Page 121 - FDCC Pandemic Book

Living in a Pandemic: A Collection of Stories on Coping, Resilience & Hope
gasping so hard that he could not really make out any words other than “Doug” and “dying.” It so happens that he is the retired Chief of Staff at the best hospital in town and still had enough squeeze to get me one of the few remaining beds at the hospital and one of its very best neurologists to undertake my care.
By the time I arrived, I was floating in and out of consciousness (mostly out) and memory of my week’s stay is episodic and poor. They did a rapid result COVID test when I arrived and, within minutes, I recall looking up at the nurse from the gurney in the hallway to learn that it was negative and I would be taken straight away to a non-COVID floor. From there, I can only describe my stay as one best experienced with a limited ability to perceive. I was poked, prodded, had needles stuck in my head, in my spine, in my arm, oxygen strapped to my face and was shoved in and out of MRI machines like a Christmas goose basting in the oven.
When I was visited by physicians, it was reminiscent of an alien abduction scene from a bad sci-fi movie. An unrecognizable being (physician) came in my room with a cadre of subordinate beings (residents), all draped in floor length gowns, wearing face shields, masks and gloves. They circled my bed, with only the physician allowed to talk, the residents simply observing me as one might observe a dolphin washed up on the beach that may, or may not, return to the sea. I knew who and where I was, and why I was there, but otherwise one moment in time evaporated into the next and night into day, without recognition or demarcation.
Tests and procedures were scheduled, and then delayed, because of high demand placed upon the facilities by COVID patients. I was too weak to feed myself and learned what it is like to be the object of care, rather than the subject of care. Nurses came in to feed me and answered their cell phones while shoving bites of broccoli into my mouth; “Hey, I’ll hit you back. I’ve gotta feed this guy” without ever speaking directly to me or ever really looking at me. For the busy staff, I was a room number not a person. They were stretched to the breaking point.
Every hour, when my shift nurse came in to check my vitals, I asked, “What is my temperature now?” Several days into my stay one finally replied, “ninety-eight point four.” My fever had subsided. It was several more days before I learned that I had viral encephalitis, origin unknown. Origin unknown because they could not perform the diagnostics soon enough to determine the etiology before my white blood cells Pac-Maned the bad bugs. Thankfully, I was never contagious (other than perhaps to a horse if I had equine encephalitis) and never put my family at risk of contracting my debilitating disease. Seasonably, my admitting physician and FOB (friend of brother- in-law) advised that my test results were surprisingly good and he anticipated a slow, but complete recovery. He turned to leave my room and move on to the next patient in the 98% full hospital when I asked, “Can I go home?”
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