The Saga Continues. . .

 Sorry I haven't kept you all up to date.  I keep waiting for a convenient 'break in the action' at which to put things down in electrons, but there's nothing 'convenient' about this. . .

On Wednesday, December 2 (the day after my last post), I took Jenn to the ER.  A little backstory - I, and our kids, were all surprised that Jenn was hit so hard by the virus, whereas I, who have been much less robustly healthy than Jenn over the years, had a pretty mild experience of it.  Of all the possible reasons for this discrepancy, we noted that I have been loading up on vitamins and supplements since before the pandemic appeared.  So, I started giving Jenn the same vitamins and supplements that I was taking, figuring that, at the very least, they'd help moderate the effects of the virus.  But her condition didn't seem to change, and she even spiked a fever, which she hadn't done for the first week's worth of symptoms.  On the 2nd, she woke up at 4:30 AM with an extended coughing fit.  At that point, the realization dawned on me that what we were doing wasn't working, so I bundled her off to the ER.  They swept her away for her intake eval, and they shooed me home (I should note that Jenn packed her cell phone and charger in her purse as we were preparing to leave; good thought, that).

For the first few days, communication was confusing.  She texted me that it was a good thing that I took her in when I did (seems like the disease is going badly), but then also that she was feeling better (seems like things are improving).  I talked with her virtually daily, and her spirits were good, her cough seemed to be improving, and she was talking about coming home soon.  Yay!  Score One for the Good Guys!

Then on Tuesday the 8th (six days after I took her in), she sent a text saying that she finally had a definite diagnosis - she had the COVID, for sure, but she also had a bad case of bacterial pneumonia and sepsis.  What the hell? Sepsis?!?  That's scary as hell. . . and it took them SIX DAYS to figure it out?  Well, no; not really.  Turns out, she had coded for sepsis and pneumonia in her initial intake eval, six days previous, but hadn't bothered to tell that to Jenn - OR ME - for almost a week.  I mean, sure, I'm only her husband, her Durable Power of Attorney, and the one who stands to be widowed if she dies.  So, it's understandable that they wouldn't feel the need to communicate those things to me (that was sarcasm, just to be clear).  So I had a very anxious couple of days.  When I talked to her on Thursday, she felt much better.  The COVID and the sepsis were gone from her body (God is good!), and the pneumonia was on the run.  She was talking about coming home Saturday (the 12th).  On Friday, they were cutting the papers to release her on Saturday, but Friday night, her pain suddenly worsened, and by Saturday noon, it was clear that she wasn't coming home just yet.

Sunday, they did a CAT scan and discovered a sac on fluid on her lung, which was basically the last remnant of the pneumonia, maybe 3-4 inches long and an inch wide.  They weighed their options, including possibly poking a tube into the sac to drain it.  In the end, they decided to switch to a different antibiotic, and see what happens.  When I spoke to her yesterday, her fever was gone, the pain had decreased to the point that she was declining pain-killers (which just means that the pain was manageable, not that it was gone), and her voice was as clear and strong as I'd heard it in weeks.  So it seems a corner is being turned.  But having heard twice already that she'd be coming home soon, I won't believe it until they wheel her up alongside my car, she gets in, and we drive away.  Hopefully, that will happen soon, but at this point, I just want her to get well.

When she does come home, she will still be recuperating for an unspecified length of time, so Christmas stands to be pretty low-key, even if she's home.  And my job, once she's home, will be mainly to manage the chaos level in the house, what with three of our kids, and two grandchildren, living under our roof.

A couple thoughts - our family's experience of the killer virus was mainly pretty benign, except for Jenn.  And her situation seems to have been more about bacteria that she picked up out of the air, than the dreaded COVID itself (6F's husband had a similar experience - he somehow picked up pneumonia along with his order of COVID, so his recovery was more arduous than everyone else's).  I don't know if COVID makes you more vulnerable to stuff like pneumonia and sepsis, but hose of us who only had COVID to deal with, experienced it as something between a heavy cold and a mild flu.

I have not been happy with the communication I've gotten from the hospital (essentially, none at all).  You don't want me up in your COVID isolation ward; OK.  Even though I survived the virus and have the antibodies; I won't infect you, and you won't infect me; seems overly cautious, especially when me just being able to see and touch her would do us both a lot of good.  Plus, the aforementioned spousal status, Durable Power of Attorney, and all that.  At one point, Jenn told me that the chief nurse was going to call me; great! Let me talk to an honest-to-goodness medical person.  Then I got a text stating that the nurse didn't want to get any of the details wrong, and so she had asked the pulmonologist to call me himself.  Of course, you know, that call never came.  Mind you, I'm not questioning the competency of the medical/nursing staff; Jenn has nothing but the highest praise for the care she has received.  But the 'lockdown' status of the COVID ward seems to provide cover for saying nothing to other family members.  If she weren't 'locked down', I would be there, the docs could answer my questions, and we'd all be happy.  At least, I'd know what's going on, instead of getting texts from Jenn that become obsolete 3 seconds after they're sent.

On a deeper, 'existential' level, I've had to look square in the face of the possibility that my wife could die (and she assuredly will, someday).  We just celebrated our 40th anniversary this past summer, and this hospital thing has made clearer than ever that we have no guarantees.  I never expected that she could die before I do - she's just a healthier person than I am - but damn, you know, she could.  There's a part of me that's a little panicked by that thought, but you know, I do trust in God, and I've got plenty of people who love me, who would help me find my footing in a world without Jenn (which. . . may it never happen).  This whole thing just brings mortality and all that's attached to it, front-and-center in my consciousness.  Which has been happening more and more in the 3+ years since I had a stroke (which itself turned out to be blessedly mild).  As someone said (a song lyric, maybe?) - No One Gets Outta Here Alive.  As you get older, dealing with that simple, brute fact becomes an increasingly urgent task. . .