Original Memories Here

Each day I wake up and thank God that He has allowed me another day to get out of bed and make a difference. I really do try to set a good Christian example and I am always open to learning more so that I can help somebody find Jesus as their Savior. How could I live with myself if I didn’t? Jesus said for us to go out and teach all nations. As a disciple, my thanks continue throughout the day as I know I have been blessed to meet new people, use my opportunity to discuss salvation, and do this openly with no fear of repercussion.

One thing that I would like to emphasize to all Americans is that we were born in a country where we have freedom of religion, freedom from religion, and freedom to choose for ourselves which route we take. I cannot imagine the places where people are persecuted for their beliefs and can be imprisoned or put to death for believing in God. What a powerful statement their lives are that they face this and still proclaim that Jesus is our Lord.

What if you were in a line of people whom are taken away because you believe differently than those who are in control? Six million plus Jews experienced that less than one hundred years ago. Would you deny God?

If you were studying at a university and terrorists came in and took over the class, killing each person who claimed to be a Christian, would you stand in that line knowing that this is the end of your earthly life?

I am so thankful that I have the Bible to read, seven different versions on my phone, along with several hard cover versions that are filled with my markings and notes. The thankfulness I feel when I close my eyes in prayer knowing that God hears me. He forgives me of my sins. He sent His Son to die on the cross for me. How can I not be humbled and thankful?

This has been the craziest past year and a half. I think I last wrote when my husband was diagnosed with myasthenia gravis. That in itself has been life changing for us as a family, and I know it has redefined our roles and responsibilities. The hardest working man I have ever met still struggles to do the most he can every day. Some are productive and others are rest days, which are just as, or maybe more important, and definitely productive in a different sense. 

We have had to learn that Rome really wasn’t built in a day. The original timeframe on our remodeling project (our home) had to take a back seat to what could get done on a specific day. We hired help and it was a mixed bag. What really mattered through it all was that we were making our home the way we wanted it and were able to do most of it before the money and my husband’s capabilities ran out. Seeing him physically change hasn’t been as hard as seeing him emotionally change. It has been a lesson in defining and understanding what one is capable of on any given day. It has also been humbling for him to realize that although he is Superman in my eyes, there are days that Clark Kent is the only one here. I will take that. 

I know that God will not give us more than He knows we can handle, and I know it has never been said that it would be easy. Anything worth having is worth the effort. I also know that God didn’t put me and my husband together for us to have a short connection. Therefore, we continue to pray that he will continue to receive infusions that bring him back to a semblance of his old self for a few weeks or month at a time. 

Some days I wonder why this happened to him for this to appear at this stage in life, and on other days I don’t even think about it because there is nothing we can do but pray and have faith. We’ve read that some people live with MG for years and manage it quite well. We also know that he is just one crisis away from something potentially life threatening. 

This has been the strangest year of my life. There have been some good times and all too many sad, tragic, and bad times during 2022. I am so ready for next year to get here. We all thought 2020 was bad, but these past two years have risen to and met the challenge.

I am so blessed to have the family I do. My husband is the most thoughtful, loving, and caring man I could ever imagine. My kids are two amazing people and I am glad to call them my friends, too. There are so many many that I love and care about that I cannot list them all. 

I have always been a person who wanted to be in the housing industry. As a young girl, I used sit in the dirt and draw out towns, using little pebbles or gravel to line the sides of the streets and I would place pinecones as shrubs, pull some grass and tear it up to use in the yards. I would use my toy cars as part of my staging. But, my favorite part was drawing the houses. I would draw floor plans for each home. Eight or nine years old and I would draw floor plans.Crazy, right? 

By the time I was twelve to fourteen, I had advanced to writing stories about girls around my age. I never gave them to anyone to read, but I had a whole back story on each girl, including each home. In reality the stories mirrored Donna Parker and Trixie Belden books, just with my twists. The best part was that I would use graph paper to draw out the town they lived in. Yes, I used my babysitting money to buy that graph paper. I would draw out the floor plan of each character’s home with furniture in place. I dreamed of being an architect or a radio disc jockey, but didn’t think women could be either back then.

Fast forward a few years and I loved riding around and looking at empty homes that had rent signs or for sale signs in the yard. Most of the time I would drag my kids along with me. My daughter really loved it. We would look in the windows of the homes that had no window coverings, not as peeping toms, but to see the layout of the house. I really loved doing that. I would envision how I would remodel. I also made note of the type home it was. I know it is so cliche, but Craftman homes are my favorite.The workmanship in the old homes shows the builder really cared. They like a home, even if it is empty. In the new Craftsman style, It is like they are trying too hard, but missing the mark. 

