It's past time for this post...

I had Covid last October. I nearly died. I've been meaning to write down my experience for months now, but it has been too fresh and painful to try to relive it. The time has come to face what happened head on and truly deal with my experience. So here goes nothing:

 October 14, 2020

 There's a wildfire burning out by Mona, so my lungs feel a little tight. Nothing new there--it's been a summer of wildfires, with most of the west coast burning at some point. I've spent the past four months with asthma symptoms, so when my sister Krystle suggests we can pears that night, I agree. I confidently proclaim, "Asthma, not Covid," when I start coughing during the peeling and cutting of the pears. 

 We spend several hours across the table from each other, and bottle some beautiful fruit. I'm tired and wheezing slightly, but that's to be expected. My first clue that something may be wrong wrong is when I stand up to leave. I feel dizzy, and my whole body aches. This does NOT feel like asthma! 

 October 15, 2020

 I wake up feeling like I got hit by a MAC truck. Luckily, it's fall break and the kids are home from school anyway. I call the local hospital and schedule myself a Covid test at their drive in facility. Then I throw on some shoes and drive myself over. 

 The man in full hazmat gear walks out to my car when I get there and call to let them know I've arrived. He sticks that swab so far up my nose, I feel like he's scratching the top of my head with it. And just when I think it can't go any further, he goes that extra 1/4 inch. Yowser! I make some inane comment about at least buying me dinner first, we chuckle a little bit, and I drive off.

 As I drive away, I start sobbing. I'm in so much pain, and I already know in my heart that this is Covid. When I get home, I make a Facebook live video about feeling like hot garbage and being worried it's Covid. I can't bring myself to walk into the house. Literally minutes after finishing the video, I get the call from the infectious disease nurse at the hospital (she's also a family friend, and one of the nicest people I know). She gives me the bad news. I have Covid.

 I sit in the car and digest the news. I think about all the places I've been in the past week.  It's a short list, since we've been hyper vigilant about the virus.

  In the end, I call my mom as a precaution. I have been massaging her hands daily, but I've insisted on doing it outside and both of us wearing masks the entire time.  She thought it was silly, but humored me.  Now she doesn't think it's so silly, as she is sitting in the car with my 87 year old asthmatic grandmother when she gets the news.  

  The hard call is to my sister, Krystle.  Throughout the pandemic, they've been the only people we have socialized with as normal.  We made a conscious choice to do it, for our mental health and theirs, but now I have to call her and tell her I have Covid and her whole family has been exposed.  Her husband has Cystic Fibrosis.  I have to face the reality that I may have just killed my brother in law.

  I call my husband to let him know.  He calls his boss, and is IMMEDIATELY sent home from work.  Essential worker at a grocery store, so he could literally infect thousands of people in a day at work.

  It's only been a few hours since I got my diagnosis.  I've taken care of the necessary business and have started to try to isolate from my family.  I'm feeling worse by the hour, and my temperature is already at 101F and climbing.  I'm trying to manage this like it's "just a flu," but it's not enough to keep me even comfortable. I go to bed alone, as we are trying to avoid me giving the virus to anyone else in the hopes that their quarantine won't need to last as long.

October 16, 2020

  I'm burning up!  Every time my cocktail of Tylenol and Ibuprofen starts to wear off, my fever spikes to around 103F. I can't get comfortable, no matter what I do. I'm trying to stay in my bedroom, but it's unbearably hot.  I take over the front porch, and keep putting cold cloths on my head.  They dry out completely within about ten minutes of application.  My entire body aches.  Every single joint is swollen, even with the anti-inflammatories. Even without the fear of respiratory complications, this is almost unbearable. 

  While I am writhing in agony on the front porch, my superstar husband sets up my "plague room." He moves our small TV in there, and lines up a big row of trashy novels at the foot of the bed.  He gets my nebulizer ready for use.  I have all the drugs on my nightstand. He moves all of his pillows, vitamins, books, and chargers out.

  I spend the entire day either lying down or shuffling slowly to the bathroom.  Trying to stay hydrated.

