Reflections on A New Year: A Covid Survival Story (Part 1)

 Well...

Here we are friends. January 1, 2021. And yet while many of us talk about it being a "new year" or a "new beginning", nothing has changed. It's just Friday. We're still the same people we were yesterday. We still have the same hopes, the same fears, the same dreams, the same prejudices, etc. We woke up this morning (or this afternoon depending on our level of partying last night) the same collection of flesh, blood and bone we went to bed as the night before. We are who and what we are. Or are we?

Each and every single one of us has the potential to be and do whatever we want. We tell each other "2021 has to be a better year than 2020." But the year doesn't owe us a damn thing. The year doesn't have to be better. We have to be better. We are in complete control of what the new year brings. If it's the best year ever, we made it that way. If it's the worst year ever, it's our own fault, and we have only ourselves to blame. For me, 2021 is going to be "The Year of Personal Responsibility". I decide what happens to my life, and for better or worse, I personally accept the credit or the blame. Will you do it too?  Can you do it? It starts with caring for more than just yourself and your immediate family. It's caring for and believing in the greater good. We have to stop forgetting that the there is an entire world outside our front door. 
Stop placing the blame on everyone and everything else. No more excuses. No more scapegoats. It's time we clean up our own mess... and we help our friends clean up theirs too. Until we realize that things aren't just "the other person's problem", things are going to continue to be everyone's problem. But together, we can solve the problem. Or, at the very least, we can get closer to a solution.

Enough of my preaching... Let's do this!


As many of you know, I was recently hospitalized for a little over a week, being treated for Covid-19.  I will not get into the discussion/debate about the virus here. I'm not here to lecture, and I'm not here to push any kind of agenda. I'm only here to tell my story, and what I've learned on a personal level from it. What you do with the information is your decision (but this is MY blog, and in the end, I have final say over what comments get approved or deleted).

On Sunday, December 13, my mother and I drove down to my sister's place in Allentown to celebrate Hanukkah as a family. (No, it wasn't a mass gathering, Only me, Mom, my sister, her husband, and her kids, and at the time, we were all negative for Covid and asymptomatic). Looking back, I will be the first one to admit that we shouldn't have gone. But, we all make mistakes, and I am fully owning up to mine. (part of that Personal Responsibility thing I mentioned earlier). On the way home, I started having some minor stomach pains. Nothing I hadn't ever experienced before, so I didn't worry too much about it. We got home. I used the bathroom, took some Tums, and all was well. The next day, I felt sick as a dog. I thought I had picked up a 24 hour cold & flu bug. So, I treated it aggressively. Cold & flu tablets, Tylenol and/or Advil for the fever. Zinc Lozenges, Orange Juice, lots of water, etc.. On Tuesday the 15th, other than a lingering dry cough, I felt great. I guessed it was just a 24 hour flu after all. That evening, I did my weekly live streaming show on Facebook, and even though I was still coughing and ended up shredding my voice, I felt fine and got through the night. The next day, however... the fever came back with a vengeance. I couldn't seem to wear enough clothing, and I was freezing. Then, I would take some Tylenol, and when the fever broke, I'd be covered in sweat. I was either shivering with cold, or burning up like I was in a sauna.  Of course my mind went to a scene from the movie "Walk Hard", where Dewey Cox is in Rehab, trying to get clean from drugs, tossing and turning in bed, screaming "I'm hot and cold at the same time!", and a doctor shouts, "Nurse! He needs more blankets AND LESS BLANKETS!" -- at least being sick didn't affect my sense of humor.

Finally, on Friday night the fever had dissipated for the most part. But, I noticed that I was starting to get a bit short of breath. Believe it or not, at this point, I still didn't think it was Covid. Because I had been following all the precautions, and aside from going to my sister's the week before, I hadn't been anywhere (other than the store-masked up, of course) since mid November. Actually, I felt like I was coming down with bronchitis. I had all of those same symptoms back in late 1997 when I quit smoking for the first time (managed to stay smoke-free for 3 years.... but that's another story). So, I asked my mom to take me to the ER the next day. I figured that if it was Bronchitis, they'd give me a Nebulizer treatment or two, and a prescription for Prednisone, and send me home. I'd be good as new in a week or so. When I got to the ER, the took me back and the first thing they did was a rapid test for Covid. Guess what kids? I tested positive. The Doctor told me that I did exactly what I should have been doing in treating the cold & flu symptoms earlier in the week, and they sent me home with a "Covid Care Package" (a Pulse Oximeter, a Digital Thermometer, and a bottle of Tylenol). They told me to keep an eye on my temperature and my Pulse/Oxygen levels. If my Pulse/Ox dropped below 94% and the fever came back, I should come back to the ER immediately.

