“Drowning,
Drowning on the land,
Drowning,
It doesn't end.”
― C.G. Visser
As we reach the one year Anniversary of when the COVID Pandemic hit and crippled our Country and the rest of the world. I look back on this past year and I still can’t believe everything that I have been through as a healthcare professional and as a COVID survivor. I consider my self lucky that I’m not one of the over half a million Americans who have died from COVID. For that I thank God but unfortunately I have struggled as a long hauler. This long journey has effected me not just physically but also mentally.
My story of COVID begins with my job as a Respiratory Therapist in a Nursing and Rehabilitation Center. I was the only Respiratory Therapist in the building. When COVID hit our facility it was like a tsunami. We had no time to prepare for what was about to crash our shores. It started with a couple patients and then it spread like wildfire. We lost so many patients to this tragedy. With families not allowed to enter our building, I was there at the bedside for these patients, holding their hand’s or keeping them company during their last moments. I watched many patients I admired and grown close to, die of this horrible, unstoppable virus. I felt helpless. I did everything I could medically. I had to make many tough decisions every day. As a leader, I had to hold back the tears on a daily basis to keep moral up among my co-workers and patients. On my drive home every day I was able to finally release my pent up emotions. It was hard to take a beating ever day knowing you had to come back the next day and step back into the fire but it was my duty. In the end my persistence and caring caught up with me when I came home on a Friday afternoon in the middle of April with all the symptoms of COVID.
I don’t remember how I even got home that day. I just remember barely standing up in the shower and then getting in bed and curling up in a ball shivering so hard that hurt my teeth. I thought in my head that this is where it ends for me. Every part of me ached. I felt like my insides were on fire. As I finally passed out I felt this might be the last time I closed my eyes. When my wife came home from work she found my curled up in a ball with the “Our Father” playing on a loop on the Alexa. I would wake up the next day to face the harsh reality that I had COVID. The next two months would be a daily struggle. I had no energy, my breathing was labored,I had extreme body aches, coughing, and other issues. I found just walking 40 feet to the bathroom would make me short of breath. I would wake up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. A couple times I went to the hospital for breathing issues. I was in constant worry that I would take a turn for the worse like many others who ended up in the hospital on a ventilator.
Thankfully my fears would not come true. I would start feeling better, not fully but enough where I thought I could try to go to work for a half day. My Doctor warned against it but I tried anyways. She was right after two days I felt very sick again. This was also the first time I would feel the mental repercussions of having COVID. I was anxious, jumpy, and extremely uncomfortable being back. My Doctor recommended another week and a half rest. This time I took her advice.
I ended up going back to work. Even though I was feeling tired and worn out everyday the bigger issue started being more of a mental one. I was finding myself having daily panic attacks at work. I was having flashbacks of all those who had died. I couldn’t stop thinking about the horrible way they died. I was having violent nightmares every night. I saw the faces of the dead and reliving their deaths over and over. I found myself breaking down and crying at certain point of the day. It came to a point one day where I cried all the way to work uncontrollably. I had to eventually pull over and my wife talked me down. Things just got worse from there.
This is where the morning panic attacks would start happening. I would wake up, after barely sleeping, and I would have horrible anxiety. The first really bad morning was when I woke up and I found that I could not move my lower body. I couldn’t feel my legs. I could get out of bed no matter how hard I tried. I eventually tried to roll out of bed using my upper body and I ended up rolling off the bed and landing flat on my face still paralyzed from the waste down. My Therapist later told me that this was my body protecting from a situation that I thought was a danger. The next event was even worse. I woke up, took a shower. After leaving the bathroom I sat on the end of the bed and felt a panic attack coming. I was short of breath and then I started uncontrollably screaming at the top of my lungs. I couldn’t stop. My wife held me as I continued to scream for another five minutes. She eventually got me calm and I laid back down, exhausted,I fell asleep. The worst of it started when I became self abusive when I woke up. I would slam my head into the shower walls till my wife pulled me out and calmed me. On other days I would start slapping my face and head violently. It got to the point where I couldn’t go to work because every morning was an issue. I ended up staying out over another months. I felt isolated and hopeless.It was during this time when I hit my lowest point.
Everyday I was feeling like I was slipping closer to the edge. I felt like I was done with life. I just wanted the peace that death would bring. One afternoon I was in the kitchen making lunch and I found myself with a large kitchen knife in my hand. I couldn’t look away from it. For that moment it felt like time slowed down. I pressed the tip of the knife under my chin. I could feel the point pushing against my skin. I pulled it away. I thought about it and I held the length of the blade to my neck. I felt the cold steel so close to slicing open my flesh. At that moment I felt completely empty. I really didn’t feel like going another day like this. I was ready to end it. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath but then my Son popped into my head. He’s 19 years old and Autistic. I couldn’t leave him. I couldn’t have him go without a father. I can’t do this to him. I struggled internally but I threw the knife in the sink! I walked away and sat on the couch staring at a blank screen. I knew I needed helped.
I finally opened myself to mental help. I started talking to a psychologist and a therapist. I was uncomfortable at first but I eventually I found it all extremely helpful and healing. My one big issue was that I was still unable to return my job. I was uncomfortable being there. I felt that the job I used to enjoy now was a painful reminder of all I have been through. I was hoping that I could work my way through it but it just wasn’t working. My Therapist told me that I had reached my “expiration date” with my job and it was probably time to move on. She also said I had PTSD from the trauma I experienced with all the death I saw plus dealing with my own mortality.I had fought it because I had made many close friends but in the end I needed to think of my overall mental health. So, I moved on. I quit my job.
I eventually found the right job for me. I still have my days and sometimes I still think about death but I find myself having an easier time managing it. I could have never gotten through this without my wife.Some of the physical issues are still there. I do have days where the fatigue hits me hard, I have bad body aches every so often, and sometimes I have persistent coughing fits. I have learned to live with it. If there is one positive, it’s that I appreciate the little things in life much more. It has also brought me closer to my family. My hope is that someday life will get back to normal and I can put this nightmare behind me. Until then it’s just one day at a time.