As of this past Monday, I’m a COVID19 survivor.
We need to take this nasty business seriously, and to do that we each have to understand this deeply: it could, and almost certainly will, happen to you or someone you love. I want to tell you my story, with the hope that it will make you even more cautious. And I hope none of you get this terrible virus.
Let me put it to you straight: If you really knew how bad this disease could be, you wouldn’t just be isolating, you’d be cowering under your bed.
HOW I GOT IT: 3 weeks ago, a lifetime ago when the world was just starting to do elbow bumps, I flew to Washington DC for a quick 3-day reunion with 3 college friends. Airports were normal, no masks or gloves, though we were religiously using our hand sanitizer; coronavirus was a distant threat. In DC it was business as usual at museums and restaurants, there had been maybe 1 case there. Planes were crowded and some people were coughing. Five days after I got off the plane, I got the first symptoms.
A Note: We have been in Charleston for a bit, so we are here until France opens its borders again. (How I wish we were in France! Here the response has been disorganized and political, full of misinformation. There, they have TWICE as many hospital beds, more doctors, a social safety net, universal health care, they are paying businesses to hold on to their workers instead of putting people on unemployment, and they have a functional government that cares about its people. But, here we are.)
So, let’s get started on what my two weeks were like, probably in more detail than is needed, but which I hope will inspire everyone to be even more cautious. But if ignorance is bliss for you, skip the hard part but do go to the bottom of this post and consider my recommendations for what you should have on hand in case your family is struck.
A Coronavirus Journal
DAYS 1 through 6
I have a scratchy throat, but I am trying to ignore it. But then I wake up in the middle of the night with a sudden serious dry cough.I have never in my life had a cough which wasn’t preceded by a head cold, nor a dry cough. So this is not normal.
I now have the classic symptoms: dry cough, check. Tightness in the chest and shallow breathing, check. A little fatigue, check. A scratchy throat, check. Poor appetite, check. A low grade fever, intermittently. But all very mild. I don’t really feel bad.
So we set up a quarantine room. I stay in our bedroom, since it's already well contaminated, and my husband takes the guest room and the rest of the house. He will cook, clean, deliver meals to me. Vino the Bambino is my companion.
Biggest worry: That Ron will get it. And who will take care of us if we’re both ill?
I try, with no luck to get tested. The hospital says, “we basically have no tests. You have to be in the hospital and critical for that.” What a great country!
We stock up on the essentials: wine, bourbon, rum. We are going to go down happy.
Here’s a bright side: I’m reminded I have great friends. I’m spending most of the day on the phone and emailing. My friends have kept me sane. Mille mercis, mes amis!!
Anxiety level: over the moon at first, then, “Yea, I’ve got a mild case! Then it goes up again as I read that often the second week, the virus can go south.
DAY 7
Mild symptoms holding, but this is the start of the week you can go downhill. I’m happy to make it to bedtime intact. But suddenly, just before bed, things are not right. In a flash I feel nauseous, fatigued, terrible. My breathing goes shallow, I develop a sudden case of diarrhea.
Now what I have come to call The Misery sets in. I cannot possibly sleep, because I can’t get enough air. I feel as sick as I’ve ever felt in my life.
The night is endless. I never sleep. By 6 am, my breathing is labored enough that I’ve decided it’s time to go to the hospital. I drag myself up, get dressed and pack a bag.
Anxiety Level: off the charts
DAY 8
Ron wakes up, we talk, and he is calm. Let’s think about this, he says. We decide we urgently need an oximeter, to measure the oxygen level in my blood, and he goes off to the drugstore to get one. My level is not in the danger zone for now, so we decide to stay put. I write emails to my sister—will she come get my cat if need be? And to our youngest daughter, to warn her to start planning about what will happen if I’m in the hospital, and Ron gets sick, here alone.
The day drags by in total misery and I’m counting the minutes as they go by. I force down a bit of chicken stock. I am so ill that I keep thinking, if this goes on for days, I will not be able to bear it. I have a virtual appointment with my doctor (who is himself under isolation in his bedroom, after being exposed), who gives me something mild for sleep that won’t suppress my breathing.
Being ill and having no one to hold your hand, and your husband banished from your side, seems the cruelest trick of all.
After an eternity, nighttime arrives. Nights are the scariest time. But tonight I sleep a bit.
