COVID-19

I contracted COVID-19 twice. And it nearly killed me. This is my story
and the story of thousands of others.
Exactly one year ago, COVID-19 was still a new buzz word. It was full
of unknowns and fear as state by state, country by country, we went
into full lock downs. I am a flight attendant so I continued to work
flying national guard, doctors and other essential workers. I wore a
thin paper mask. And in April 2020 I contracted COVID-19. I was
scared, everything was unknown and people were dying. I quarantined
at home and waited with fear. However, apart from a few days with
difficulty breathing it seemed to be mild. I went back to flying and
thought, “Ok I’m fine and I can’t get this again. Besides, I must be
healthy since it didn’t get me that badly.” And I relied on this thinking
as I donned my paper mask and hit the skies again.
In September I decided to transfer bases to Denver, CO. I moved with
excitement and hope for a new start in the midst of a world pandemic.
Then in October I started a 5 day trip with one of my favorite captains.
We joked around and went out for dinner with our first officer. It
almost felt like a normal few days in the world. But by the end of the
5th day I felt something might be off. It felt like I had the start of an
ear infection, not one of the advertised symptoms of COVID.
After work I headed to a clinic just to be sure I was ok. They took my
temperature and it was 100 degrees and climbing. It was there that I
was surprisingly diagnosed once again with COVID-19. I was
frustrated. Because now I would be alone for another 2 weeks. I just
moved to a new state...this was when I should be focused on exploring
and making friends. It felt like an inconvenience; how naive I was.
Things quickly deteriorated. Each day revealed a new symptom. The
worst fever and body aches of my life. My body shook through the
night and the numbing sleep I hoped for wouldn’t come. The ear ache
continued to throb. Then the deep coughing started which constantly
racked my entire body and burned my already sore throat. A migraine
pulsed and my whole world became a dark painful fog. When I did
sleep I would wake with an alarmingly numb left arm that caused a
strange arthritic ache in my middle finger. The pain continued to pile
up on itself each day.
Trips to the bathroom were frequent, I could no longer keep any food
in. So for 16 days I did not eat. Weakness took over. I was utterly
exhausted and helplessly incapacitated. Getting a drink of water from
the sink 10 feet away was something that I had to prepare for as an
emotional and mental trek. And that’s the thing, the sickness reaches
you mentally as much as it does physically. Every day a symptom
added on, but none dissipated. It slowly broke my will to fight. It felt
like I was playing mental chess with an evil intelligent alien living
inside of me. And it was winning.
By the second week I started runs to the ER. And each time I would be
given a quick fix and sent home. First I went because I was severely
dehydrated without the strength to lift my head. They gave me two IV
liters and sent me home. The next night I broke into sweats, could not
catch my breath and grew faint when I tried to stand. The ambulance
came. It turned out to be low potassium levels shutting my organs
down. They gave me potassium and sent me home again. Each time I
was sent home I felt more helpless, scared and alone. I continued to
try to fight.
And then I started spitting up blood into my bathroom sink.
“This never ends well in the movies,” I thought to myself, and
went to the ER once again.
I was given my first chest CT scan and the technicians started to
whisper urgently to one another. Again I thought, “This doesn’t sound
good.” The scan revealed lungs full of blood clots, pneumonia and
COVID scarring. My oxygen levels dropped dangerously low anytime I
moved. They admitted me into the hospital where I went on 24/7
oxygen for the next 2 weeks. I tried to stay very still as my oxygen
machine would beep danger every time I moved. A commode was
placed next to my bed since I was unable to walk the 8 steps to the
bathroom. I barely remember those first days as I was in and out of
consciousness. When I was awake I quietly cried to myself in the dark
room. My doctor told me later that I was inches from death.
It was the hardest time of my life; not knowing if I would make it to
the end of each day.
But here’s the thing, the battle didn’t end when I left the hospital.
“One study states that about 10% of people who’ve had COVID-19 (3
million) will experience prolonged symptoms... This group, which
many refer to as ‘long-haulers,’ is mixed with those who experienced
both mild and severe cases. And this condition can effect anyone-
young, old, those who were healthy, those who had a chronic
condition, those who were hospitalized and those who
weren’t.” (Cleveland Clinic article, updated Jan 26, 2021)
Once home I was able to do small things like sit down to bathe myself,
and pour a bowl of cereal to eat. But I was no longer “me”. I could not
cook, I could not leave my house, I could not talk on the phone
because my lungs did not have enough air for conversation. I had to sit
up to sleep each night and hook myself up to oxygen because my levels
would drop while I slept. I was constantly exhausted and scared. My
journey each day would be the steps to get from my bed to the couch.
When I finally did venture to leave my home, I cried when someone
removed their mask near me. I cried the first time I heard an
ambulance siren. I found myself crying often. I was once an active,
adventurous and thriving woman. I became a shell of myself.
Now I am 6 months out and I finally have the distance to be able to
talk about the experience. It has been a continued journey. Frequent
doctor visits that do not result in any clarity have been disheartening.
But I made it through and I am healing. When I was frustrated that I
could no longer do and be the things I formerly was, my doctor said,
“Jess, you have been through something very traumatic and your body
needs time. Be patient and kind to yourself.” My lungs seem to grow a
bit stronger each day now and I realize he was right.
I think maybe that is how it will be for all of us. It will take us time and
patience to heal. So much grief and loss has been experienced this
year. And we are all working through the stages of grief. Denial. Anger.
Bargaining. Depression. And eventually Acceptance. We are all in
different places of that grief journey; maybe part of the journey is in
acknowledging that. And having compassion for each stage that we are
in. For ourselves and for our neighbors as we work through this
together.