You’re in the hospital, and you’re trying to figure out what’s wrong.
“What’s the problem?” you ask the doctor, who’s a little puzzled by your questions.
“I have a fever, a headache, and I think I have pneumonia,” he says.
But you don’t know that yet.
“Are you in the OR?” you wonder.
“Yeah, I think so,” the doctor replies.
You’re told that your temperature is 70 degrees.
You need to be sedated and have a CT scan to make sure you’re OK.
Your temperature is 85 degrees.
“There’s nothing else that’s going on,” the nurse says.
“Oh, but there is,” you say.
“We need to get you into the OR.”
That’s where you’re taken to the operating room.
You don’t have a chance to cry out in pain, but you do have to wait in the waiting room for a CT.
It takes five minutes for the nurse to come back.
When the CT scans come back, you’re told you have pneumonia.
You can’t breathe.
The nurses are telling you that you need to go to the ICU.
But they’re not ready to put you into ICU yet.
It’s 3:00 a.m.
You are in ICU, but it’s very early in the morning.
You have a cold and a cough, and your pulse is slow.
Your heart is racing.
The nurse says that you should go to your partner’s room.
She is holding a hand up, and a nurse comes in to tell you to put your hand up.
You go to get him, and the nurse gives you a warm embrace.
You feel a little bit better.
Then the nurse asks you to take a breath.
You do, and there’s a pulse again.
You put your arm around your partner and they put a gown on you.
You lie down on a bed, and after a few minutes you’re able to open your eyes.
It feels like you have been through a nightmare.
A nurse asks for your temperature.
“90,” you hear her say.
You look at your watch.
It says 10:00.
You tell your partner to call 911.
You want to stay in your bed, but the nurse has told you not to do that.
The ambulance arrives and you take it.
The doctor has been telling you all day that it’s a good idea to stay there, but he’s not telling you what to do yet.
Your stomach hurts.
Your body temperature is about 95 degrees.
The hospital is full, and it takes two hours for the nurses to take care of you.
The CT scan comes back and the doctor says you’re fine.
You know that you have a new infection.
The temperature is 90 degrees.
It should be a few days before you’re admitted to the hospital.
“You’re going to have a difficult time,” your partner says.
You start feeling very sick.
Your partner tells you that the infection has spread from the wound in your arm to the area where you have your infection.
He says that it will probably take a few weeks for the infection to heal, and that you will need to see your primary care physician.
You see your GP at 3:30 a.ma.
He is very nice, but I don’t think he understands your condition very well.
“Is there a procedure that you can do to speed up the healing process?” he asks you.
“Yes,” you tell him.
“And what’s the procedure that I can do?”
“It’s not something I can just say, like, ‘Here’s a plan for you,'” your GP tells you.
He gives you an exam and tells you to rest.
At about 4:00 am, you are taken to a waiting room.
Your GP is looking very happy that you’re doing well.
He explains that you’ve been in the ICUs for three days and that they’re seeing a lot of patients with pneumonia and are seeing a much higher incidence of COVID-19.
The symptoms are very similar to those you had at the hospital a few hours ago.
You say, “I’m going to bed.”
Your GP says, “OK, you’ve recovered, but if you’ve got any questions, I’ll be happy to answer them.”
“Thank you, thank you, thanks,” you reply.
“No worries, no worries.”
The GP walks away.
Your blood pressure is down, and even though you’ve never been in a COVID infection before, your GP says that your fever has gone down to about 70 degrees, and this is a good sign.
Your pulse is normal, and they have a quick CT scan.
You sit down on the bed.
You get a CT in the middle of the night and the next morning you’re surprised to find that the CT scan came back normal.
You’ve got pneumonia