A CORONAVIRUS survivor has recalled his "hellish" ordeal and how he was "terrified" of falling asleep for fear of never waking up again.

Sharing his experience with The Standard, Andy Medcraft, 43, from Blacon, says he owes his life to the staff at the Countess of Chester Hospital – who he describes as "heroes".

The customer service advisor spent two weeks in hospital and admits he gets "overwhelmed" when he thinks about how close he came to becoming "one of the unfortunate statistics" of the coronavirus pandemic.

As Andy started to recover during the second week, the keen artist and illustrator began to document his experience with a series of talented sketches from his hospital bed.

The drawings not only impressed the nurses but were recently picked up by the BBC'S The One Show – with Andy being the featured 'Portrait Artist of the Week' during a segment focusing on artwork during the lockdown.

Now back at home and making "good progress", Andy has been able to reflect on his experience and admits one aspect that stands out to him is the risk he posed to the healthcare workers, yet it seemed to only increase their care and compassion.

This is his story in his own words:

"My partner called 111 after we'd attempted to self manage the symptoms at home for a week. Fever took over, I was unable to breathe properly, my body was convulsing and I was unable to eat. We were following NHS advice until we just couldn’t manage it on our own.

"The paramedics were amazing. Only one entered our house and apologised for the way she was dressed, hoping the dispatcher had pre-warmed us about the PPE. She hoped it wasn't scaring me – she looked like a welder stood at the foot of the bed.

"We made our own way to A&E so the ambulance wasn't contaminated. I was held in the Red Zone while I was given IV fluids, potassium drinks and was swabbed.

"Once admitted, the majority of staff went out of their way to be upbeat which had such a positive impact and turned what was a really terrifying situation for them and us into something a lot less frightening.

"At the time I was admitted, there were very few coronavirus patients so there was genuine interest in my symptoms leading up to being admitted as I didn’t fit the presumed demographic.

"Even the porters and cleaners wanted to understand, not only for their own professional interest but also for personal interest – to ultimately know what to look out for with their own family members. There was a genuine fear.

"In my second week of treatment I was moved to a dedicated Covid-19 ward and then to a specialist respiratory ward – three moves in two weeks.

"My first week was an absolute hell – quarantined in what felt like a forgotten broom cupboard at the back of beyond, being terrified of falling asleep in case I didn’t wake up again, fighting temperatures of over 42 degrees and being strapped to oxygen.

"The illustrations came about in the second week when I began to respond to the treatments. I was still oxygen dependant but it had been lowered and I was able to sit up and even walk to the toilet, albeit with a brilliant gold walker and a mobile canister of oxygen with nasal specs in tow – classy.

"The first doodle was simply to pass the time. Although I was now on a ward with four other people they were either sleeping, sedated or wearing oxygen masks, so our acknowledgement was a simple nod or raised hand, but after a week of solitude this was all I needed.

"I'd managed to adjust my bed so I was in a sitting position with my knees raised. This gave me a small area on which I could draw without having to lift my arm too much. My strength and coordination was impaired so even lifting a paper cup of tea was an effort at times.

"Over the next five days I'd doodled nine images that documented my experience. The nurses were really entertained by them and one even suggested they'd make amazing tattoos!

"When I was finally discharged, I managed to smuggle them out in the huge paper bag containing the medication they sent me home with! If I’d have left them for the staff they’d have to be destroyed.

"One of the standout things about my treatment was the risk I posed to others. Seeing nurses and care workers wrapping themselves up in plastic before coming anywhere near me was like a scene from a movie. Everybody was fully masked and muffled.

"Everything I came in to contact with had to be treated as clinical waste and was destroyed. Every plate, cup, spoon, fork and anything I'd touched was scooped up and binned.

"Although the whole ordeal was hellish, I have to say the staff at the Countess were beyond amazing. It must have been terrifying for them but they never showed it – their care and compassion seemed to be ramped up due to the situation and I can not thank them enough for all that they did.

"I can honestly say if it wasn't for the expert levels of care provided, I certainly wouldn’t be sharing my drawings. It's sometimes overwhelming when the latest figures are released and I realise how close I came to being one of the unfortunate statistics.

"I'm still recovering at home – learning to breathe and walk again is surreal at 43. Even after a month, stairs are still my nemesis but I'm making good progress.

"I wasn't sure if I'd ever come home again so to be sleeping in my own bed without the drips and tubes and people approaching wrapped in plastic to administer drugs is still a bit overwhelming, but equally amazing. I feel indebted to the NHS and particularly to the staff at the Countess – they truly are heroes."