October 17, 2020

The respiratory symptoms are kicking in.  I've begun using my maximum dose on my nebulizer (thanks, ShaNeil, for getting it for me on your Amazon review group) and applying my TENS unit pads to my neck to help with the muscle pain from coughing.

  I THINK this is the day when the nausea started to get bad and I lost my sense of taste and smell.  Drinking fluids is getting difficult, and eating is pretty impossible. I'm trying to force fluids, and friends and family are dropping off drinks to try and help.  Every kind gesture nearly brings me to tears.

  This is also the day (I think) when I find out that my much loved brother in law has tested negative for Covid.  Even though I am so sick, I'm so relieved.  There's a good chance that I haven't killed him after all.

  I post a picture of myself using my nebulizer with face mask (my preference, because then I can have both hands free during my breathing treatment) on Facebook, and one of my "friends" accuses me of faking it for attention / a political agenda.  Really??

October 18, 2020

It's a bad night.  I can't sleep well, and start hallucinating.  I literally can't tell the difference between my dreams and reality, and at one point I find myself lying on the hardwood floor of my bedroom because I think that it's a good idea.  I think I'm just severely dehydrated because of the nausea and sweating.  I wake Martin up, and tell him "I think it's time to go to the hospital." It's about 5.30am.

  We get to the emergency room, and I'm seen pretty quickly.  They test my O2 sats.  Low 80's. The hallucination wasn't from dehydration, I guess.  Though I AM also dehydrated.  I'm admitted to the hospital.

THIS IS WHEN THINGS START TO GET REALLY FUZZY!

  This day is a little bit weird in my brain.  I think I went into the emergency room on my own and Martin went home.  I KNOW he couldn't come to my hospital room.  I think they did a chest X-ray, but I don't know the result.  I know I could eat, because they were giving me anti nausea medication in my IV, and what I mostly had was Jell-o and soup.  I did another Facebook live video. I tried to do the breathing exercises they had given me, and it hurt SO BAD! I talked on the phone with a lot of people, because it usually helps my lungs clear out when I'm having a bad asthma attack.  That seems about right.

October 19, 2020

This day is very similar to the day before--at least to start with.  I lay in bed doing nothing for most of it.  More attempts at breathing exercises. More talking on the phone.  The supplemental oxygen keeps needing to be turned up.  My GP comes to see me, and we discuss Remdesivir.  He tells me it costs about $5,000 per treatment, and I will need a minimum of three treatments.  The hyperventilating helps my O2 sats a bit, and I agree to try this experimental drug.

I get the bad news that the hospital doesn't have enough Remdesivir for my treatment, but they are expecting a drug shipment later that day.  Treatment can't start yet, so I just have to wait.  I spend as much time as possible in a prone position, but it's starting to not be enough.  Even with nearly full flow supplemental oxygen, my O2 stays in the low 90's.

Night shift starts, and I am being checked on every four hours or so.  The nurses are NOT prompt with my asthma inhalers, and in the middle of the night, I am almost completely unable to breathe.  I frantically press the call button, but there is no response.  I feel the beginnings of a panic attack, which I know will only make the breathing worse.  I force myself to calm down and focus intently on my breathing.  I breathe in joy and breathe out toxicity.  My mind fastens on one joyful thought, and it sees me through the next hour or so.  I picture the face of my beautiful nephew, Horatio.  He's usually such an Eeyore, all doom and gloom.  But occasionally, when something goes well, his whole face lights up like a beacon and he radiates pure happiness.  Horatio, you saved my life tonight!

October 20, 2020

  This day blends into the last one, with the shift change and a nurse finally coming to check on me and give me an inhaler to use.  I'm so angry that I nearly died in a hospital without anyone knowing it!  But my oxygen is so low that my brain isn't functioning well enough to express that anger.  And I don't have the energy for it, anyway.

  My room becomes a hive of activity now, as the Remdesivir didn't arrive in the drug shipment and I am on the verge of needing to go on a ventilator.  At least, looking back now, that's what I'm inferring.  In the moment, it's a blur of people running in and out of my room, speaking in hushed tones, while I ramble distractedly about how the ceiling looks like it's covered in undulating blobs of peach and fluorescent green. 

