I felt like I came
late to the party. I was exposed to COVID so many times before I was finally
diagnosed with it the week of October 11th. My mom had it and was
hospitalized for two weeks. Some of my siblings had it; they waited it out at
home and were okay. I wasn’t admitted to the hospital until October 19th,
and my experience was – shall we say, interesting. I learned a lot and am still
processing what happened.
I really don’t
know where I picked up the virus. I had traveled to the Midwest to spend Yom Tov with my parents, and shortly
after I returned to Baltimore, I attended a friend’s wedding – masked, of
course. I work in a health care facility, and we had some COVID cases, so it is
kind of crazy that it took so long for me to get it. In the building where I
live with my roommates, there were people who had Corona, but we didn’t catch
it. We were being really careful.
* * *
I started by just
feeling fluey, like I had a cold, and I knew that with these symptoms I
wouldn’t be able to go to work. So, Sunday night, I went to get a COVID test at
STAR-K’s Hatzalah testing site. My rapid test came back negative, so I waited
until Monday to get the PCR (nasal swab) results. They came back positive. I
also got tested at work because all employees have to get tested weekly, no
matter what your job is, to protect the patients. That, too, came back
positive.
When Dr.
Levenbrown of Hatzalah found out that I had tested positive, he called to ask
if I had any questions. He was very helpful. He gave me his number and every
day after that I knew I could reach out. He would text me and ask how I was
feeling. When I was at the hospital, he was involved and helped me with
decisions that I had to make. It was so helpful. I don’t know this man from
Adam, but he was so compassionate. Knowing that he wanted to help me merely
because I was a part of our Jewish community felt really, really special.
At that point, I
was still feeling like I had the flu; I had fever and stayed in bed. As the
week went on, it was getting worse. I had a bad headache, I couldn’t get out of
bed, and I had no appetite. It was rough for my apartment mates, who had to
quarantine. One is a student and had to miss a lot of school.
The following
Sunday, I woke up around 1 or 2 a.m. I was having trouble breathing. I never
experienced that before so I didn’t know what was going on. I felt like I had
just gone running; I was sweating and I couldn’t catch my breath. Of course,
being a young person, I went on my phone and googled, “What does it feel like
to be short of breath?” I texted my apartment mates to see if they were up, but
they didn’t respond. I didn’t want to wake them up. I knew they wouldn’t be
able to come with me to the hospital anyway. I also texted my sisters who live
in town, but they weren’t up, either.
Initially, I
thought I would just wait until the morning to call Hatzalah, but 10 minutes
later, I decided I better make the call. I went outside and sat on a bench outside
because I wasn’t sure if they would be able to get into the complex. While I
was waiting, I saw a lot of colors blurring together off and on. I kept
thinking people get COVID, go into the hospital, and don’t come out! That was
very, very scary. I was crying a lot. I felt so alone.
Hatzalah came very
quickly. I was so impressed by their professionalism, the efficiency, the calm
– just trying to do everything they could to make me most comfortable. Hatzalah
is the sunny light on my entire experience, even though it was just minutes of
my whole saga. They were really incredible. Right away, they put oxygen on me
which eased a bit of the angst. They asked me which hospital I wanted to go to.
I told them I didn’t know or care. (In retrospect, I learned a little bit about
hospitals.)
Even in the
ambulance, although I was sure I had COVID, I wasn’t 100 percent sure that I had
made the right call regarding going to the hospital; I apologized for having
them come. It was really scary and I was crying. They reassured me that I had
done the right thing and no apologies were necessary. Hatzalah stayed with me
in the ER until I was put in a room, which was really comforting because I was
completely by myself. Even though they were just random guys I didn’t know, I
felt connected with them because they were caring for me. I want to be part of
the organization, I thought; I want to associate myself with them.
