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It’s an insidious beast that attacks in several ways. No two victims are
the same, and many will not display a single symptom. These
persons are even more dangerous than the virus itself,
because you can’t track symptomless infections effectively
and yet, they can spread the virus to others.
The foretelling of the descent of the Novel Coronavirus was much like
hearing about the coming of Thanos. It was feared by many,
even without knowing what it was truly capable of. It
couldn't be measured because of how swiftly it moved and how
vast its reach was.
It’s the invisible killer, a virus that invades the body, trapping the
lungs in a mucous membrane that no vaccination, no pills, no
treatments can permeate. There is no cure, no way of knowing
how to defeat it in sight-only clinical trials that may or
may not prove to change anything. This virus, which silently
takes hold of the body, causes fevers, coughing and fatigue
three symptoms that were widely shared across all media
outlets in the beginning of the outbreak. These symptoms
were sure indicators that one may be infected and that
person should immediately commit to a 14 day
self-quarantine.
The Bitter Cup
I remember watching the news reports and praying that this “bitter cup”
would just pass right over me. Being an essential worker,
caring for the individuals with developmental disabilities
and who are also immuno-compromised, I knew I was at risk,
however, I just wanted it to be something that we only saw
on the news because of how scary it was.
As much as I disliked it, I shopped at Kroger which is one mile away
from home. I knew that, since it was dangerous to go places
where large crowds would be, that it was best to stay near
home, where our neighborhood store isn’t normally packed. I
cringed at the grocery bill that told me a couple cases of
water, gatorade, bananas, bread and milk was near $40 when I
knew it would be about half at Walmart. But I was doing the
safe thing-I had my mask on, my sanitizer in my pocket, and
went early in the morning when the people were few. I went
in and came right out and returned home, washing hands and
sanitizing the car handles and steering wheel.
The first day I had a single symptom, it was a Monday toward the end of
March, and only a couple days after the official stay home
orders had been issued. I’d recently got over an upper
respiratory infection because I have asthma and a history of
them.
I coughed one time on that day in the morning and later, around 5:00
PM, had to take my daughter to the emergency room. She had
fluid building up in her head and we needed to see if it was
on the brain. They’d just started screenings for COVID 19,
and I passed the screening, my temperature was about 99
degrees which is a low grade fever, but I didn’t have any
other symptoms before that day or at the very moment I was
there, so I was permitted to accompany her into the ER with
my mask that I already had on.
I didn’t think the cough earlier that morning warranted any concern
because it was literally one cough. But I do remember that
in my mind I was saying, I hope that wasn’t a
“corona-cough”. I never coughed again that day, or the next
day or the next.
It was my shorter work week, so I didn’t have to work but a couple days.
But by the end of that week, maybe Thursday, I began having
fevers day and night, some as high as 102.3. I took Tylenol
because the news told us not to take Ibuprofen because it
could be a deadly treatment. Thankfully, I am allergic to
it, so all I take is Tylenol, also known as acetaminophen.
I had chills and the bones in my legs were almost like frostbite-they
were both cold and burning simultaneously. I wore double
layers of clothing and covered up, even my head which then
turned into a furnace, and I sweat through my clothing
because my fever broke. Every time a fever spiked, I was in
denial. I didn’t think I had it, but I had to act like I
did.
I didn’t go out, I stayed in my room as much as possible. Over the
weekend, the dry coughing began, then I called the
Coronavirus hotline to discuss the symptoms and was
instructed to take Tylenol, get plenty of rest and
quarantine away from my family for 14 days.
They didn’t recommend me going to the doctor or the hospital. By Sunday
night, I was beside myself and every step I took was a
struggle. I can’t remember having fevers or coughing as much
because I was trying to focus on walking without being
winded. I thought about the health warnings and symptoms,
and at this time, shortness of breath was not being widely
mentioned as a symptom. It was only three: a cough, a fever
and fatigue.
I began wheezing and had the mind to use my inhaler, something that,
although I have had asthma attacks, I haven’t needed in two
or three years. I took two puffs, but I needed them more
than every two to four hours. I needed them more like every
half hour. Heeding the Health Department’s advice, I stayed
home, I was away from the family as much as I could, and I
was resting and taking Tylenol; and I was getting worse.
