Six Months into Mid Life

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If you are on social even for ten minutes a day, you know that it is full of memes. There are people ‘out there’ that are very talented in creating memes that can become viral for good and not so good reasons. One meme from a while back was How it started, How its going. Basically two funny images (or even personal photos) of a before and after scenario in life.

You might be thinking to yourself, why is she starting off this blog with an explanation about memes. Well, as a storyteller, this is part of the set up of the story.

On December 23, 2020 I came in close contact with a person who had tested positive for Covid-19. Of course I had to go and get tested, which I did the next day. Not that there was much going on in terms of ‘holiday plans’ but I did have plans with my bubbled household to spend Christmas with them and probably New Years Eve as well. When you have been in close contact with a positive person, even if you are negative, you have to be in isolation for 14 days. Which is exactly what I did.

The truth is being in isolation wasn’t such a stretch for me. I was pretty used it in January. Leaving the apartment once a week for groceries, an occasional bagel run, and perhaps to the deli. Because we were in a stay at home order I wasn’t even having dinner with my parents (well after isolation of course).

While I was at home in isolation I started to think about my upcoming birthday and approaching 50. I opened my journal and made a brainstorm list of blog ideas to do a countdown of 50 thoughts on 50. I was looking forward to starting the posts on Feburary 1st and blog daily up to my birthday on the 27th. Great plan, right? I thought so.

The goal was to write 10,000 words before my birthday at the end of the month. I wrote my first post on February 1st, setting up the tone for the month and to get my creative juices flowing. The same day as my Covid symptoms started. I had no idea on that day what I was about to hit me, literally like a ton of bricks. All hope of the blog countdown to 50 went out the window as fast as it started.

I have shared parts of my Covid journey here in The Lisa Chronicles, some on social media and if you are friend of mine, you know much more of the story and my journey. A journey that has sparked a new list of 50 thoughts on 50 the past six months.

Six months, 12 months, 18 months. This is how long we have all been in the stranglehold of this pandemic. Life is starting to look different than it has. I have enjoyed the few patios I have been able to enjoy with friends that I haven’t seen in a long time. I can tell you that my ‘foodie’ spirit hasn’t recoved from the pandemic and my covid experience after six months. Nothing tastes the same. I don’t really talk about it, but if you have had covid or know someone that has lost their tastebuds I have two words for you, it sucks.

To bring this post back full circle I will leave you with this:

How it started: January 2021 – 50 thoughts on turning 50 – never started

How it is going: August 2021 – six month later, more than just 50 thoughts on turning 50 coming your way to The Lisa Chronicles soon.

I am not going to set a 10,000 word goal this time. I am going to write when the keyboard directs me.

Until then, stay safe and please if you haven’t gotten your shots yet, please be like Nike and just do it.

Locked Down

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Anne Frank spent 761 days hidden in the secret annex. If you have been to Amsterdam and taken the tour of Anne Frank House, climbed behind the bookcase up the tiny staircase to the secret annex you know. As you are listening to the story on your headset “Anne” is telling you about how her father used to bring her magazines from the time with all the celebrities and what was going on at the time. He brought her glue and let her glue them to the wall. You turn the corner and there is a wall, covered in clear plexi-glass and behind that you can see all the photos and articles glued to the wall. I am not comparing Anne Frank to Covid, please do not misunderstand the context. The context was really to appreciate the length of time she was hidden away to this time in our lives.

I have been careful what I have shared about my hospital experience last month. Careful for many reasons. Firstly I want to respect anyone who has had family in ICU during Covid and has experienced trauma loss. I also want to respect the health care professionals who are so important to us. Not just in this time, but all the time. If you are reading this and are a health care professional, have anyone in your family or circle that is one, I want to give deep gratitude for you.

You don’t know what you don’t know

By the time I arrived at the second hospital I was taken to in less than 48 hours it was past ten pm. This was a Monday night. I had been up since 7am on Sunday morning and had spent the last 20 hours sitting on a chair in the cubicle I was in in the Covid ER of the previous hospital. All I wanted to do was sleep.

Imagine my surprise when the EMT wheeled my gurney into a room, a dark room, where I noticed there was someone else in the bed in the room. I am going to leave out the expletive words I was using at that point, but basically I am NOT sharing a room with anyone, I have COVID. Get me out of here, I want to go home now. I thought I was seriously hearing things when they told me they cohort the patients. I said, “you put more than one person with covid in the same room?” I was mortified.

They wheeled me out and took me to the room next door (which was empty). There were two beds that were not even six feet apart. The nurse said she couldn’t promise that I wouldn’t be sharing a room. I said to her that if someone else comes in here I am leaving. She said I would be alone that night, but she couldn’t promise anything tomorrow. I said, all I want right now is sleep, we will deal with tomorrow, tomorrow. The EMS left and I told her I wanted a sleeping pill and get some sleep. At that point I had been up for over 36 hours. She left the room and closed the door tightly behind her.

When you are in a Covid room, you are locked down. The door is closed all the time. The staff comes in in full PPE, with double masks, some with googles and face shields and head coverings. There is a hazardous material bin in your room by the door and they disrobe with their backs to the door and back out of the room when they are done, they back out of the room, and close the door tightly. Imagine how many times a day this is done. Imagine actually sharing this room with another Covid patient who has a different covid than you do. Everyone has it differently. That is what is happening when the hospitals say they are at the critical stage. Remember in my post last week when I said I moved because I was ill, but not critically ill and then needed my bed.

