Walking (Slowly) Out of the Woods

Friends that know me know that I can be a talkative one. But I don’t always feel the need to share everything going on in my life, particularly while it is ongoing. I have on occasion laid my troubles bare before my friends and family and sought their counsel and/or support. On a few occasions, I have even sought out a counselor to talk with as I sought to work through some of the more painful times. However, there have been many times where I have kept my doubts, my fears, and my heartaches to myself and I didn’t confide in anyone. I certainly don’t typically share everything online with the world.

So why bring this up? Well, I don’t often feel the need to share something as personal as a bout with illness. But why have a blog if you don’t intend to share anything beyond the most inconsequential things? An experience with one’s own humanity and mortality is uniquely personal and yet relatable. So I decided to share.

I worked throughout the pandemic as a truck driver delivering groceries before a single COVID-19 vaccine was available. On Saturday, March 27, 2021, I learned that the odds had caught up with me and I tested positive for COVID-19.

I had started showing symptoms that preceding Tuesday. I was feeling worn-down from work and I thought that I had a case of the “crud.” When I went home that Wednesday for my scheduled home time, I hoped that a couple nights off would help me shake it. But when Friday rolled around, I knew that I couldn’t work.

I didn’t lose my sense of taste or smell. I didn’t suffer any of the digestive system issues that some COVID-19 sufferers have suffered. I didn’t have headaches. I was breathing OK with good oxygen saturation and I was prescribed azithromycin and prednisone. I settled in and expected to recover at home.

I went to the local ER in Morrison, Illinois that following Monday because my oximeter reading was low and the nurse that had called to check up on me directed me to do so. Turns out that the oximeter reading at home was incorrect. The oximeter at the hospital showed that my oxygen levels were still good. Since I was already there, I opted to see the ER doctor. I got a breathing treatment and some bloodwork. I also got a CT scan, as the doctor expressed some concern about possible blood clots. It revealed no evidence of a blood clot and evidently my lungs looked better than some COVID-19 cases that he had seen. He said that some changes in my lungs were visible. He couldn't tell me whether there would be any scarring. In any case, I returned home to recover along with some cautions regarding possible symptoms that would indicate that I needed to go to the ER. I also got a prescription for a nebulizer.

I didn’t feel too bad until the middle of the week around the seven-day mark when I did experience a sudden onset of breathlessness. What started to worry me, in addition to the sudden onset of breathlessness, was that I didn’t feel like I was getting any better approaching the ten-day mark. I was actually feeling a bit worse, truth be told. Being asthmatic, I have had my share of respiratory infections. I had expected to be about done with the acute phase and starting to mend. That wasn’t the case.

The following Saturday evening, ten days after I started showing symptoms of COVID-19, I was transported by ambulance to the emergency room at Mercy Hospital across the Mississippi River in Clinton, Iowa. It is a larger hospital and could offer me more treatment options. I had a blood clot in one of my lungs. Evidently, COVID-19 does that. The ER doctor actually thought that was better than some of the other things that he could have seen.

Truth be told, I should have went to the emergency room earlier than I did. Remember those symptoms that I was cautioned about when I was discharged from the local ER? Friendly piece of advice: If you are at the point where you think that you are dying or that you might die, you are still alive. As such, calling for an ambulance or seeking emergency medical attention, if you have not already done so, is not the worst idea in the world.

I was subsequently admitted early Sunday morning. I was housed in the CCU (Critical Care Unit). The ER physician wanted me sent to Iowa City for care, but that plan was delayed until later Sunday because of bed availability. Later that morning I learned that the doctor had decided that it was now unnecessary for me to go to Iowa City and that I would be staying put. I had came off the supplemental oxygen earlier that morning and I was clearly improving.

I got remdesivir and dexamethasone. I also got convalescent plasma. I spent a good chunk of that Sunday sitting in a chair in my hospital room watching old movies on Turner Classic Movies (TCM). The doctor liked my progress so much that he felt comfortable discharging me that Monday afternoon.