Monday, I couldn’t scale the stairs. I felt like every step was a mile
and every breath was stolen as if it weren’t mine to
breathe. I was weaker and more concerned than the day
before. By Tuesday, I thought I was going to faint all day.
The kids carried on as usual and my husband kept asking what
I wanted to do. By nightfall, I asked him to take me to the
hospital- I couldn’t breathe at all. I remember getting in
the car and closing the door-I almost passed out. If I
hadn’t gotten my leg in and closed that door, I would have
fallen out of the car.
The Test of Fate
We pulled into Toledo Hospital and went through screening. I had a
fever, a cough and shortness of breath. The triage nurses
gave me a mask and wheeled me away, telling my husband he
couldn’t stay with me. I already knew he wouldn’t be able to
stay, so I had to tell him I’d see him later, I purposely
didn’t say goodbye.
It set in as I was taken into an emergency COVID room that I probably
had the virus. It was small and cold, the halls were loud.
Everything happened at warp speed from there. I told them I
was sure I was dehydrated, that’s why I was feeling dizzy
and faint- that’s how it felt before because as I said
earlier, shortness of breath wasn’t a known or rather,
publicized symptom of COVID 19.
I asked them for a bolus, which is a rapid flow of IV fluids to help
with dehydration (after 20 plus years in healthcare, you
know learn a few things). They said they couldn’t. They took
my temperature and blood pressure. I had a fever and my
oxygen level was around 84 percent. I was hypoxic and they
immediately started two IVs, the second was in case I needed
ventilation. Hypoxia is a condition that when the body
isn’t getting enough oxygen, it has the potential to be
deadly. Acute hypoxia, which is what I had, is also called
silent hypoxia because its onset is rapid and without
warning. If I waited another day, I may not have been able
to write about my experience.
The treating nurse immediately gave me oxygen, I think between three and
a half and four liters, and started two IVs because of the
dehydration and the possibility of needing additional
interventions. She couldn’t give me a bolus because I
presented with signs of the coronavirus and it is known to
flood the lungs, and giving too many fluids would have been
like drowning from the inside.
She swabbed my nasal cavity in a way that made me want to strike her-it
hurt and I wasn’t happy, but it was necessary because that
was how they test for the virus. I was whisked away shortly
after for a CT Scan and chest X Rays which showed the
likelihood that I had the virus, although it couldn’t be
confirmed until the pathology returned with official
results.
I was admitted into Toledo hospital and placed on the transfer list
right away. ProMedica set Bay Park up as a COVID site. They
were sending all ER patients there for treatment. By now it
was April 1 or April Fool’s Day. It was the 14th anniversary
of the day that I was rushed by ambulance to Toledo Hospital
after suffering a stroke, and I wasn’t being pranked.
After nearly five hours, a bed was available at Bay Park and two EMTs
came to transport me. They were donned in hazmat suits,
protective garments that prevent toxic materials from
permeating their clothing or skin. They had headgear that
looked like NASA created them, goggles, face masks, shields
and helmets.
They secured me to a narrow stretcher and rolled me down the hall- I was
light-weight offended because everyone I passed knew I was
contagious, but there was nothing HIPAA could do for me at
that point, it was what it was. The ride to the hospital was
like driving down Manhattan Blvd. in the curb lane, every
bump was felt and I was exhausted and annoyed.
Upon arrival at Bay Park, I was transported to my room. I remembered
that the spirit of the unit was both sweet and frightening.
The nurses were smiling and welcoming, but the unit was
where people were fighting for their lives and I was fully
aware. They assessed me, which is typical, and I was
connected to monitors and left in bed. When the door closed,
I believe I fell asleep a while. When I woke, I was alone. I
turned the TV on for company and it kept telling me the
statistics of those infected with the coronavirus and those
who died. Every newscast on every channel from CBS to CNN
said the same thing:
“This many people have contracted COVID 19
and this many people have died;
this location is a hotspot and
These are the cures we have tried.
This many thinks COVID is fake;
Those Ideas have put lives at stake.
This many people are unemployed
That many people are poor;
This many families are struggling,
And these perished behind closed doors.” (Megan Davis, 2020)
It was like the song that never ends, a melody you hate but gets stuck
in your head. I was lying in the hospital and I was one of
the numbers-one of the infected. There were only two
categories being reported, so the chances that I could wind
up in the second category were ever present in my mind.
