a good night’s sleep – or any sleep – in a hospital is not easy, especially if you are at all sensitive to noise.
Jorvi also had several nice and skilled nurses, although we didn’t really get to know them well, as we spent most of our time on our own. When Saimi turned two months old, the nurses had made her a fun birthday card, which was a lovely surprise. Alongside the birthday card, we hung the cards and fabric letters we had received in Barcelona on the wall next to Saimi’s cot, so the room started to feel quite homely.
Life settled into a pleasant routine, and days felt almost like ordinary family life. We were happy and thinking about our future with optimism. The only thing that caused some worry was Saimi’s persistent abdominal problems. Her belly was really swollen, but again no particular cause could be found. Her bowels were also a bit sluggish. We were taught how to give her a tummy massage, and several times a day we massaged Saimi’s stomach to help ease the bloating and support her digestion. Otherwise everything was going well, and there was nothing indicating anything unusual in Saimi’s development. We started preparing for the discharge home, and I put together the cot at home, ready for Saimi’s arrival.