Someone tells me that I'm being sent to another hospital.  One with an ICU.  I text Martin and ask him to get some things together for me and see if my mom can bring them over.  He cant' bring them since he's quarantined.

  The EMT in the ambulance is Marty from high school.  It's so nice to see a friendly face.  He opens the windows of the ambulance as we speed to the nearest hospital with an ICU bed available, 50 miles away.  I watch the sunrise, and drift in and out of consciousness even though I am on bipap oxygen.  I think to myself, "At least I got to see one more sunrise."  I think I'm dying.  I probably am.

  We are greeted at Timpanogos regional hospital by what seems like at lease a dozen people.  I am rushed up to the cardiac care unit, which they have converted into a Covid ward since the regular ICU's have been overrun with Covid patients.  Immediately, I am fitted with a high flow nasal canula which forces warm air into my lungs (the hospital in Nephi had me at 10.  They started this one at 40).  They are so blocked at this point that I know this must be what water boarding feels like, but I know that if this doesn't work, I will be ventilated.  And I know that most patients on a ventilator end up dying.

  Another team comes in to insert a PIC line.  That's not an experience I'd care to repeat.  But the medicine they're about to start giving me makes it necessary and it IS more comfortable than a standard IV. Once it's in.

  Oh, and they inserted a catheter. At least I won't have to get up to pee.

  By mid afternoon, my condition is more stable.  I am able to communicate briefly with friends and family. They've started me on Remdesivir and Dexamethasone.  Later, I will find out that Dexamethasone is an end of life steroid given to dying patients to relieve cranial pressure.  It's probably why I needed the pic line. It's about six times stronger than the steroids I normally take for my asthma.  I'm not getting better, but I'm no longer getting worse.  

  That's something!

October 21, 2020

  I spend most of this day lying in my hospital bed, completely focused on breathing.  I mean that, too.  It literally takes every ounce of energy I have just to force my lungs to work.  Decades of practice with different breathing techniques for my asthma are literally keeping me alive right now. It feels like familiar territory.  It's worse than any breathing problems I've ever experienced, but I'm used to breathing through the pain.  So I think about how I don't want to miss out on all of the milestones still to come in my kids' lives.  I think about how much I love my husband.  I think about all of the simple joys in my life.  And I make myself take every single breath. I fight for my life.

  My doctor approves me for convalescent plasma.  I'm the first patient in this hospital to receive it, and my nurse tells me how lucky I am to be getting it.  It's not available to everyone, and the most perfect set of stars have just aligned. I bless the fact that the lab where they make the plasma has a great working relationship with my doctor, and the fact that I am usually so very healthy even though I'm packing extra pounds. No diabetes, no high blood pressure, perfectly functioning thyroid...just terrible lungs.

I receive the convalescent plasma late that afternoon, right after my second Remdesivir treatment.  It looks like egg yolk, and I am acutely aware that I'm having people parts injected into my blood stream.  I have a brief "Soylent Green" moment, before I say a quick prayer of thanks for the people who generously donated their plasma to the cause.

While I'm receiving the treatment, a news alert pops up on my phone.  Remdesivir has been officially approved by the FDA for the treatment of Covid-19.  Experimental treatment no more!

  I start to feel...better.  Maybe.

October 22, 2020

A lost day for me.  Honestly, I don't remember much of anything.  I know it was another day of fighting for breath.  I also know that this is the day they started bringing me protein shakes with my meals because I wasn't eating enough.  The night was significant though.

  I'm lying in bed, trying to sleep, when the night nurse comes in.  He's chatting to me as he checks everything, and he asks how I'm feeling.  I take honest stock of my current situation, and I tell him I'm feeling a bit better.  And I start to sob again.  I grasp his arm and gasp, "I'm going to get better, aren't I!" And it's not a question.  I know I'm going to get better.  I know I'm going to live.  I feel hope for the first time in nearly a week.