* * *
When I got to the
ER, things were pretty quiet. I was brought in right away to have my vitals
checked, up my oxygen, and go for a chest X-ray and CT scan. They upped the
oxygen to seven liters. As a hospital liaison, I knew that that is a lot of
oxygen to be on, for those not able to breathe on their own. I was thinking
that 27 is a really young age to die. I suppose I should have called my parents
and woken them up, but I didn’t want to make them worry. (Of course, my mom
screamed at me afterwards that I should have.)
In the ER, they
put me in one of their new remodeled rooms. Every nurse who came in would say, “Oh
my goodness; you have a new room!”
I would say, “I’m
dying; can we not talk about that?”
There was a door
that stayed shut, so whenever anyone came in, they had to completely suit up
with all their PPE (personal protective equipment). I’m sure it was not only
time consuming but annoying. So any time I pressed my call button to ask a
question or get something, I was told, “Okay. The next time a nurse comes in,
we will make sure we get that to you.”
That room was like
a barrier. I felt I was being watched in a cage, almost, through the
see-through glass doors. It was a really weird feeling. People would look in on
me and mouth things to me through the glass. I felt like a spectacle.
* * *
My breathing
started feeling better in the ER, thankfully. It was not until morning that I
was admitted and put on steroids and other medications. I had pneumonia,
although I did not know it at that point. There were no beds available, and I had
to hang out in the transitional area for 17 hours. It was upstairs, sort of in
a hallway. The hospital seemed extremely short-staffed. No one came to take my
vitals for at least 90 minutes.
At that point, my
family knew what happened. My numerous siblings were calling the hospital. The
hospital staff was annoyed with their calls and with me; it was a mess!
A nurse came in
and told me my sister was on the phone and wanted to know what was going on.
When I gave the nurse permission to speak to my sister, she asked me, “Don’t
you know what is going on? Can’t you tell her what is going on?”
I said, “No, no
one told me what is going on.”
The nurse said, “Well,
you have pneumonia, and you have COVID, okay?’
I meekly said, “Okay….”
One of my
apartment mates dropped off my phone charger so I could be in touch with my
family, since my phone was dead. That was really helpful. I had no idea how
long I would be there, and I needed my phone to call my family and the rest of
the outside world.
Around 2 a.m., all
of a sudden, someone woke me up to move me to a room on the fifth floor. It
would be my home for the next week. I was really grateful to have my own space
with a door that could be shut; having my own bathroom felt luxurious, although
I was sleeping the whole day. My body needed to sleep. The steroids definitely
played with my brain. Even a week after leaving the hospital, I felt like I was
in a different world. Everything was in question. I am still processing what
that weird feeling was all about.
I had some nice
nurses as well as others who didn’t appreciate being at work. I was really at
their mercy because no one was allowed in. Even my friends who work in the
hospital were not allowed into my room. There was a frum infectious
disease doctor who was just wonderful; he came in every day, just to check on
me and make sure I knew what was going on. That was very, very comforting.
Lying in the
hospital bed, you hear announcements over the loudspeaker system. I would hear a
lullaby every time a baby was born, and also the Code Blues. It was so jarring
to lie there, attached to all these tubes and IVs, hearing a baby being born
and, shortly after, wondering what was going to happen with each Code Blue life
in the balance. Thank goodness, I was making progress, but I kept thinking how
life is so precious. In the blink of an eye, anything can happen.
* * *
I have forgotten
so much of what I went through. There were days I just cried. Sometimes I
didn’t know what was going on, or I felt like they weren’t communicating with me,
and I couldn’t advocate for myself. I was very weak; I couldn’t even reach for my
water from my bed. I would press the call button and the nurse would come in
and ask – with an attitude – “What do you need?”
All I could think
of was, I don’t want to be here right now, and if you are in a helping
profession and you don’t want to be helpful, you should not be doing this job!
I always tell our facility residents and their families, “If anyone treats you
in a way that makes you the least bit uncomfortable, I want to know about it
right away because there is no excuse for it. We want to know about it so we
can take care of it right away.”