The next two days are a bit of a blur. I can't begin to explain how quickly I deteriorated between late Saturday afternoon and late Monday morning. On Monday, December 21, my fever jumped back up, and my Pulse/Ox was down below 94%. I wasted no time, and asked my mother to take right back to the ER. I had the foresight to pack my laptop, phone charger, and some other stuff into my backpack, just in case I'd have to wait a while (little did I know). It turns out that the ER was absolutely slammed that day, and apparently, I was supposed to go to the triage tent outside (and slightly uphill in the parking lot). There was honestly no way I could walk to the tent. Thankfully, someone got a wheelchair for me, and they were able to get me registered there in the ER, rather than having to go up to the Triage Tent. I ended up sitting in the wheelchair in the waiting room for almost the entire day because they were so busy. When they finally got me back to a room, they did another set of Chest X-rays (the first being done on Saturday), and ultimately I was admitted to the hospital.

The following eight days were constant cycle of pills, Heparin injections (in my arm, because even with all my tattoos, I still have issues getting needles in my belly), techs coming to draw blood for labs (it got to the point where I wouldn't even wake up. I'd just life up my arm in my sleep and say "take however many pints you need"), Vitals, pricking my finger to check my blood sugar and IV's.  I was given a course of Steroids, a course of Remdesivir (one round per day for five days via IV), and a round of Plasma therapy (also via IV). From what the Doctor told me, I was just this side of being in Respiratory Failure, and ending up in the ICU on a ventilator. I was also lucky that I got to the hospital in time, before what was in my lungs developed into Covid Pneumonia. I won't lie to you, my friends. Those first two days/nights in the hospital... I was absolutely petrified. I was scared, and I cried. And, I was alone. They ended up putting me on high-flow oxygen because my Pulse/Ox level wouldn't get above 91%. I kept frustrating the nurses and techs from Respiratory, because I was determined to use the bathroom myself, and I'd have to take my Oxygen hose off because it wouldn't reach the bathroom. Luckily, I only needed to be connected to my IV for the Remdesivir treatments each morning. The rest of the time, I was unhooked. But Wednesday was a very low point for me. It was just a bad day... I couldn't get to the bathroom, and was left to use the bedside commode... Don't worry, dear Reader. I'll spare you the details... But, at that point, survival took priority over dignity. The next few days saw me sleeping as much as possible, and letting my lungs heal themselves. I stayed on the High-Flow oxygen for another couple days, and on Saturday, the Doctor told me they were putting back on regular Oxygen. I was responding VERY well to the IV treatments, as well as the Oxygen, and we started talking about a discharge date. At this point, I asked him if I was going to need a CT Scan. When he said no, I asked if I could finally get back on my Metformin and Glipizide (for Diabetes). He said, "Absolutely. No problem". Once I was back on those meds, my blood sugar levels started getting back to normal. Also, once I was on regular Oxygen, my Pulse/Ox levels stabilized at about 96%-97%. So I was able to take the tube off and use the bathroom myself again (score 1 for personal dignity again). Finally, on Tuesday afternoon, I was discharged from the hospital. My sister picked me (and my mother) up and took me home. I'm on oxygen here at home for a few days (or weeks) until I'm back to 100%. But, I'm feeling better every day.

I have a lot more to say about all this, and I will put the rest of that in Part 2, because this post is rather long... But, I have two last things to mention here.

Firstly, from the moment people found I went to the ER the first time, up until, well now... my phone has not stopped with Facebook Messages, Texts, and Calls from people checking in on me. Some people have been checking in with me every day. I am so thankful and grateful to each and every one of you. Thank you all so very much. I will touch on this more in my next post.

Finally, a few people have said to me that I "have kicked Covid's ass". While I appreciate the cheerleading and the sentiment. I can not take credit for kicking anything's ass (again, that Personal Responsibility thing kicking in). I have to say, that every Doctor, Nurse, Aide, Tech, Orderly, and employee at Geisinger Medical Center here in Danville, PA, along with every single person that called, messaged, sent me their love, offered their prayers, gave me strength, and wished me well.  YOU are all the ones that kicked Covid's ass. YOU are all my heroes and angels. You did all the work. 
All I did was survive.

But I would, and could never have survived without each and every one of you.

Until I see you for Part 2, I leave you with gratitude and love, now and always...