I had different jobs when I got older, but I still wanted to do something in housing. I daydreamed about being a real estate agent. By thirty I had been hired as an assistant manager in a townhome complex. Within a year or so I became manager. It wasn’t long before I also managed two apartment complexes in addition to the townhomes. Over the years I managed HUD, Class A, and B properties. I learned so much doing this. I was able to layout flower bed designs, choose a complex name, oversee a complete property renovation, and learned a lot about the maintenance and repairs. I even earned my Management of Maintenance Supervisor certificate. 

Although I didn’t get to do it often, I loved showing townhomes and apartments. I always said I could sell ice to Eskimos. I figured if someone came in the office looking for a place to live, I could find the perfect one for that person. During this time. computers came out with software to design homes. I loved it. I used the it to make floor plans and do some interior designing. This was more fun than drawing them on graph paper. 

I have always felt that writing is the best release for tension, emotions, and thoughts when I couldn’t find another way to express myself. I feel the words dripping off my fingertips and a calm comes over me that is only surpassed by the feeling I get after speaking with God.

I don’t know what I will start blogging about, but I need to start back because I have so many thoughts and memories I want to pass on before I die. No, I don’t think I am dying, but we don’t have any idea when that will happen. It could have been a year ago, yesterday, or even tomorrow. There are no promises.

Three months ago on July 4th, 2022, my hubby and I went to watch fireworks with some friends. When I got home that evening I saw blood when I went to the restroom. I was not sure what was going on, but soon figured out where it was coming from. That couldn’t be happening because I had stopped all that back in 2010. But, it was.

I thought it might be some fluke, but it continued for days, going over a month when I passed out at church from lack of blood. We went to the emergency room and they did a lot of exams and both interior and exterior ultrasounds. The only thing that was ruled out was that I did not have fibroid tumors.

It took a while to get an appointment with a gynocologist. Even with that, it was going to be the first week of October. Then, after two months, I get a call from his office that he left the practice and I will have to find another doctor. Luckily, I was able to find one less that 20 miles from my home and got in the next week, the 21st of September. 

That doctor examined me and set me up for a D&C for the next week at the nearby hospital. His fee was going to be $350 cash. Okay, not excited over that, but it was doable. The next day the hospital called to set up the procedure and said because I was self pay, I would have to pay 30% before admittance and set up a payment plan for the rest. I asked what that amount would be and about fainted when I heard her say almost $6K and then there would be charges from others. 

That put a stop to everything but the prayers. I am praying that I do not have cancer, which is what the doctor led me to believe it most likely was. He said he just hoped it has not spread to other parts of my body if it is. He said that at my age, this is what it usually is. 

I got a call today from my husband and he said that he was in the hospital in Huntsville. Then, he gave the phone over to a nurse to speak to me. I gave her the history of Fred’s health since last spring. She said a neurologist would be calling he. He did call and I repeated much of what I had already said. 

I was out the door and on the way to the hospital. When I got there, I was met by one of my husband’s supervisors. He updated me on what had happened. Fred had been in the passenger seat of an 18 wheeler when he began to feel bad. He said that he needed air and started to roll down the window when he slumped over, passed out. The driver was a trainee and he did not hesitate to take Fred to the nearest hospital. Apparently, he ran into the hospital to tell them about Fred and six or seven people came running out of the ER to help. 

Fred says he does not think that he passed out. I don’t know. I do know that he was still wearing his boots and jeans with the hospital gown because he thought he was going to get to come home with me. Nope, not gonna happen. 

The neurologist said that Fred would need some IVGV transfusions and this hospital was not equipped to do it. He would be transferred to the Woodlands or down to the medical center in Houston where there were many neurologists familiar with myasthenia gravis and how to treat it. 

When I left this evening I had not heard where he was going to go because even with the nurses calling around, there are few beds to be found due to covid. I don’t know if that meant there were too many patients or if it meant that there was limited staff on duty due to covid mandates. 

Myasthenia Gravis is a really big name, isn’t it? One of my former bosses’ wife has it and I had learned some about how it affects a person through the things he would come to work and talk about. Since I have known him, she has really gone downhill healthwise and I know it is hard on both of them.

December 16, 2021. Fred called me and told me that he was in the ER at St. Luke’s. He was not feeling well and left work, drove himself to the hospital and was already triaged before he called me. 

