Life Is Good by Maria Bird
It was a Tuesday night; a week prior to my 54th birthday. I wasn’t able to breathe. I had gone into my bathroom to blow my nose. In the tissue appeared several shiny beads of blood. They were spread out all over the tissue. It was like looking at a firework display. I thought to myself, “My body is riddled with clots. This can’t be good.”
There was a rash across my chest. It looked like my cat put her claws into me a thousand times. As I was trying to remember when and how the cat might have clawed me, I had taken a few steps back and glanced at the mirror to see how bad the rash was. I noticed that I was pale blue. My eyes were lifeless. My own corpse was staring back at me. It was the most ghoulish image I had ever seen and I was mesmerized. It will be forever ingrained in my brain. My very own grim reaper awaiting my departure. It will haunt me for the rest of my life.
The 911 dispatcher asked me for my name. I could barely get my first name out between the shallow breaths. “I (breath) can’t (breath) breathe.” I gave her my address in the same manner. She sent for the ambulance and waited with me on the phone. I could hear the sirens echoing about a half-mile away and I told the 911 dispatcher that they were close.
The funny thing was that I wasn’t worried. While I was waiting for the ambulance to come, I made peace with my possible death. I knew I was on the verge of death and was okay. I thought to myself that I was a good person. I have overcome a lot and I have helped people along the way. I have wonderful children and grandchildren. I’ve traveled a bit. I have lived a good life and I was at peace.
A young man jumped out of the ambulance and with all the energy I had left, I screamed, “I (breath) HAVE (breath) COVID!” I wanted to make sure that he and his partner were protected. He returned to the truck to let his partner know. They grabbed the gurney and made their way to me
The oxygen mask was placed over my nose and mouth. As I closed my eyes I became very conscious of each breath I took. I could feel the oxygen rippling out through my body and my body responding, “You’re still here,” but it didn’t matter. In the same breath, I felt as though I was leaving my body at the same time and I was okay with that.
My soul and body had split into two and my higher self was sort of hovering. It was as if I were floating inside my body yet outside of my body as well. I grounded myself so that I would not drift away. I wanted to remain awake and present.
Everything seemed to go in slow motion and I had become acutely aware of everything that was happening around me...their urgency and my stillness. The ride felt like an hour but it only took about 10 minutes. I don’t live that far from the hospital. We arrived at an unfamiliar area of the hospital that looked abandoned. It appeared to me as a desolate warehouse.
“Do you have your ID with you?” asked the EMT.
Fatigued and depleted, I replied, “My bag.”
“Can you retrieve them for me?”
My eyes said it all. I was too weak to move. The EMT was hesitant to go into my bag and I said, “Wallet. My wallet.” as I nodded to him that it was indeed okay. He had found my license and insurance card.
“Hurray! I won’t be turned away.”
From out of the darkness, a woman appeared as the EMTs were carrying me out of the ambulance. “Do you know where you are?”
I said, “No.”
“You are at Orange Regional. Do you know where that is?”
“Yes, I’ve been here before.”
“Okay, so you know where you are now?”
“Yes.”
She wheeled me into the dark hallways of the hospital. Only the emergency lights were on. There wasn’t a soul around except for the nurse and me on the gurney. I thought that this was the makings for a good horror flick. Then, I thought that maybe I did die and they were wheeling me to the morgue. It was possible, right? I did see my own grim reaper in the mirror. Maybe this is what death is like? Then it dawned on me that the covers weren’t over my head and I’m still in my body (sort of). I couldn’t be dead. We reached the elevator. The elevator opened and the nurse pressed 2. Morgues are usually in the basement and we were going up. This was confirmation that I wasn’t dead after all.
I was left alone in the hallway for a few moments and then the nurse took me to my isolation cell. As soon as I was brought in, another nurse came and told me that I needed a CT with contrast. She started explaining what that was until I abruptly stopped her.
“I don’t (breath) have (breath) time. Just (breath) do it.”
I was brought down to CT. There seemed to be so much commotion but there really wasn’t. It was me being in slow-mo while everyone else was at a quick pace. As I was in the CT, the technician would tell me to hold my breath periodically. I would follow his instructions while thinking I had no breath to hold but I did my best to follow his instructions. I heard him softly say, “Oh shit.” but I already knew I was riddled with clots. I had seen them in the tissue earlier. I knew that there were possibilities of stroke, heart attack, and pulmonary embolisms and I had accepted my fate.
I was wheeled back into my room. The doctor came in with the nurse. The nurse would ask me a list of questions as the doctor was checking the scans. Whispered words fell from my lips as I submitted to the weakened state of my existence.
The nurse tried to start me on an IV. I could see the frustration during the first prick. I revealed to her that my veins collapse. After multiple tries, she managed to get the IV in, and then she would have to do the other arm.