By now, I’d learned that my cousin was somewhere in the same hospital,
on a ventilator and a church member who was being tested for
the virus-this was well past hitting home. There were no
conspiracy theories that could convince me this thing was a
hoax, so scrolling on Facebook came to a screeching halt
because of all the philosophers that flooded the timelines
with ideas about 5G towers, birds and the government cooking
up servings of corona to distribute in the hood.
Every day was the same day in the COVID unit, you get Tessalon Perles (Benzonatate),
Prozac, Plaquenil (Hydroxychloroquine) and Delsym cough
syrup, yes, over the counter cough medicine. Every few
hours, your vitals are taken and you get a belly shot of
Heparin to prevent blood clots.
Facing the Odds
I was in the hospital, knowing the odds were against me. I have asthma,
I am getting older, I am overweight, and a twice stroke
survivor. I was afraid to fall asleep because I didn’t want
to “wake up dead”; I was scared to breathe because, if it
makes any sense, I wanted to save the breaths so I didn’t
need a ventilator.
Every time I coughed, sat up or used the restroom, my oxygen dropped,
and the nurses ran in my room or called me on the intercom
every time, to ensure that I was okay and to remind me to
take deeper breaths. Every time the monitor said my oxygen
was low was one breath closer to needing intubation and a
respirator.
The virus smites humanity at random, they vanish without a trace-alone,
with no one by the bedside to say goodbye. Each time I did
fall asleep, I’d wake up thinking about Marvel’s Infinity
War. Thanos, who sought after the 6 Infinity Stones, wanted
to acquire them to ultimately possess the Mind, Power,
Reality, Soul, Time and Space. Once in his possession, he
could snap his finger and wipe out half the world’s
population.
At the end of the film, he acquired the stones, and snapped his finger.
We saw people vanish into dust, and we were clenching our
chest seeing Spiderman and Doctor Strange disappear, but
when Black Panther disintegrated before our eyes, we were
beside ourselves, gasping in horror more so because he was
our people.
A film created in make believe was now my reality and I wanted to fast
forward to the good part or a happier ending than what we
saw in that film. After three or four days at Bay Park, I
was over the news and only watched HGTV, PBS, The Golden
Girls and Frasier-anything but the news. I needed to escape
reality, well, the only reality the media wanted us to see.
I knew that my thoughts had to be life-thinking to overcome
death.
Avengers Assemble
The reality was that I was a patient with the coronavirus and there is
no cure and there is nothing the doctors or nurses can do to
help you recover outside of the medications and monitoring.
You’re on your own in that room; you, oxygen, a monitor and
a HEPA purifier that captures the micro-sized corona virus
particles.
The doctors and nurses tell you to lie prone (on your stomach) which is
said to help alleviate the mucus build up in the lungs. I am
not a tummy sleeper, and the first time I rolled over, I
nearly choked myself with all the cords, tubes and monitors
that were attached to me. So I slept on my side instead.
You’re encouraged to do lots of deep breathing exercises and
to use a spirometer to measure lung capacity. When I used
the device in the hospital, I measured between 40-50 percent
of lung capacity.
The nurses are just as concerned about you as their loved ones, at least
those I encountered when I was there. Hayden, Dave, Jim,
Maggie, Ross, and my cousin’s fiance, Kim. These nurses came
in my room sighing in relief every time they saw me sitting
up, with my eyes open or answering their questions. I felt
their compassion and the spirit of hope for my recovery.
They wanted me to live.
They had so many patients on ventilators who couldn’t respond, my cousin
was one of them. Each day I could take a deeper breath, or a
bite of food, a few steps around the room, they cheered for
me like I was back on Whitmer’s track or stage. I felt the
love and excitement that I was getting better. The doctors
called every day and asked the same questions; “Are you
coughing? Is it wet or dry? How do you feel?” I remember
that my coughs were mostly dry coughs, I had mucous maybe
twice during the time I was most ill.
Every couple days, the doctor ordered my oxygen to be turned down until
I didn’t need it anymore. I remember being scared to breathe
without it, even after being discharged from the hospital. I
was told on Saturday evening that I could go home Sunday.
