I'd Live 2020 a Thousand Times Over...

I have dreaded writing this. It makes what I am about to write even more real. 2020 was a terrible year for just about everyone on the planet, but I would live it a thousand times over because then I would have my precious Dave. Let me start from the beginning.

About 1:30 am the morning of January 4th, Dave woke me and told me that he was running a fever. Fearing he had Covid, he wanted me to go to a different bedroom. We wore masks in the house. He isolated in the bedroom. He was tested Monday the 4th then rapid tested on Tuesday the 5th. Positive for Covid. (I tested negative the same day and received my first Moderna vaccine since I am considered a healthcare professional working in a long term care facility.) It was a good thing he got the rapid test because the one he had on the 4th was negative. Dave was running fever, having shortness of breath, and was not able to keep his O2 sats up. I took him to the Emergency Room on Friday, January 8. He was given more meds and sent home. On Saturday, January 9th, his O2 sats dropped to 76. He could get it up in the 80s but that was with breathing over 50 breaths per minute. We went back to the Emergency Room. If I had known that seeing him walk in that hospital was the last time I would see him alive and conscious, I would have run to him, held him, hugged him, kissed him, and I would have not let go.

ER physician was my cousin. He had talked to Dave about admitting him overnight for observation. Dave could not think very clearly due to the hypoxia and asked for him to call me. It was 50/50 whether it would do him good, but I agreed to admit him because if his O2 sats dropped, they could give him oxygen. I agreed to the admission even though I had a fear I would never see him again. But that was just being anxious, right? After all, he was 48, strong, and did not have any pre-existing conditions, at least none diagnosed. I told everyone that I talked to that he had an overreactive immune system and to please watch for a cytokine storm. I don't know if I was taken seriously because he was never officially diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder. I may have been judged to be an overreactive wife.

I won't go into detail about what all happened at the local hospital because there's no reason. His O2 sats were dropping even though he was doing breathing exercises on his own every hour. He was so short of breath that we had to text rather than talk. They kept going up on his oxygen level (still nasal cannula)--1 liter...2 liters...3 liters...4 liters. On Wednesday the 13th, he really took a turn for the worse. He would text me what was wrong, and I would call the hospital, ask to speak to his nurse, and tell her what he texted. One time I had to text to tell her that the cord to his call button had fallen out of the wall, and he could not reach anyone. She replied that no one had told her. I replied that I was telling her now. She called me after she checked on him and said the no one had told her he needed help. I told her that this was one of the terrible consequences of Covid, that family members could not be there to advocate for our loved ones, but I would definitely be advocating for him over the phone.

Side note, my son and I tested positive for Covid on the 11th. So most of the time Dave was in the local hospital, I was caring for a son who was getting much sicker than most 20 year olds get (including gastrointestinal symptoms, fever, chest pain, coughing, etc.) while I was dealing with my own symptoms of Covid (namely my O2 sats dropping). All the while, Dave was texting us asking how we were doing. He was so worried about us. He was particularly worried about me since I am diabetic. He would text our son, Jadyn, to please make sure I was getting the treatment I needed. He never knew Jadyn was sicker than I was. We could not worry him even more.

On Thursday, January 14th, Dave was put on the Vapotherm with 40 liters of oxygen and high pressure. Either that evening or Friday morning, they added the non-rebreather. His texts were short; he was struggling. The last text he ever sent to me was "I love you. They're intubating." He was flown to Baptist Medical Center in Little Rock where he was placed in ICU and on the ventilator.

Everything was happening so fast. On Monday, January 18th, I received the monoclonal antibody treatment (bamlanivamab). I qualified since I am diabetic. I would have given anything if Dave could have been treated instead of me. Even though I was having less trouble than either of my guys, I could not take the risk of getting worse the second week and leaving my precious son with both parents in hospital. Later that week (Tuesday or Wednesday, I can't remember), Jadyn's fever reached 103 and was not coming down. A tepid bath helped. During the time I was taking care of Jadyn, I was getting calls 3 times per day from the ICU nurse taking care of Dave. That was nice because I did not have to call to get information. They started him on Remdesivir. I was so glad because we asked for that in the local hospital but was told he was "outside the window" though that was never explained. For some reason, Baptist Medical Center was told he refused the treatment at the local hospital. I most certainly set the record straight. He seemed to be getting some better. The oxygen settings on his vent were decreasing. I think it got to 60% once, but his PEEP (pressure) was still high at 16. We were told that we could not visit unless there was a change in code or if we were relinquishing care, but we could FaceTime him. His nurses were wonderful to set that up. Of course, Dave was paralyzed and heavily sedated, but we hoped that on some level he could hear us and know that we loved him and that so many people were praying for him.