Shabbos was really
hard. Never in a million years did I think I would be in a hospital bed with
electric candles – the same ones I deliver to my patients. Because I have
diabetes, my special diet didn’t allow me to get any food from Bikur Cholim,
including Shabbos food. I ate a tuna sandwich for the Friday night seudah.
I cried a lot that Shabbos. My siblings sent me flowers with a beautiful card.
Every time I was having a hard moment or they were sticking me again for the
one-hundredth time, I looked at the flowers on my nightstand. They brought me
so much comfort, knowing that people were thinking of me. I sang zemiros
to the flowers. The magazines and books that my friends dropped off were a
helpful distraction, but it was rough. It was very strange not being able to be
connected to anybody; I was on my own.
I wish I would
have journaled when I was hospitalized, but I wasn’t strong enough. I do
remember wanting a towel to take a shower. I was told they would bring it when
they brought my lunch and took my vitals. But I was frustrated; I went out into
the hallway, and everyone freaked out. The nurse came running, yelling, “She’s
in isolation!!”
I said, “I just
need a towel, guys.” They gave me five; it was great.
As the week went
on, it became clear that I was making progress and I would soon be going home.
The last day that I was there, I was offered a special drug, Remdesivir, to
help with the pulmonary inflammation. I asked, “Isn’t it a little bit late?
I’ve been here for a week.” My doctors told me it is more beneficial to take
this drug in the beginning of the sickness, although they weren’t even sure how
beneficial it would have been. In addition, I would have had to stay in the hospital
for another five days after getting it. I was already going out of my mind
staying in bed for so long, so I declined.
The steroids
apparently made my blood sugar numbers shoot up into the 500 to 600 range, and
they had to give me insulin. That part was really scary, because my numbers are
never that high. I control them really well. Friends were dropping off healthy
foods like salads for me, and the hospital wouldn’t allow it because they said
I was on a special diet. I was extremely frustrated. A patient advocate called
me to say, “You know, you are a diabetic and you should not be receiving these
kinds of foods.” I was crying.
The communication among
the departments was basically not there. Endocrinology did not see me until the
day of discharge. It was a mess. I was really happy to go home. Before I left,
I spoke to the hospital patient advocate to let her know how things went. I
wanted to do my part so the hospital can improve. One of the things I mentioned
is that the kitchen sent up sandwiches and lasagna with three different side
starches; I had to tell them that I am a diabetic and my sugar was extremely
high. Were the nurses not talking to the kitchen or nutritionist?
One nurse was
exceptionally nice. She even made me a little party with lots of balloons
before I left on November 1, and when my sister came to pick me up, she put on
a celebratory song while wheeling me to the car. It was really sweet. I was
crying as my sister gave me a hug. I hadn’t been in physical contact with my
family for a long time – or anyone, except for people sticking me with needles.
That was so, so emotional for me.
* * *
My COVID
experience presented, and continues to present, me with a rollercoaster of
emotions – being lonely, being scared, being grateful. Why did I deserve to
come out of the hospital? I am still thinking a lot and still processing. Why
did I have to live through this? What am I supposed to learn from this? Why did
Hashem choose me to go back into the world? What is my job?
The word community
has a whole different meaning to me now, too. So many people reached out to me
– even those I am not in contact with every day. The sense of caring I felt was
beautiful and kept me going, although I am still processing letting people help
me as I am not used to being on the receiving end. One of my neighbors was
fantastic; she baked cookies for my nurses every day and delivered them. That
definitely made an impact on them. I understand that in the healthcare field,
employees can often feel unappreciated. Someone bringing in cookies says, “Hey,
I see you.”
I am definitely
feeling stronger every day, but I am not completely back to myself yet. I’m
taking things slow as I ponder the tremendous perspective I’ve gained. I have
learned not to take the people in my life for granted, not that I think I ever
did. And I am so grateful to Hashem;
I feel like I want to offer Him a korban (sacrifice). I don’t know how I
can ever properly thank Him for giving me the opportunity to have life.