October 23, 2020

I'm getting better.  I sit in the chair in my room to eat my lunch.  I have my catheter removed. I play a few games on my phone instead of just staring at the ceiling trying to breathe. I get taken off the high flow nasal canula and put back on regular oxygen. My sense of smell is starting to come back.  I'm very aware that I haven't showered in nearly a week.

  We start to talk about me going home.  Possibly tomorrow!

October 24, 2020

My doctor makes a flying visit (most of my care has been provided by nurses, who are absolute heros in my book). She assesses my O2 saturation without supplemental oxygen and promptly writes a scrip for home oxygen along with blood thinners and steroids.  

  I contact my sweet Martin and tell him to come and get me.  The nurse helps me gather up all of my stuff.  I have the final bag of IV Remdesivir.  Martin phones when he gets there, and I am wheeled down to the hospital entrance.  Then Martin helps me into the car, and we set off.

  The view when we crest the hill south of Santaquin and start to drop into Juab county is perhaps the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.  

  I feel like a stranger in my own home.  The bathroom is so far away!  I take THE BEST SHOWER OF MY LIFE. I'm exhausted, and little do I know the hard work that's still ahead of me.

Here's the thing...

If a year from now it turns out I was wrong to believe the science and the advice of experts, what have I lost? So I spent a few months living like a hermit and planting a garden, and I looked like a fool with a jock strap on my chin when I did the grocery shopping. If you were wrong, you may have passed on a virus that killed somebody. All things being equal, I know which one I'd rather be.

Just a typical day during soccer season...

Yesterday was pretty crazy. Dylan went to visit his girlfriend (yes, girlfriend) over in Ephraim. Elizabeth's older sister came and got Dylan in the morning, and we picked him up in the afternoon. I got up early to give Dylan a haircut (he wanted to look cute for his girlfriend), since I am my family's official Covid-19 hairdresser. I've cut everyone's hair but my own. So Edith and I had a very lazy day, but things got crazy around 2.30pm. I picked up some paperwork from Krystle's office since we don't have a printer, then dropped it off at the hospital for our doctor to sign. Then it was back home to pick up Edith and Martin. We drove to Ephraim to get Dylan, rushed back to Nephi to pick up one of Martin's soccer players, and drove to Spanish Fork for a Shooters game. Since we had a non-family member in the car, we drove there and back with masks on. It kind of sucked, but that's the only way I'll let a stranger ride in our car. The game was fun. The girls played well, and we beat the other team 3-1. Edith is such a joy to watch. She gets really stuck in, and can reach so far with those long, long legs of hers. I'm not thrilled that Martin is coaching two teams, but it'll be good once the kids are in high school. They'll be better players for it. Anyway, after the game, it was a quick drive home to drop Lilly off and get Martin kitted out to play in his game. He went to play, and I took the kids to grab some dinner. Edith ate her dinner at his game, but Dylan and I ate at home. Soccer season is so consuming. We have Cook Camp this weekend, but Martin and the kids are going to miss almost all of it because of the autumn friendlies. I'm pretty angry about that, but feel like my hands are tied. Between Martin's two teams and Dylan's team, we have six games to go to on Saturday. I"m not planning on going right now, but we'll see. The thought of 30+ people congregating for a full weekend kind of fills me with anxiety already, so I may use the games as an excuse for some alone time in the car. We'll see. It's only going to get busier, but we had so many months of doing nothing that I almost don't mind. Sheltering in place was hard!

My hands are shaking as I type this...

I just got back from dinner at my sister's house. My awesome brother in law made too much curry (as if there IS such a thing) and he invited us up. The meal was amazing, but the news was not. A couple she works with have an active COVID-19 in the house. They've carried on as usual, going to work every day, cheerfully not wearing masks. I am furious. If Blaine gets Covid, he will probably die. It sounds so terrible, to spit it out so baldly like that. But truth hurts. So does knowing that your irresponsibility killed someone. I hope he doesn't get sick, because it would be terrible to know that someone died because you couldn't be bothered to stay home for a few weeks.

