Covid Took My Husband...

I’ve said it before (and was probably met with eye rolls) but it bears repeating.  Covid stole my husband.  My heart is broken. My family has been shattered by this and my glue supply is running short.

My patience with those who refuse to acknowledge the reality of this pandemic ran short a long time ago.  I’m angry but I do appreciate those of you who are “just exercising your rights as an American” to be so blatantly uncaring and closed-minded because I can more easily identify and avoid you now.

Let me be clear about this:  my husband’s death certificate does not mention Covid-19.  During his nearly year-long hospitalization journey, he had dozens of negative Covid tests.  Never once, during any of that testing, was he ever given the antibody test that I asked for repeatedly.  You see, I am certain that my entire household had Covid in December of 2019.  Of course, at this time, no one had ever heard of Covid and we thought we must have had the flu. 

Months went by before we learned about this pandemic and the common symptoms.  To a one, our experience matched – loss of taste, extended fevers, extreme exhaustion, etc. My daughters and I were otherwise healthy so we rallied with rest and time.  My husband, a kidney transplant recipient, was already compromised and wasn’t able to fight.  Of course, we didn’t know what we were fighting and there were plenty of things to blame.

You see, as a transplant recipient, he was on a plethora of anti-rejection medications.  Many of these have their own side effects.  He was not diabetic prior to transplant but one of his medications commonly brings about diabetes.  So when his legs were swelling and he was retaining fluid, that’s where the doctors’ attention went.  When his vision was failing, that was also blamed on medications.  When, after the nation was already on pandemic shutdown and he couldn’t go to a doctor’s office, we headed to the hospital.  Thanks to this new medical crisis, he walked in alone to the emergency room and was admitted.

That was the last time he walked without assistance.  Several swabs confirmed that he was not positive for Covid so he was parked in a room and barely touched.  Assumptions were made about his health without communicating with him.  There was no communication with me – his wife – and no questions were asked about what brought him there.  It was decided that this must be kidney failure, so surgery was scheduled to put in a dialysis port.  This surgery was postponed repeatedly because he had a high fever that wouldn’t break.  Test after test finally revealed fungal meningitis on his brain. A series of antibiotics were tried and tested until they found one that seemed to work. They proceeded with surgery and sent him home.

Let me just remind you that he was parked in a hospital room for weeks by himself.  At no point was he ever gotten out of bed and he received no physical therapy.  When he was wheeled from the hospital to the car, he fell.  We got him in the car, drove home, and he fell again.  Strangers in our neighborhood helped us get him into our house.  A home care nurse came and sent him right back to the hospital because he wasn’t safe at home.  Back in the hospital, fever returned and new tests revealed more about the infection he had and new – very expensive – IV medication was tried.  This would need to be administered by an infectious disease doctor and it became clear that he couldn’t safely exit or enter our home.  Another week went by – alone – while a physical therapy center that could accept him and administer the medication was found. 

Transfer to this center is the first time our daughters and I were able to see him in several weeks.  We transferred him to the PT home door.  Because of the pandemic, we couldn’t go inside, he couldn’t have visitors, and he was sent to quarantine with more nasal swabs and more time absolutely alone without physical therapy.  This was his life.  This was our life.  There were small steps forward.  There were occasional lights at the end of the tunnel, and he was finally able to return to his home.  In home physical therapy got him back on his feet with aid of a walker.

That sounds like progress, right?  Not really.  He never truly returned.  He’d lost about 150 lbs of muscle.  He was weak, he was depressed, he was terrified and he made several trips back and forth to different hospitals, for new reasons.  Always with isolation and very little communication.

Over time, more information about Covid was revealed and we were able to connect the dots.  The hard part was getting the doctors to see beyond the chart to actually see the man in the bed in front of them.  During a later hospitalization, visits were actually permitted.  I finally got a doctor to hear me and order tests that had been overlooked.  That’s when it was revealed that the man in the bed – my husband -  had suffered a handful of strokes.  Medication wasn’t being administered as it should be and that is why he was hallucinating and talking to people who weren’t there.

And so it went.  In and out of hospitals with no advocate.  A patient too weak to ask or answer questions.  Nurses too overwhelmed to see the human being in front of them and doctors too busy to care.

I realize how that last bit sounds.  I don’t blame doctors, nurses, or hospitals for the suffering my husband endured.  That blame lies squarely on the shoulders of a microscopic virus that invaded the globe and wreaked havoc on millions of people around the world.  Those millions had families and friends, and even total strangers who cared about them and who are lost without them.  I’m told that it’s OK to be angry at a virus.  But that doesn’t feel right.  My anger Is reserved for the selfish hordes who refuse to recognize that they have a part in this.

I have been vaccinated, my children have been vaccinated.  I still wear masks in public because I believe in science.  I believe in personal responsibility.  I believe that I AM my brother’s keeper.  If that small effort of covering my nose and mouth with a thin piece of cloth can protect the health of others, I’m cool with that.  If that small “sacrifice” allows my children to go to school, to see their friends, to have a regular life, count me in.

Know this, though:  If you are one of those folks who are too selfish, too important, too ignorant, too uncaring, etc. to give a damn about your fellow human beings, I see you.  I’ve taken note and will be backing away from you.  It’s really that simple.  It wasn't kidney disease, or meningitis, pancreatitis, or any other "itis" that took him away from us.  It was loneliness, isolation, exhaustion and sundry other things unleashed by Covid-19.  If you need a face to believe this is real, I'll send you a picture of my husband.