Anxiety Level: too high to count.
DAY 9
After sleep and a shower, I feel almost human again. I sit up in my chair and read. Then The Misery comes back suddenly, and for an hour I am very ill. Then I rally. This goes on all day, back and forth, but there are more good times than bad.
I can see the intracoastal waterway from my bedroom, and all day, in the fine weather, motorboats are passing by, stuffed to the brim with large families or with groups of scantily clad 20-somethings, looking like they have no care in the world. Their loud rap music mixes with the sounds of sirens racing over the bridge. (They won't figure out for another week that they should close the waterways).
DAYS 10-11
I sleep late and a shower revives me, and I feel pretty good all day. My appetite is coming back slowly. I’m having lengthy coughing fits (still a dry cough) so sleeping is tough. The good news continues for 3 good days, and I am eating normal meals, if light, and I feel good. Could I have turned the corner? I don’t trust this monster, but I can’t help but be optimistic. Amazingly, Ron is still fine.
DAYS 12 & 13
I go to sleep feeling OK. And wake up an hour later feeling, quite literally, that I am going to die.
I have chills, I’m highly agitated, and I feel like I could jump out of my skin. My oxygen levels take a dive and I’m within one point of the ER danger zone. I have a fever.
The intensity passes in a while, but now I have The Misery again, and a fatigue so great I can hardly move. It’s unrelenting. I lie there, staring at the ceiling, listening to “bedtime piano music” on youtube. I can’t eat or sleep. I’m having talks with Ron on what to do in case of my demise.
Anxiety level: Terminal?
DAY 13
After two long days of The Misery, suddenly I’m feeling pretty good. It’s like that, this beast; one minute you’re in hell, then you pop back up.
DAYS 14-17
I’m feeling good. I feel like I’m in safe territory now. Ron is still fine! Then I read the new news that says you can be contagious long after symptoms are gone, so in fact you need to isolate for a total of a MONTH. So I’ll be in my prison for a while, but that’s a minor problem at this point.
We seem to be two of the lucky ones, despite my journey into the depths.
Happiness reins in our household, until we’re reminded that the world outside our window is a terrifying place. Our prayers go out to all you suffer in this time of madness and uncertainty, and we wish you and yours good health, a calm mind, and a hopeful future.
HERE ARE THE THINGS TO NEED TO HAVE ON HAND in case someone in you family gets sick, per my own experience. This thing can come on so fast, you don’t want to be making last minute runs to the drug store.
—A thermometer for every person in the house. You really don’t want to be trading thermometers around; and anyone in an exposed household needs to take their temp, twice a day, sick or not.
—An oximeter ($35 to $60) is essential. According to all the docs I’ve spoken to, including two dear friends who are ER docs and have kindly pulled me through this, it’s crucial to have one. If your reading drops too low, it’s time to be off to the hospital. NOTE: I’ve been advised that it can take some time to register a drop; so let your breathing be a guide too. If you are seriously short of breath, value that info over the reading.
—Some Tylenol, the ONLY medication approved for fever for this disease. Ibuprofen and aspirin apparently aggravate it, and check any cold medicines you have on hand for those ingredients, too.
—Some cough drops, to soothe a dry throat.
—Something mild to help you sleep and that doesn’t suppress breathing would be nice to have on hand, used only with a doctor’s guidance. Unless you're a rock, you are going to have high anxiety, and nights are the worst.
—Gather the special apps and phone numbers and hotlines set up by your local hospitals. Ours have virtual doctors who can help. You can’t go directly to the ER, so you have to contact them first.
—You’ll need gatorade to keep your electrolytes balanced if you’re not eating well, and I was drinking Ensure for a few days as well. We found these items, fully stocked, in our grocery store, so no need to hoard. In place of Gatorade, a friend recommends something from the drug store called IV in a bottle, which requires much less volume than Gatroade, but I haven’t used it.
—For calming anxiety and helping with sleep, I recommend going to a site called CALM. They have all sorts of aids and one is bound to suit you. There are relaxation exercises, music to sleep by, white noise choices, meditation models, bedtime stories read by famous actors, and more. Youtube also has peaceful bedtime music which plays for 10 hours and can give you a little something to focus on when you can’t do anything else.
Bon courage, toute le monde. Stay well and stay home. I am praying for every one of you.
xxoo
Lynn