A change is as good as a rest

So they say, and they are right. Today we went to Sugar House to visit with some friends, Mike and Dani. We had a very responsible, small, outdoor gathering. Mike grilled burgers and made mojitos (virgin for us). It was a lovely get together. We were able to forget that things are crazy for a little while. As we were leaving, I got to vent a little bit to Dani about my frustrations regarding mask wearing. I got a little overwhelmed, and I started to cry. She hugged me, and though I know it wasn't the smartest thing to do, it was so necessary. Life right now seems to be a balancing act. I'm carefully walking a fine line between physical and mental health. I'm teetering between keeping the kids active and happy and mitigating risk. Everything is more complicated, and it's starting to take its toll. Even on the days when I seem ok, this miasma of darkness is simmering just below the surface. Sometimes things actually are ok. Yesterday I made a batch of chokecherry jam from the trees on our property. It was hot and sweaty work, but I was so pleased with the results. When we go swimming in Burraston ponds, I have hours at a time when all is well. Card games or Guitar Hero with the family make me so happy. Any time we spend with friends or family (or family who are best friends)brings me real joy. And the vegetable garden...oh, the vegetable garden! But they don't sink deep enough to break up the gloom. Eventually, reality comes crashing back. The distractions are too few and far between. I think I need to schedule things to get a ripple effect going. And i definitely need more hugs.

To mask or not to mask, that is the question.

Except it's not really a question.

When stuff first started to look really bad for the U.S. in regards to Covid-19, the CDC and NIAID told regular Joes to not wear masks, because there was a serious shortage of PPI for people working in hospitals and treating Covid patients. You know, because most of the stuff came from China and they were basically on a lock down and nothing was getting shipped overseas. But as the supply line was fixed and as we learned more about the virus, we've been told to mask up.

The science and the anecdotal evidence backs it up. Covid spreads via respiratory droplets being expelled by an infected person and inhaled by a healthy person. Wearing a simple cloth mask contains most of the droplets, thus reducing the spread of infection. So everybody should wear one, right?

Apparently not.

Martin has been wearing a mask to work every day since the CDC officially recommended it. He hates it, but he does it. In fact, he's been doing it for so long now that he doesn't even hate it any more. It's just a minor inconvenience, and it keeps me from harassing and begging him to grow a beard. That must be nice for him.

I basically didn't set foot off my property for the better part of three months, nor did my kids. But since we started venturing out, we always mask up if we're going indoors. We're more chill in outdoor settings, because recirculated air is a bigger problem than outside, especially if you can't "socially distance."

I'm part of the 1-2% of people who will potentially have major problems (up to and including death) if I get Covid. But the thing is, wearing the mask does little to no good for me. If I want to be protected, the people around me have to wear the mask. And they freaking won't!

The government has said we should (though President Trump refused to wear one up until last weekend). The WHO, CDC, NIAID, and various other scientific research groups have said we should. In Utah, even the Area Presidency have asked us to wear a mask. And yet people are refusing. They're saying that mandating masks is infringing on their freedom. They're listening to, watching, and quoting alt-right conspiracy theorists about the so called "dangers" of wearing masks. They are saying it's too uncomfortable, they hate it, they're even throwing out the old pro-choice slogan, "My body, my choice."

I could die from this disease. I'm 41 years old. My kids are not quite 13 and 11. I'm generally healthy, but have had asthma since birth. And apparently, my "friends" neighbors think it's ok for me to die because they suffer from some claustrophobia if they cover their mouths and noses with a little strip of fabric?

People are saying that those of us who wear masks are "living in fear," to which I say OF COURSE I'M LIVING IN FEAR! I am not a germaphobe, nor am I afraid of life. What I am afraid of is dying at the age of 41. Of not being around to see my son go on his first real date. Of not being there to help my daughter when she gets her first period. Of missing out on fully half my life because someone didn't want to be "controlled" by a government agency, so they breathed their asymptomatic germs into my face and sentenced my family to a life without me. Show me one single person who isn't afraid to die this young. I dare you!