It admittedly seemed a bit fast to leave the hospital considering where I was when I got there, but my recovery, such as it was, seemed pretty rapid too. The nurse felt that I would do as good, if not better, at home.

My official diagnosis on my clinical report from the hospital sounded very serious, but it was evidently the blood clot that was at the root of my medical crisis or whatever you might call it. It listed: “Acute pulmonary embolism; Acute respiratory failure with hypoxia; Pneumonia due to COVID-19.”

During my first visit with my primary care provider after being discharged from the hospital, my bloodwork showed that one of my liver enzymes was high. Another liver enzyme that was in the right range on that visit was high the following week. My nurse practitioner felt it could be a hepatitis related to the blood thinner that I was prescribed. She felt that might account for the discomfort/pain that I had been feeling in my right upper abdominal area (I had also pulled a muscle in that area following my discharge from the hospital). So she put me on a different blood thinner. After a few weeks of elevated liver enzymes, I was told that the numbers were normal again. In time, the discomfort/pain became a distant memory.

I eventually got the thumbs-up to exercise and I resumed training at home, although I have admittedly fell off the last couple weeks. I felt that I had lost quite a bit of muscle over the month or so that I was out of action. Muscle atrophy shouldn't be particularly shocking given that I had been almost entirely sedentary for almost a month, but I was kind of shocked. I had lost some muscle mass in my chest, shoulders, arms, and back over the last couple years just because I wasn't training as consistently or frequently. That was due in part from working my truck driver schedule and from having my regular gym close. But this recent muscle loss appeared to have stripped away muscle in my legs and glutes, in addition to my upper body. I guess that I should be thankful that I had some muscle "in the bank" to lose. But I would be lying if I didn't admit to being disappointed in how much my body had declined. Oh, well. I guess I will have to get back to consistently training and hitting it hard. Or at least as hard as I can until my fitness improves and, in particular, my work capacity.

The nurse practitioner cleared me to return to work without restrictions starting on May 11th. However, it wouldn’t be that simple. I needed to be medically re-certified to drive a commercial motor vehicle (CMV). Turns out that the Federal Motor Carrier Safety Administration mandates a three-month waiting period following a pulmonary embolism. I learned that I would be “on the bench” a little longer.

I would like to report that I accomplished a lot during my time off, but that wouldn’t exactly be true. I did read a bit, squeezed in some fitness training sessions, watched some television including some documentaries and movies, and spent entirely too much time on social media. I even spent some time reflecting. Nothing particularly earth-shattering.

So where am I at now? Well, I entered the pandemic as an “essential worker” that had long accepted his own mortality. I am not living under any illusions. I understand that I have an unknown expiration date. I don’t know my shelf life, but I know that I have one. With that being said, knowing the inevitable doesn’t necessarily mean that you welcome the inevitable.

Being that we were battling a virus, I did what I could to avoid being infected while accepting that I would likely be infected before a vaccine would be available. I joked about being a “red shirt” on Star Trek. Being “essential” sounded an awful lot like being “expendable.”

At one point in my personal battle with COVID-19 infection, I accepted that I might not make it. I wasn’t necessarily giving up, but I was accepting that possibility. It even seemed likely. Admittedly, that sense of impending doom should have sparked a phone call to 911, but a global pandemic is a surreal environment to live in for a prolonged period. Being a fifty-something, I know that a great many people that have ever lived have died when they were my age or younger. I can’t really explain why I didn’t make the call earlier. Age is clearly no guarantee of wisdom, at least not in every instance where wisdom can play a role.

I am thankful to be alive. For all the disappointments and heartbreak that life can bring, my life has been a gift. I know a lot of people lost their battle with COVID-19 or were damaged by it.

Yesterday I was medically certified to drive a CMV. I expect to return to work in a few days. I don’t even know if I still have an assigned truck. More likely, my things were put into storage and I will need to get a truck assigned to me. Hopefully, I can ease back into driving with some easier, shorter routes in some less urban areas. In any case, I suppose that I need to get back to work. Well, unless I hit a lottery jackpot.