Family Impact
I tried standing at the window to watch my 10-year-old daughter dribble her basketball, but after 30 seconds, I was dizzy and needed to lie down. The next time I saw her, she was at the bedroom doorway and I asked what she had for lunch. She told me it was 9 p.m. Virtual hugging from the doorway became a nightly ritual. She would smile at me with sad eyes each time and bravely turn to go.
On day 7, my son started to cough. It was a terrifying sound. He had a fever. We stared at him. We asked, “Are you feeling short of breath?” He looked at us, panicked and started to cry, answering, “Well, now I am!” He rejected a virtual hug, but accepted the ice cream and cookies the neighbors dropped off. That night, I listened to the three of us coughing. Four days later he was better.
Worsening Illness Before Recovery
It was completely unclear when to go to the emergency department. But on day 10, I developed emesis with every coughing fit. I had lost 9 lbs. I felt more tachypneic, and I was too dehydrated to move. I waved the white flag.
From the emergency department ambulance bay, a nurse escorted me through an empty waiting room. My chest X-ray showed a likely secondary bacterial pneumonia, and I got fluids and doxycycline. I’ve never loved a nurse more than the one who stuck that IV in my arm. As a patient with a communicable disease with no effective treatment, I say that someone who leans close to me to help earns my eternal gratitude. The fluids were magical, and my husband picked me up to go home.
The next week brought slow improvement. The cough continued, and I was overwhelmed with fatigue, but I ate and showered. I downloaded the telemedicine app, and my amazing colleagues encouraged me to heal and wait to go back to work until I felt much better.
On day 20, I was gripped by exertional substernal chest pain, and my newly acquired pulse oximeter read 88%. I didn’t want to think about my differential diagnosis. I went back to the emergency department, which looked different 10 days later: A triage tent outside was equipped with six-foot markers in the waiting line. There was now an entire COVID intubation area, with diagrams outside each room showing where each member of the intubating team should stand. When I was taken for my computed tomography (CT) scan, I was wheeled past two rooms where patients were getting intubated. I could only see eyes through all the PPE, but I could feel the dread. The sounds of ventilators, muffled voices and coughing had replaced the usual noise of the emergency department.