We all want this to end. We all want to get back to work, friends and family, and life in general. Even those introverts who a happy to be at home, are missing parts of their life that they once had.

Part of healing is being able to tell your story and no longer cry. I am not there yet. Sharing my story is something I choose to do and I hope someone reading this today who has had an experience that they don’t want to talk about, that this helps them.

Stay safe on your own personal journey,

The First Response

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I think it is pretty safe to say that we are overloaded with information in our world today. It is hard to take it all in, and try to decide what you are going to do with all of the noise on your screens every minute of every day. When I tested positive for Covid-19 I already knew I had it, it was just a formality. Why did I know I had it? Because I read a lot, I knew the smell and taste loss which is a HUGE symptom in this virus. What I started to read about was the length of the virus and what to expect. I read an article that described what happens in the middle of the virus, around day 5 or 6 and that was what I had to look out for.

My day 5 was Saturday February 6th and it was rough. I spiked a fever of 102 and it wouldn’t come down. Then the cough started. After a lot of Tylenol, the fever came down in the evening to 99 but when I woke up the next morning it was back up to 101. I was scared, I am not going to lie. My mom was on the phone with one of my cousin’s who brought over a pulse oxygen monitor for me to use. My mom dropped it off at the door of my condo.

My cousin and I Facetimed and I checked my pulse oxygen. It wasn’t great and she said to me I needed to call 911. I didn’t want to. But I had to. I called and while I was on the phone with the operator she was giving me the protocol for when the responders enter the home. Keep the door unlocked, do not approach them when they arrive, keep your mask on at all times. I sat at the table, turned the TV off and waited for them.

If you have ever taken a first aid course, they really try to ensure you understand how to perform CPR and of course nowadays, how to use a defibrillator if one is available. One of the main reasons why they do that is because it does take time for EMS to arrive on scene. Every minute counts.

In my case, I was waiting for them to arrive and the first to arrive was the Fire Department. They were just casually asking me questions and getting the lay of the land of why I called. They did not come near me, they did not take my vitals, they were really there to assist if there was a need, but really to bridge the gap for the EMS to arrive. One of them asked me “you are not watching the Superbowl?” I replied, “No, the fact they have 25,000 fans there and I have Covid, turned me off”. He agreed.

When you are waiting it feels like a very long time. I am sure it wasn’t longer than 15 minutes but it felt like a lot longer. Once the EMS arrived, the other two left and they took over. They were asking all the questions, getting the history, etc. Then it was time to leave. I walked myself out of the apartment and in the hall was the gurney. My unit faces the street and I see when there are fire trucks, ambulances or police in front of my building. They took me door and out through the main door. The whole thing was a bit surreal and I wasn’t even sure it was real, maybe it was a dream and I was in one of my medical dramas.

Me, being the social person I am, asked the medic his name. He said, Lem. I said, Len? No, he said Lem, like lemonade. I was looking around the ambulance and I said to him, “I watch way too many medical shows.” He was wearing a mask, sheild and eye goggles but I could tell he was smiling. He asked me which ones, I said all of them. I started with Grey’s and he said his sister and mother watch that. Then I froze. He asked me what was going on as my oxygen was dropping. I told him I was having anxiety. He asked me why?

I had heard the siren. As a driver, I know that when you hear a siren you pull to the right and stop. You stop because the ambulance needs to get where they were going, fast. That there is a potentially a sick person in their rig. In this case I was the sick person. The siren brought me to my reality, I was sick.

We arrived at the hospital and they waited for me to be taken by the nurses in the Covid ER. I had a chance to talk to the other EMS who was driving. He was telling me how he is close to retirement and both his daughters are professional athletes and play for team Canada, but right now what sport they play has escaped my brain. He wants to move back to Guatemala and open a wellness centre on the beach. Sounds pretty good right about now. It was their time to leave, so I thanked them and they were gone.

I had no idea I would have another opportunity for an EMS interaction, but as my life would have it I did. I had to be transferred to another hospital after 24 hours. Again, I walked myself to the gurney and they wrapped me up in blankets and put the oxygen meter on my finger. The one EMS, I asked his name, Tim, who asked me what was going on as my oxygen dropped. Again I said, I am having anxiety right now. He put the oxygen in my nose where it stayed for the ride.

On the ride to the other hospital Tim asked me what they told me about why I was being transferred. After I told him the reason he told me about the shift that he and his partner were on that night. It was an overtime shift and their responsibility was to take Covid positive patients who were not critical from one hospital to another as the critical patients at certain hospitals were reaching capacity, many of them overwhelmed by the critically ill. I was grateful to be one of the patients that even though I was still quite ill, was able to be moved.

With every experience we have in life we have to look for the lessons. It is hard to believe that seven weeks have now gone by since that time I called 911 from my apartment. I am grateful for the first responders that were kind and made me feel comfortable during what was a very uncomfortable time. I am not looking to take a ride in an ambulance again any time soon, but knowing how hard these professionals are working and caring for their patients is something to acknowledge.

Please continue to be safe, get vaccinated when it is your turn and wear your masks.