I got my lab results yesterday. My heart doc was so pleased to tell me the news, he sent it twice! More likely, his office sent it twice. Either way, it tickled me. All my labs are normal or within acceptable limits. That is good news! It’s not unexpected, though, as my doc said my heart looked just fine and emphasized it wasn’t the problem. It was the pneumonia, as difficult as that is still to believe. When I talked to the doctor outside of the hospital (one week later, still high as balls), he said he wanted to put me on potassium and then have me get my labs done a week or two later. Okey-dokey, I agreed, though I had no clue why. Again, I sounded rational and lucid, but I most emphatically was not. I did remember he said he wanted me to get my labs done because of the potassium, but I could not tell you why I was taking the potassium. It was either to lower my blood pressure or raise it. One or the other!
That was me the first few weeks home. I could tell you what people said to me, but it didn’t necessarily mean I understood it or would remember. One of the biggest hits I took from what happened to me was that my short-term memory was exceedingly unreliable. The funniest (to me, not to my mother) example is when I was being discharged. The nurse explained to me in detail what I was supposed to do. She showed me my meds and how much I was supposed to take. I nodded sagely and repeated what she told me–and promptly forgot what she had just said. When my mother and brother arrived to take me home, my mother asked about discharge papers. I pointed to the bag where the nurse said she had put them–they were not there. That was all I had! We did eventually get the papers, but not while I was in the hospital. It wasn’t until much later that it occurred to me to question why the hell she was telling me this shit and not the person who came to fetch me?
My best guess is that it’s because I seemed lucid and they were really in a rush to turn over the room. Remember, we’re still in the middle of a pandemic. Yes, I know that many Americans prefer to pretend this isn’t true, but it is. I briefly spoke to a PA (physician’s aide, I think?) about this and how he hadn’t really gotten any sleep in the last year. When we were talking about it, he spoke pretty freely until we reached the part about not having enough room. He said, “Especially…” and then hesitated. I said delicately, “Especially with the attitude of some people?” He looked relieved as he nodded in agreement. I thanked him for his service, but it seemed like so little. Before I ended up in the hospital, I had heard about how we were taxing our medical personnel. I could see it and it made sense with all that was going on. But, it’s really hard to get the scope of it from the outside.
I’m not saying I understood it perfectly once I was in the hospital, but I saw how hard they worked. I saw the insane shifts they put in. I saw them work themselves to the bone without a single complaint. They were literally wiping the shit from my ass, and they managed to make me feel respected, safe, and still human.
They were compassionate. I can only think of one person who treated me more like an object than a person, and even then, it was more that it wasn’t his favorite part of the job. He wasn’t disrespectful–he was just more detached. Still, he was fast, efficient, and clinical about it. He wasn’t disrespectful or anything negative. And he was one out of dozens of nurses/aides/doctors I had assisting me. If that’s the worst it gets? I’ll gladly take it. The rest were warm, compassionate, and some were even effervescent. They handled my body with care, which I appreciated. They had to turn me or move me, and they never made me feel like a slab of meat. They talked about boosting me, both literally (moving me up in my bed) and figuratively, and they managed to make it not sound cheesy.
My experience in the hospital permanently changed me. One obvious example is the pandemic. Before my experience, I was hyperconscious about the coronavirus. I refused to go out except to get my meds once a month. I ordered my food from Amazon and attended online Zoom classes. That was it. Once I was fully vaxxed, I took a few more risks, but I still mostly hibernated, Then, I was hit with non-COVID-related pneumonia and my world turned upside down.
I didn’t wear a mask in the hospital, of course. Except when I was moved from room to room. Otherwise, I had a tube in my nose (first to breathe and then an oxygen tube), which obviously impeded the wearing of a mask. But everyone else around me was wearing one. No one could visit me without one and I was allowed two visitors at a time. It reached the point where I almost forgot there was a pandemic because I was more focused on the immediate crisis–me dying twice.
After I returned home, my viewpoint had radically changed. I no longer cared about the pandemic. Wait a minute. That’s not the right way to phrase it. It was no longer hyper-present in my mind the way it once was. In part, it was because I was fully vaxxed, but more to the point, I died. Twice. I know what that’s like (not that terrible. It’s just–nothing.) and I’m not as afraid of it as I once was.
Look. We are not going to eradicate the coronavirus. We’re just not. So the best we can do is hope that it’ll be like the flu. We get a shot every year against the six most popular strains and deal with the few thousands deaths that occur every year. In the best-case scenario, people follow proper protocol in the winter and we keep the cases down. That’s reachable–total eradication, at this point, is not.
I spent a whole year-and-a-half obsessing over the pandemic. I’m not saying it’s over or that’s it’s not worth being cautious. What I am saying is that we’re moving from ‘how to eradicate COVID” to “how do we live with COVID”? I’m not any happier about it than you are, but I’m realistic. And, again, after dying twice, I also have a different perspective.
I should be dead. My brother reminds me of this from time to time. Not in a mean way, but in a matter-of-fact way. He’s right. I should be dead. The fact that I woke up and suffered so little physical damage is incredible. That means that every day I wake up and breathe is a bonus. I’m not going to be reckless such as running around and licking all the iron posts I see. I’m still wearing my mask when I go out and keeping my distance. I’ll get the booster shot when I can and stay away from crowds for the time being. Admittedly, the latter is my M.O., anyway, but it’s especially important now that I’ve had a health scare.
By the way, I still haven’t figured out a way to talk about what happened to me that is both accurate, but not too melodramatic. Health scare sounds too trite, but describing what actually happened is a bit much for day-to-day conversation. K said I was allowed to talk about it because it’s a part of my story, which, yes, she’s right. It is part of my life, but it’s not something that you can just drop in casual conversation. I don’t mind just saying I spent two weeks in the hospital when it’s a way to get around what I’ve been doing for the past few months, but it can bring up more questions than I want to answer.
I know i don’t owe anyone any explanation, but it’s still an awkward space to inhabit. I look the same as I always did (except for my new hairstyle–Chun Li buns minus the turkey leg wrappers–and I act pretty much the same. If you didn’t know me well before I went into the hospital, you probably wouldn’t be able to spot many differences afterwards. I have scars on my arms from all the jabbing, but those could be from anything. The only other big thing is that I’m in bed by 10:15 p.m. and up by six. But, again, that’s not something that really jumps out at you if you didn’t know I was a 4 a.m. to 10 a.m. kind of gal before.
I don’t know what my new normal will entail, especially after I officially recover from whatever this was. My last therapist said when I was embarking upon a new life in San Francisco, “Minna, half the things you envision happening, won’t and you cannot imagine half of what will happen.” I’ve really taken that to heart and carried it with me throughout the next few decades. It’s just as apt now as it was then.