I could feel myself fading as the minutes passed. My legs were so cramped that they felt like they were going to roll up back into my body. My arms felt that way too but I did my best to keep them held out for the IVs. For a while there, I looked like I was crucified.
My chest felt as though I had drowned. My youth was spent in Rockaway Beach. I have been taken down by enormous waves as a child. I know what it feels like to have water in the lungs. It was the same pain multiplied by 10. I could feel it throughout my chest. Whenever I would describe this pain to my Rockaway friends, they understood what I was talking about.
I could feel myself fading as the minutes passed. My legs were so cramped that they felt like they were going to roll up back into my body. My arms felt that way too but I did my best to keep them held out for the IVs. For a while there, I looked like I was crucified. There were three bags of potassium pumping into me at a time. My arms burned and I could feel the tears well up in my eyes from the burning sensation.
The monitors were constantly ringing as the bags of medication emptied. Those bags were replaced immediately. I was given shots of anticoagulation drugs in my belly.
I could feel my body succumbing to the promises of eternal rest. My eyes closed and then something occurred to me. I had two tarot readings about a month prior. Both were very much the same and both said that I would be doing well this year. With that, I thought to myself and said it out loud, “I’m not dying.”
I laugh about this now because of the absurdity but it probably (along with the medicines pumping into me of course) saved my life. I’m a hypnotist and have a great understanding that belief is very powerful. I believe I had to choose whether I was going to live or die and my subconscious mind gave me something I could hold onto...and held onto I did.
I made it to the next morning. I didn’t sleep at all. There was too much commotion and alarms going off for that. Plus, I was in the hospital. There is no rest for the weary in the hospital...ever. Multiple tests would be done. Blood would be drawn.
My arms were covered by eggplant-colored lesions. Contusions made in hopes to find a good vein. Each new nurse would look at my arms and then look at me for guidance. I would just shake my head because I didn’t know which vein would remain intact for the leeching.
The IVs were still going. Every time a bag would empty, an alarm would go off and a nurse would instantly appear to replace the bag. The nurses would inform me which bags they were replacing each time.
“This is the steroid.”
“This is the antiviral.”
“These are antibiotics.”
“This is the Covid medicine.”
And so on.
The doctor came to visit me. He told me that 90% of the people with my symptoms do not survive the night. I asked him, “So how am I doing?” He shook his head and explained that I had two pulmonary embolisms, Covid pneumonia and my oxygen levels were well under 60. Anything under 88 is dangerous. He, however, neglected to tell me that I was in septic shock. I would find that out later.
The doctor wouldn't tell me whether I was to live or die for three days. He would just shake his head and say, "I don't know yet." It was the fourth day where he said with his eyes staring directly at mine, "Okay...I'm concerned but I'm not worried."
I spent my 54th birthday in the hospital. I was grateful to make it to my birthday. I had received hundreds of birthday wishes but could barely respond to any.
When I was sent home; I could hardly walk, breathe or exert myself in any way. Even with the oxygen shooting up my nose, my levels would tank just walking 17 steps to my bathroom.
I couldn't raise my arm over my head for more than three seconds. Lifting my legs were like lifting hundred-pound weights.
My coordination was off completely. I literally had to relearn how to type, text & drive. The first time I tried to drive, I drove right into my hedges. I had never done that in my life.
I wasn't given any PT. I had to create my own exercise program so that I could regain my strength, mobility, and coordination. To get my coordination back, I picked up my crochet hook. Once I was able to do simple stitches again, I would look up new stitches to do. It took me about six weeks to get my typing skills back.
I was on oxygen for about two months. I did visualizations, breathing exercises, and singing to get my lungs back into shape. I created my own concoctions/potions to reduce the persistent cough, swelling, insomnia, hair loss, and other ailments that came with both Covid & Sepsis. One of my goals was to get through a full song without coughing. I managed to do that today. Mind you, "The Greatest Love of All" is not an easy song to sing but I did it.
I am much stronger than I was and getting stronger every day. I do still have a ways to go though so be patient with me.
Only my close friends and family knew about my illness. I decided to make it public today for a couple of reasons. First, I do not want anyone to think that I am mad at them. I'm not mad at anyone. I get exhausted easier and I don't always have the strength to keep a conversation going. This is the reason why it takes me longer to answer a text or call back.
Second, this was my second bout of Covid. The first time I had Covid, I breezed through it. I was not so lucky the second time around. It is important to me that people understand that each variant affects people differently. Stress affects the severity too. It is also important to me that people get treated for moderate to severe symptoms right away. Don't tough it out as I did.
My doctor said to me that I was minutes from death. He actually bought me a unicorn to celebrate our miracle. I am grateful to him and all the staff at Orange Regional Hospital. I am grateful to my daughtet, my son and son-in-law for getting me through some of the toughest months of my life. I am grateful to my friend, Mary, for bringing me food while I was incapacitated and all my family and friends who knew and prayed for me.
And if you made it this far, thank you too!