Sunday, January 24, I received a call at an unusual time. They had lost his pulse and said that my son and I needed to get up there as quickly as we could. On the way, Jadyn texted the message to the 80+ people I was texting updates to, asking them to pray. The nurse called. They got his pulse back, but said to come to the hospital anyway.

When we got there, only I could go in at first. The lady at the front desk said for me to ask a nurse to call her and she would send my son back. I got to ICU South, and was told that he had a major pneumothorax and they were putting in a chest tube. I thought that the pneumothorax had put pressure on his heart when they turned him, thus causing it to be unable to pump the blood out, thus losing his pulse. He was back. I could see his monitor and he had a normal sinus rhythm. Ok, we can deal with that. Jadyn go up there. We waited and watched the O2 sats on his monitor. They were in the high 50s to low 60s. A trauma surgeon was putting in the chest tube, and as soon as it was in, we watched those sats rise to the 80s then 90s. We were hopeful even though we knew he was so very sick. We saw him. We touched him. We talked to him. We cried. We prayed. But we left somewhat hopeful.

The next week was not good. He required a second chest tube the next day. He had to stay on 100% oxygen, but they were trying to lower the PEEP. His oxygen blood gas was dropping and his carbon dioxide was rising. His sats were in the 80s. On Wednesday, I was called by an infectious disease doctor and told that he was not responding to treatment and there was nothing more they could do. I later was called by a palliative care doctor. I knew there was only one reason I was getting that call. He told me that I knew more than 99% of the people he talked with and knew that I would make the decision that was for the best. But I was thinking, "His heart is good; his kidneys are good; his brain is good; he has good skin integrity. Why are they giving up?" I was called by the hospitalist and told the same thing. I asked for a second opinion from a different pulmonary group (only because I am a psychologist and understand about cognitive priming and how it could affect bias). I also asked if Dave were a candidate for ECMO. I was told no but asked for a second opinion from the ECMO team. I was doing everything I could to give my husband the time he needed.

On Saturday, January 30th, I was called by the pulmonologist who gave the second opinion. He said that he had reviewed the record and assured me that he would have treated Dave the same way. Later that night, I was called by the cardiologist on the ECMO team. He explained why Dave was not a candidate for ECMO. ECMO is used for people who are severe very quickly after getting the virus. Dave was showing some sign of improvement at first, so they did not put him on ECMO. But Dave was getting more severe as time went on. The inflammation had taken its toll, and his lungs could not expand. He said Dave's lung damage was irreversible.

On Sunday afternoon, I was having lunch with my mom friends who are on this blog with me, and Jadyn was in Little Rock visiting with friends. I got a call from the hospital at an irregular time (never good news). I was told that Dave's oxygen saturation was dropping. I asked if I needed to come to the hospital and was told if I wanted to then, yes, come. They had him stable, but my son and I could come. I called Jadyn to meet me there. A friend drove me because I was not fit to drive. When we got up to the hospital, his precious nurse told me what was going on. I can't remember how this was mentioned, but she said something about Dave not doing well after the cardiac event. I asked and was told that he did indeed have a heart attack the week before and was a full code. This changed everything in my mind. That was one of my checkpoints and was a game changer. His heart was not good which meant his brain had been assaulted as well. I talked with my son. We were in agreement. I went home and talked with my in-laws and brother-in-law. I told them that I was going to make Dave a DNR, that if his heart stopped again, they would not resuscitate. I went home and called the hospital. His day nurse and night nurse were both there because it was shift change. I gave them both my decision, and both told me I was making the right decision for Dave. I got off the phone and ugly cried.

Tuesday, February 2nd, I was to get my second Moderna vaccine that evening when I got home from work, but something (God) told me to get it that morning. So I did. I got to work at Warren and wasn't there 10 minutes when his nurse called. His nurse told me that his sats were dropping and they could not get them back up. They had changed the tube, tried to suction him, repositioned him, everything they could think of to do. I told them I was in Warren and would have to drive to Malvern to get my son and talk to my in-laws before I could go up there. I told her I knew the decision I had to make. I called my son. I called my in-laws. I think I talked to more people on my drive, but I cannot remember who. I prayed a lot.

