A Covid Story

 So it started in early March...all this talk, all this noise, all these "facts" being thrown around about this "new virus". The novel coronavirus...covid-19....I remember thinking, "really? This is worse than flu? People get really sick from the flu. It can't be worse." Then people started getting really sick, and worse than that, oddly sick. Sick in a way that modern medicine wasn't able to keep up. The hospital I work for started getting very serious and very nervous more quickly than I anticipated. We started paying attention,  I mean, REALLY paying attention. We started learning the new policy changes, and there were MANY.  The policy changes and the fear surrounding the unknown was incredibly draining. 

The uncertainty of the end of the kid's school year, and the eventual realization that school wasn't happening this spring was daunting as well. Then the "summer" came and all of the shutdowns and opinions and hate made for a LONG "vacation". Fast forward to the start of school and a new resurgence of fear and unknown policies started coming out of the schools. Teachers began asking the questions that we healthcare workers had  been asking for three months....more frustration. More debating.  More hate. 

We began to worry about mental health, and rightfully so!! Our elderly population, our children, our parents working and "teaching" from home...we're all going crazy. We crave socialization, even if only in small doses, it's just human nature. I began to allow my kids to do more with their friends. They needed it, right?! I was being a good parent. And you can't live in fear, right? I mean my family learned that in a horrifying way. So, how bad could it be? They understood my demands for mask wearing and were always compliant. They wash hands, socially distanced, and didn't argue when I asked them to refrain from some larger gatherings.  

And then...in the darkness of the early morning as I got up to go to work...."hey Shannon, before you leave will you take my temperature." Here we go. It was 99.9. But if he was asking, I knew it was legitimate.  So we did what I felt was responsible, called the health department, called our places of work, and got my husband Jeff tested as soon as the facilities opened. I planned to stay home from work only until he got a negative result. He was positive. But even before we found out about his result, I began to have symptoms. They were so subtle I was convinced it was the power of suggestion. Low grade fever, like 99.0 which is not considered a fever by most standards anyway, but I did also feel fatigue. But hell, I've got 6 kids and a full time job. Then the headache came. I was tested the next day. For the record, my initial result was negative. However, I knew I wasn't negative my symptoms, although still mild, persisted. I'm still so grateful I didn't go to work with that initial negative. My coworkers and patients deserved that precaution. 

The first 6 days of our illness was pretty mild. We were tired but nothing worse than any regular cold I've had. We oddly got fevers the same time every day but never very high. In fact, the highest either of us have ever gotten is 101.  The odd thing I found with a covid fever was that even though it was low, I felt that general malaise and all over pain rather quickly.  But still, very manageable. In order to shorten our children's quarantine as  much as possible and obviously in an attempt to keep them safe, Jeff and I moved out to our shed behind our house. We were very fortunate in our ability to do this and we're grateful. The only amenity we really didn't have that we needed was a bathroom, so we just masked up, told the kids to leave the room, and used our master bathroom in our bedroom. Our kids were never allowed to use it so only Jeff and I were being exposed in there. It worked well. But it was walking this distance that eventually helped me to decide that maybe I was declining. I noticed that it was getting more and more difficult to make it to the bathroom and back without taking long breaks afterward. This continued through days 7-8 and I actually went to the ER for lower oxygen saturation and difficulty breathing while walking. I was sent home thinking that was probably the best idea. But I was about to find out that this thing can change as quickly as they say. Admittedly as a nurse, it took my primary physician nearly scolding me and telling me to go back in before I finally decided to go.  After several hours of tests, it was determined that I'd be admitted to the hospital. However, I don't believe the physician on at that time believed it was necessary based on my numbers. At this point, it didn't matter to me. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat because I didn't have enough oxygen reserve to get me through chewing. And whether my numbers were reassuring or not, that's not living. 

One of my biggest concerns about going to the hospital was my children. For all of them, illness and a need for medical attention of any kind means death. For them, people actually die and they all know it. I couldn't hug them. I couldn't reassure them. And even Dad couldn't offer comfort because he too is still quarantined in our backyard shed, unable to overcome daily fevers. 

So no, I'm not in the ICU. And yes, this is certainly "survivable", but I've gotta tell you, it has been anything but easy. Luckily our support system is incredible. We want for nothing. Our kids are loved and cared for from afar. Thanks to technology, in moments that I'm able to speak, I can facetime my kids and give them some smiles in hopes of alleviating some of their anxiety. 

I am on oxygen at all times. I have antiviral iv medication, antibiotics, steroids (and now routine insulin because steroids have made my blood sugar too high for safety). I'm on vitamin c, vitamin d, and zinc (and if I were you, I'd take those now just because). I leave my bed only to use the restroom. I'm unable to be up long enough to wash myself because it's too much work so I do what I can. Before covid, I was walking daily at least 2-3 miles and beginning to get back into running again. I cannot imagine getting back to that level of function at this point. 

I'm not looking for sympathy. I'm not even looking to lecture. I just want to give people a picture. It's a real picture from a 38 year old, relatively healthy nurse who "knew" what to look for as far as signs and symptoms. And let me tell you, I would have been wrong. Dead wrong. This is like nothing I've ever experienced before. And I'm just as frustrated and annoyed by quarantine too. I want so much for my kids to get back to "normal life", but I will NOT mess with this. Please consider increasing your vigilance, at least for the next few months. You don't have to be a complete recluse!! Just be smart! Wear a mask, wash your hands and distance!! Don't attend things that are truly unnecessary. And do masks work 100% of the time? Of course not. But they're a better defense than nothing. Just know that when they call you with that positive result and you start tracing back through your contacts, you will feel much better about your life if you didn't unnecessarily kiss a baby, or touch an immunocompromised person. You do not want to be the reason someone is lying over the end of their bed, gasping for air, and being truly terrified that their lungs are just slowly betraying them. Believe me, you don't.   

My nurses have been wonderful, and I will be a better nurse for having this experience. They are so kind and compassionate and caring. They're frustrated with the level of care their patients require, because they still see such a lack of care for safety in the community. They're covered in protective equipment all day long. They've listened to my cries of frustration, wiped my tears, and reassured me that I'm not crazy.  I never realized how much I rely on physical touch. We hug a lot in our home, just randomly throughout the day. But it's such a normal thing for us that I clearly took it for granted. I haven't felt actual human touch in a week. And it's one of the most bizarre feelings I've ever experienced. I don't wish it on anyone. 

Now, I don't mean to be all negative. I am truly grateful every single day that it is me lying in this bed and not my children. I know what it means to sit at your child's bedside and beg God to allow you to switch places, and for that prayer to go unanswered. I will take this a million times over if it means sparing them. Give it all to me. I will take it every time. They have no symptoms. And I do not take that good fortune for granted. 

While I don't know what recovery will mean for me, how long it will take, nor how many lifelong issues I may have as a result of this insult, I do believe I will turn a corner eventually. There will be a day again where I don't have to take breaks between sips of water in order to catch my breath. There  will be a time I get to wrap my arms around my  kids, my husband, and my very best friend. I won't have to see her through pictures and notes to me on the smoothies she sends me daily because she knows I don't have the energy to chew. Someday my kids won't have to ask me when they get to see me again. It will happen. It won't be today, but someday soon. 

Love and peace to us all as we navigate this most uncharted territory. Love your neighbors and even strangers enough to care about their health as well as yours.  We are all part of the solution.