They did another chest x-ray and told me that my lungs were
still full of mucus, and it was like a cliff hanger because
I didn’t know if that meant I would be able to go home or if
I was going to really recover.
Homeward Bound
On Sunday, April 5, I was going home, but earlier that morning, I
learned that my cousin went home to be with the Lord. He
didn’t survive the virus. On my way home from the hospital,
my older brother was admitted into Bay Park with COVID-19.
I’d seen none of them in the weeks or month prior to any of
us contracting the virus. As I was leaving, the nurses on
duty cheered for me, my husband was waiting for me.
When I saw him, I was excited, but he didn’t look like himself. I
couldn’t tell if he was just exhausted, in shock or sick
himself. Two days later I would realize that he was really
sick, even more than me. I took him to the hospital, and he
too, had the virus.
While I was home, I was supposed to isolate from the children, but with
him being gone, I couldn’t completely. So I had to wear a
mask and gloves any time I was in the common areas. I
disinfected all hard surfaces throughout the day with Lysol.
Fortunately, friends and family brought us several ready to
heat meals and staple items that my daughter could help
make. When they tell you to isolate for 14 days and use a
separate bathroom, it is unrealistic for families who only
have one bathroom or share bedrooms. Not everyone can
shelter in place because they have to go to stores or work
or take their loved ones to the doctor if they are a
caregiver. When you have the virus, you’re at its mercy.
When they send you home, you’re still to treat yourself like you still
have the virus and your lungs are scarred from the pneumonia
and coronavirus. There’s no retesting to see if the virus is
gone, and you are still vulnerable to getting it again. You
don’t just come home and go back to life as usual.
I obsessed over sanitizing everything and every cough, or symptom, which
has now grown from three to nearly 10 is potentially a
reinfection. If you test positive for COVID 19, you really
need four to six weeks of recovery instead of 14 days. This
was more evident in my husband’s case than mine because he
couldn’t be treated with the same medications myself or even
my brother received.
The hydroxychloroquine can cause heart arrhythmias which happened to
him, so his cough persisted nearly another month after he
was discharged from the hospital and all his coughs were
wet, opposite of mine. We didn’t hug or hold hands for
nearly two months. We didn’t sleep in the same room, and our
home cleaning and disinfection schedule has been vigorous
because we have children, two of whom are
immunocompromised.
Even now, with slow reopening taking place, we tend to stay in unless we
go to the store or do drive bys at the grandparents' houses.
Our 11 year old son, who is asthmatic, had one day where he
couldn’t breathe and we thought he had the virus, but it was
the only day he had shortness of breath. The next day he was
fine. A couple weeks later, he couldn’t smell anything, we
thought he had it, but he was okay.
Our daughter had a loss of smell for at least three weeks while we were
in and out of the hospital, but no other symptom but as I
was writing my experience last week, she began having
recurring fevers and headaches. Everything stopped in time
for two days as we monitored her symptoms and treating the
fever with Tylenol.
No one wants her child to be hospitalized without being able to be there
for her! You have to have three days of no fevers to be in
the clear for not spreading the virus, she has been fever
free for one day at the time I am writing this.
As a person who contracted the virus and is still at risk because there
is no vaccination to prevent it, you’re always wondering if
the tickle in your throat or the cough you just made was
from dry air, allergies or COVID. I imagine it will always
be in the back of your mind even though you’ve recovered
from it. It’s like the Boogey Man who appears in a recurring
nightmare.
What I believe to be my saving grace was my faith, because every breath
I took was every breath I prayed for. While in that closed
room, you only have air and time to focus on it. I wanted to
get better, I wanted to see my family, I didn’t want to have
help to breathe, so I fought hard and I prayed hard.
Before I got sick, I’d been juicing, which keeps the body cleansed, so
that is why I didn’t produce the mucus that many have. I
also had caring nurses and doctors, people who wanted me to
live, who did their job, knowing the risks. They gave me my
meds on time, held my hand and encouraged me to keep
breathing. They were my heroes and I was a part of the team.
I was an Avenger, realizing that I had a part to play in my
healing too.
Though the finger of Thanos snapped, I was one of those who remained. My
husband was one, my brother was one, our church members and
friends recovered too. There were still casualties, but
there were more victories. Only now has the media begun to
share the middle category-- those who have recovered from
COVID-19. I am grateful to be a part of that number.
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