Never did I think I would get pneumonia, but I did.
Basically, here’s how it progressed:
Sep 11–14: I experienced the start of my menstrual cycle with its usual tiredness. A cough also presented.
Sep 15: Hoarseness presented.
Sep 16–18: Cough increased and produced sputum. Some head congestion. Energy levels were normal until Sunday, when I felt a bit tired, like I needed to nap.
Sep 19: Symptoms persisted. Muscle weakness presented.
Sep 21: Laryngitis presented. I experienced difficulty breathing, which was markedly different from my asthma. Temperature would rise and fall. I cycled through chills and sweats.
Sep 22: I went to urgent care (George’s mother drove me). After describing my symptoms to the staff, they immediately did an EKG, which was normal, and did a chest x-ray, which was bad. They did nothing further and sent me to the ER right away via ambulance.
Of course, I cried. I knew that going to the hospital was the only choice, but I didn’t want to be away from the cats. What could I do other than to accept the circumstances and be with my feelings?
I spent the remainder of the morning and the afternoon in the emergency department. Everything happened quickly: settling into a bed, IV fluids, nebulizer, registration, blood draw, x-rays, CT scan (with contrast!)... The nurse brought me a food tray since I was hungry; I ate a bit of the penne with sauce and meatballs and a fruit cup as a late lunch / early dinner. Shortly thereafter, the ED doctor informed me that I had RSV and that I would be staying at least one night.
In the late afternoon, they transported me to Observation, which was quieter than the ED. Because of my RSV infection, everyone that entered my room donned a mask, gown, and gloves. I got as comfortable as I could and distracted myself with television. Fever came and went and back again. I soaked the sheets with perspiration but said nothing. I didn’t want the fuss. I just wanted to lie there.
The next day, the pulmonologist checked on me and said that I would be moved to Respiratory, where they could monitor me better. I began to cry. He asked, “Are you scared?” I nodded. He gently squeezed my hand and said, “You’ll be okay.”
There was so much: IV fluids with potassium, liquid potassium, Tylenol, Singulair, two IV antibiotics, nebulizer, Lovenox injections in the belly… I even got some morphine to ease the pain felt on the right side of my chest. When it was time for my scheduled dose of steroids, the nurse administered it. Afterwards, though, I sprang into an upright seated position and vomited. I felt so ill. She checked my temperature, and sure enough I had a fever. She brought me Tylenol. I tried to relax, but I was uncomfortable. At that point, I texted Kathleen and asked for prayers because I was utterly beside myself.
A little while later, two nurses from Respiratory arrived to transport me. I was upset. I didn’t want to move my body. Any exertion was painful because I couldn’t breathe and caused violent coughing, but I had to switch beds. I started crying again. One nurse did his best to talk me down while the other nurse grabbed my paperwork.
In my new room, the nurses hooked me up to IV, oxygen, and monitor, made me comfortable with extra pillows and blankets, and brought in tissues and ice water. Some time later, one of the Infectious Diseases doctors checked on me and ordered more tests.
In the early evening, dinner was delivered to my room. A tech had ordered for me earlier since I had no voice; at that time I had no appetite but ordered anyway. Well! I devoured everything, and the tech was pleased to see I had eaten. The rest of the evening consisted of me lying in bed, watching TV, coughing up phlegm, and blowing my nose. George visited and brought me candy. That afternoon/evening marked a turn for the better. I felt a teeny bit more relaxed, and the fevers stopped.
The staff was diligent in checking my vitals, administering meds, and drawing blood. That schedule shaped my days in the hospital. The next day, Saturday, a third antibiotic was added to my treatment: Vancomycin. After testing my sputum, they saw that I had MRSA, which meant that I had viral and bacterial pneumonia.
The days continued to pass with doctors, nurses, techs, therapists, phlebotomists, housekeeping, and dietary coming and going at expected times. My care included a closed door and a giant air filter that produced white noise loud enough to drown out most sounds.
As I improved, I couldn’t wait to go home. When they informed me that I could be discharged, I was elated. But during that first night home, a part of me wished I was back at the hospital. It was challenging because I was basically on bed rest, and I kept trying to do anything.
Recovery is slow. I have been home for just about three weeks, and I’m still not 100%. It’s astounding how quickly I was knocked down and how gradually I am getting back up. But I am getting there day by day. When my body is up for it, I do restorative yoga. I tried yin one morning, but that was too much! I still use the spirometer for breathing exercises.
Looking back, I am in awe of healthcare workers. They show up to work and care for strangers in need. Equally impressive are the behind-the-scenes events. There are many moving parts within the hospital, and they all coordinate with speed and efficiency. I become teary-eyed and full of gratitude when I recall my experience and all of the people that make it happen for the community.
While hospitalized, it forced me to reconsider what I prioritize in life and how I was living. I am confident that I am on the right path, but some questions hover about me: What can I offer others? How can I be of service?
The answer is to plow ahead with what I had begun to do before I fell ill. I will continue to share how to bring mindfulness to a personal art practice. I will continue to share what I learn about cats and feline welfare. Additionally, I will revive some passions that had been set aside years ago: reading and writing, the magic of the written word, the joy of stationery.
The wheels in my head are turning, and I’m excited once again for the journey.
P.S. My writing is choppy and out of practice, I know, but it’s not about perfectionism. It’s about doing.
Passing time caring for critters.
Creating while they nap.