When I got home, my son hugged me and said that he knew the decision I had to make and he was in agreement with me. We knew even if Dave somehow managed to survive Covid that he would never be the same and may never be able to live at home. We knew he would absolutely hate that quality of life. We both went to my in-laws. They said the same thing. The nurse said 5 people could be in the room. My cousin drove Jadyn and me. My in-laws followed. I called my other cousin who used to be an ICU nurse. I asked her to talk to me about Dave from her experience. She did. She knows I need information, facts, and given to me straight. She did just that. I called my friend who is a physician. She had been one of Dave's biggest cheerleaders. Knowing that he indeed had a heart attack and what all was going on, she assured me that I was making the right decision for Dave.

We got there and were greeted by his sweet nurse. I asked if there was anything I was missing. They all knew I need data, facts, information. Was there anything at all I was missing before I made the most agonizing decision of my life. She said no and told me that I was making the right decision for Dave.

We went in the room. I saw his O2 sats were in the 80s but his PEEP was 24. I knew what decision I had to make. We all talked to Dave. We all cried. We grieved. We hated every moment but loved on him as much as humanly possible.

The chaplain came to pray with us. He was a sweet man in his 80s. I didn't want to leave Dave. I wanted every precious second with him I could get. I had no filter. I whispered to my son, "What if we told him we were Muslim?" Jadyn sort of cried, coughed, snorted, and said, "WHAT?!" all at the same time. We held hands. He prayed. As soon as "Amen" had left his lips, I went back to be with my Dave, my husband and best friend of over 25 years, my soulmate. We stood with him for a few minutes, then I made the most agonizing and heartbreaking decision of my life. Before I told the nurse, I prayed one last time. "God, if Your plan for David's life is different, You had better show up in a very big way right now because You know the decision I am about to make." Quiet. I told the nurse it was time. She turned the vent settings down and went outside to watch his monitor. She turned the monitor in the room away so we could not see it. We only had eyes for Dave anyway. After about 15 minutes, she came in, listened for a heartbeat, and said he was gone. I flung myself across my husband because it didn't matter if I crushed the tube at that point. I held him fiercely and I wept bitterly. I could not let him go. I cried like I have never cried before. But I knew my son needed me, and I needed him. We all stayed for a few minutes. I told my in-laws that they could leave because there still was business I needed to take care of. They were reluctant, but they did. This gave the three of us time alone for a few more minutes.

Jadyn and I left the room. Dave had left way before we did, but while we were walking into the hall, Dave was walking into Heaven, greeted by his Savior, held by his Redeemer, and welcomed by his Father.

Jadyn walked down the hall to call his friends. I asked the nurse if I could sit at the station for a bit. She put her hand on mine and said, "You take all the time you need. I am here to take care of you now." I told her of the 80+ people who had been on this journey with me, waiting anxiously for each update, praying for healing then for wisdom, clarity, and discernment. I needed to let them know Dave was gone. As I sat there texting (copy and pasting), something about work was brought up. She said she thought her mother-in-law worked someplace very similar. I asked her name. She told me. It was one of my dearest friends at work! That was my God wink. I knew the right decision had been made, and Dave was with his Heavenly Father.

Now I am home trying to figure out what my life will be without my Dave. Jadyn is with me for now; he doesn't want me to be alone. We are helping each other, but truth be told, he is helping me much more than I am him. He holds me when I cry (I mean ugly cry); he listens when I rage because I feel so angry at--what?--I don't really know. But we are making it one moment at a time.

Dave's service is graveside on February 28. No visitation because I do not want people in a room increasing their risk of getting the very virus that took the life of my Dave. No family meal afterward for the same reason. Covid has taken my husband and has taken the traditional gathering of family and friends that helps us get through what we think we can't possibly endure. But we do. We go on. God put His grace where He knew we would need it. His sovereignty is supreme. He was never surprised. He sustains me. Sometimes He feels far away, but that actually is when He is the closest, carrying me through that particularly hard time.

Now "we" has become "me," as the saying goes. Jadyn will move out soon. I will be here in the house without anyone else. But I won't be alone. My Heavenly Father is always with me. He is bigger than my doubts, than my questions. He doesn't need me to do anything but let Him love and sustain me. Even though my prayer for God to heal Dave physically was answered no, Dave was healed eternally. Even though I have lost my husband and best friend, my faith has increased. Even though I am a widow, I am not alone.

"Therefore since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ Through Him, we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us."

Romans 5:1-5

Pour Your Spirit into my heart, Abba Father.