Obviously, this is a sensitive subject for me. I get really emotional about it. And I recognize the fear of those who think they are being controlled. I recognize it, because I've felt that deep dread low in the pit of my stomach ever since the schools were shut and the governor urged everyone to "shelter in place." I don't want anyone else to feel that way, ever. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. But now they are insisting that if you are immunocompromised or high risk, you should just stay home. To which I say, I've stayed home for the better part of six months, because we didn't understand the virus. Now we sort of do, and if everyone wears a mask while out in public, I can safely leave my house for the first time since January. I've done my time. So if you can't wear a mask, how about YOU be the one to just stay at home. It's your turn now.

The one that I'm struggling with the most right now is the Church request. They sent out a letter almost two weeks ago now, asking that all members in the Utah area wear masks indoors and outside in public when social distancing isn't possible. When they sent the letter out, I literally cried tears of joy. It was the answer to a prayer. Finally, our religious leaders were going to encourage the members to be kind and decent and do the "Christian" thing to help each other. But the members have lashed out, been disgusted, rolled their eyes, said the church was turning into a "communist" church so they'd have to leave now, and said they won't be controlled. This from people who don't drink, smoke, do drugs, have premarital sex, AND give up 10% of their income. The Church LITERALLY controls everything they do. But this one step, covering your face when you go out in public until virus rates fall dramatically for the sake of the elderly and immunocompromised, THIS is the one that gets you?

I've had times when my beliefs have wavered. I've had times when I stepped away from my faith. But I've always come home to my religion because it is just that--coming home. And I believe the things the Church teaches. I will never leave because of the doctrines, the rules, the slightly strange things we do, the amateur and unpaid clergy and teachers. I will never leave over tithing, or the Word of Wisdom. I never left over three hour church. But right now, the lack of love and kindness and consideration of the members is making me rethink everything.

I'm holding on out of sheer stubbornness right now, but my grip is starting to slip.

Sometimes, the sadness is a relief. At least my tears wash away some of the anger and bitterness.

So the whole world has turned into a gigantic dumpster fire...

...but I feel fine?!

J/K. Not fine at all.

So for posterity's sake, we are currently in the middle of a global pandemic-Covid-19. It first showed in in the Wuhan province in China, but quickly spread throughout the whole world. The U.S. was slow to respond, due in large part to our president, good old Donald J Trump, and things have been completely mental since, oh, maybe late February. Check the date. It's mid July as I write this.

The kids have been out of school since the 13th of March, with distance learning happening until late May. The unemployment rate in this country has more than tripled. There's been a government stimulus payment of $1200 per adult for every American. Huge metropolitan areas have been shut down for months. The current death toll in the U.S. is 141,000. We currently make up 4% of the world's population, but have around 25% of the world's cases.

Covid-19 is a respiratory illness, so my asthma puts me in a high risk category for serious complications or death, so I've basically been a hermit since the end of January. I think I might have already had it back in January, when I got really sick and my doctor told me to self quarantine. Back then, we weren't really sure how the virus worked and didn't have any good tests for it, but antibodies don't always form so a test would be unreliable at this point.

So there have been protests by people who think the virus is a hoax planned to ruin Trump's chances of reelection. There have been protests about widespread closure of businesses. There have been protests about wearing masks. People have just been fighting like crazy.

Add to that mix the death of George Floyd, a black man essentially murdered by cops who were trying to arrest him for allegedly writing a bad check (they kneeled on his neck for nearly nine minutes, yo! It was really hard to watch), and the Black Lives Matter movement basically exploded with righteous anger. So rioting happened, unidentified military people have been removing protesters from the streets of Portland, Oregon and Seattle, Washington (I think). People have been fighting about the BLM stuff. People have been blaming a non-existent terror organization (Antifa) for the rioting. People have been fighting about defunding the police.

Sensing a theme here? People are fighting. All. The. Time.

So welcome back, blog. I need to express my thoughts right now, but in a format where I won't fight with people. My emotions are barely under control, I'm a hot mess, super anxious, depressed, you name it. So I need to write it all down and purge my system so I can stay friends with people and maintain my sanity.

Now that the catch up is complete (sort of), I can start writing about my feelings. Another night. But soon, because my usual space for self expression has been hijacked by angry trolls.

It feels good to be writing again!