Consequently covid

 It’s now been 111 days (to be exact)

since the Preacher was released from the hospital and the solitary confinement he weathered in the covid unit.  His experience and my inability to be there with him, for him, has changed our life in some crazy ways. To save you worrying about my grammar skills know in advance that I simply refuse to capitalize the name of this sinister and diabolical virus... the corona virus.

It all began the week after Thanksgiving when midway through the week the Preacher had a scratchy throat and was slightly feverish.  Thanksgiving weekend had been busy and full of food, birthdays, semi final football and preaching twice that Sunday. The discomfort he felt was akin to what he had experienced with strep throat.  He also had nausea that continued to increase over a couple of days. By Saturday the nausea had become so severe that he wanted to go to the ER and see about getting some type of medicine for it. They required that he be covid tested even thought the only symptom he had was the fever. Within thirty minutes the nurse stood at the door of his “room” with a paper sign that she had written covid +. She had been in the room with us getting him an IV of anti nausea meds and taking vitals prior to this, now she would even step foot inside. All of the sudden he was considered to be contagious.  Mind you I had been in close contact with him the entire time and had also had no symptoms. A doctor and a “working on being a doctor” person finally came to talk to us after we had been there for about 4 hours.  Their treatment plan included a narcotic (Tussionex) later I learned that this drug can kill a child if they accidentally ingest it. He was also prescribed a steroid and an albuterol inhaler.  I should tell you that the Preacher has been ill only a handful of times in the 24+ years we have been married and the strongest thing he has taken is an antibiotic (except for pain medicine for dental surgery). So having this menace diagnosis and meds he has never taken before we were banished to our home for quarantine.  

Hindsight is currently kicking me in the teeth.  Little information was given to us about the extreme side effects of these medications and that if someone had that diagnosis how important it was for the patient to be up and moving around - not sleeping a lot. When we got home later that afternoon the Preacher began to experience shortness of breath. It seemed completely random and ironic considering he had no had anything like that prior to being in the ER.  (In the ER they made us wear masks) I did not know prior to this but in reading found that the anti nausea meds they gave him via IV can cause lethargy and shortness of breath.  The tussionex also causes a depressed respiratory and nervous system.  The inhaler on the other hand can cause shakiness in the legs, arms, hands or feet, trembling, fast, irregular, pounding or racing heartbeat of pulse, cough and difficulty breathing.  Is anyone else seeing a disaster looming? 

Within about 52 hours the Preacher would begin having some serious problems with breathing. The details are etched in my mind. It was terrifying to awaken to my husband shaking and trembling unable to calm down. After an hour of foot rubbing, loads of blankets and me noticing he was blue around the mouth. (Insert freak out face) I called 911. 

The Preacher spent 8 days in the hospital. Eight difficult, isolating, frustrating days. Scary days. Alone. 

I had to quarantine as I had been around him the entire time leading up to his getting diagnosed and now they wouldn’t let me come to the hospital and see him. The world that has been consequently covid ruled is a darker, more fear filled world. The hospitals that “help” covid patients have as much if not more fear than those of us on the outside. Care for the Preacher was below average.  We did everything we could to get him out as soon as we possibly could.  

I would not wish this experience on my worst enemy. By the grace of God we got through it.  If you are reading this know that you have to be an advocate for your family member.  It’s vital.  It’s life or death.

That day

 Walking up to the front desk I realized this could take lots of minutes. The room was full of masked faces. Is this really the world I live in now? As I move up one spot in line someone caught my attention and said “can I help you?” Anxious I walk up to the counter and ask if I can go to the room my husband is in. She inquires who I’m looking for.  I tell her the name and she leads me down a hallway to a room that holds my husband as well as the doctor, nurse and a med student. Dr Something-Something was mumbling about being proactive and that he believes blah, blah, blah, then yaddah, yadda, yadda and my vision narrows as he begins to explain what he thinks is the likely diagnosis of the enlarged lymph node on my best friends’ neck. He notices my expression and his dialogue becomes more upbeat and positive. (Does he recognize this look in my eyes?)

I look at the Preacher and he is listening and smiling with his eyes and nodding his head. Proclaiming that he is a fighter and understands when Dr So and So says “know that this will not be a sprint but a marathon.” To his credit the Preacher stays positive and shares that he has run marathons and understands what Dr Such and Such is telling us. 

I feel frozen in time. Tears burning the rims of my eyes I can’t even breath. He finished up his discourse regaling to us that he will be in Colorado with his kids and wife the next week or two so it’s likely his trusted nurse will call us with the “news”. What does that even mean? Does he realize how his comments make him sound like a pompous, affluent, out of touch jerk?  Okay so I’m a little testy at this point. When medically scary words get tossed around like confetti it’s like someone singing silly songs to someone who just lost their dog.

He shakes the Preacher’s hand, then mine and waltzes out the door. The nurse leads us to another room to make appointments. Ms. Doing-Stuff is tappity tapping away and asking the most mundane questions. It’s taking everything inside of me and the grace of God to not yell at the woman when she informs us that the Preacher has to be off blood thinners for 5 days prior to the biopsy... my brain exploded. I explain to her that no one has indicated anything like this in the 3 weeks leading up to this appointment. She looks pensive and the Preacher looks at me as of to say “It’s okay, I will be okay”. But I DON’T feel ok right now. The snails pace that they are handling this is frustrating me. I want to tell her if it was her family member she would understand. It’s like December and Covid all over again. Spinning wheels inside my head with so many questions. And no answers.

The timetable of the medical world and the insurance world is no respecter of men. She schedules the appointments and we rise and walk out. I try to stay calm. I want to warn all the masked faces peering at us, to get ready for a less than stellar visit with Dr Such and So. I don’t. I take the Preacher’s arm and keep walking. 

I swallow the tears and ask God to help me not fall apart on the one that needs me to be strong with him, for him. He smiles and tells me it’s going to be alright. He reminds me that all of us have numbered days and that he wants to enjoy all the ones God gives him. I know he’s right. I love him even more than I thought possible. I still want answers. We arrived in separate cars so we leave together, alone. 

Driving away I can hardly think. Right now I’m angry. For lots of reasons. Some of them understandable by anyone. Some of them known only to me. Time slows down. I go to Harp’s. Buy some things I don’t need. I can’t find the list I had. Madness, sadness, questions and overwhelming tiredness. 

It seems possible to surrender all of this to the Lord after some hours of quiet time and the prayers of family and friends. Decision made.’Not mine to carry. “His yoke is easy, His burden is light’.  Therein will I remain.