Long story short. He was given CTs, X-rays, MRIs, and just about every test a person can have to test for a stroke. But, it wasn’t a stroke. He had been having a hard time swallowing and he was choking on food here and there. He was admitted for the next eight days. It was determined that he had myasthenia gravis based on observation and testing. There was one test where if the score was 5 or higher it meant he did have MG. His score was 20. The began an infusion regimen and had a speech therapist come to visit, as his voice had begun to sound raspy and he slurred almost every word. A b would sound like an m and many other letters could not be distinguished when he spoke, so it was frustrating to him to have to repeat everything several times and have people still not understand what he was trying to say.

He got to come home on Christmas Eve. By this time he had undergone 4 rounds of IVGV and was able to eat a soft diet without choking very often. He was 200 pounds when he went in the hospital. 

Okay, back story- so we all know (if you've ever read my posts) that the last time I ran was back in 2007 when a bear was coming toward me and my grandson while in Tennessee in the Smoky Mountains. I ran for dear life, dragging my grandson behind me as fast as I could. The whole punchline of the event was that my almost 11 year old grandson, Mikey said, "Granny, I didn't know you could run."

Let's fast forward to this morning. Such a beautful day that we have the front door and door to the deck open, with just the screen doors closed. I was sitting at my desk working and out of the corner of my eye I saw what I thought was a cat on my deck. Now, I was wearing my computer glasses and that distance wasn't viewed clearly, so it took a moment to register that it was not a cat-- it was Piper, our chihuahua on the deck, heading toward the stairs. He had snuck out the screen door.Okay- side bar. Piper is NEVER outside without a leash on. NEVER. He thinks he is part rottweiller and part grizzly bear. Well, because he thinks he is ten feet tall and big dog proof, we can't let him out. He is the sweetest baby boy to people, but he just doesn't like dogs, cats, or squirrels. Therefore- leash. 

I jumped up and ran, almost crashing through the screen because I was running fast. (In my mind it was fast. I was scared for my dog, but in reality it probably looked like the 6 million dollar man in slow motion.) I started yelling for Piper to get back in the house. By the time I was at the top of the stairs he was out of sight. I ran down the stairs and looked around. He was nowhere in sight. All the while I am yelling like a crazy woman for Piper to get back in the house.I am a little hysterical by now because I am envisioning a hawk grabbing him and flying away, an alligator from the cove using him as an appetizer, or one of the strays that people drop off in our neighborhood laughing at him before he attacks poor Piper. 

I ran back up the stairs, into the house, and to the garage where Fred was piddling around. Yes, I was out of breath and my heart was pounding like a drummer playing Wipeout. As I was telling Fred what happened, he walked calmly out of the open garage to go find the baby boy. 

Feeling a stitch in my left side like I hadn't felt since junior high track in gym, doubled over in pain, I wheezed and limped on my bad knee back down the hallway toward the living room, holding on to the wall, thinking I was going to have a heart attack. (Okay- slight exaggeration, but my heart was still pounding pretty hard and my knee did start hurting after running.)Just as I am almost to the living room, I see Piper. Fred had stepped out of the garage and saw Piper standing in the yard, doing nothing. He called him, picked him up and brought him in. No hawks, alligators, or stray dogs had gotten him. 

I sat down this evening fully planning on writing a blog. The moment my fingers touched the keys all my thought processes completely shut down. I know it was going to be profound (or as profound as I ever get) and it was really good. 

Yep, this is gonna be one of my longer musings. Last summer I went on a diet and lost ninety pounds. YES, I was THAT big. I was motivated and I really wanted to do it THIS time. However, near the end of the year I had decided I was going to try to get a better position with the position I held with the State. I know a lot of times the best person does not get the job; rather, a person from within that department or division is already slated for the position and the rest of us are just cannon fodder to fill out the requirement of a number of people to interview that fit the criteria. One of my interviews was so deflating that I gave up after it and stopped trying to advance. In the middle of the interview I was asked about several questions that I answered by stating that if she would look at the application packet she would see .... Well, she out and out told me that she hadn't even looked at my application. I was so happy to finish that interview. I had also gone to 6 other interviews within the prior month or so. Each interview made me feel "less than" and that was getting to me. I know my eating started getting out of control during that time and the weight started coming back. I could no more stop pacifying myself than I could flap my arms and take off flying. When I read stories about people who are addicts and how hard they fought their addiction or the alcoholic who can't stop drinking, that's the same way it is for an emotional eater. There is a hunger that food cannot satisfy, but the food keeps the pain at bay. It is true. So, I ate my feelings and kept at my job, knowing that my real estate job would soon conflict with my other position. When my mother-in-law died and my boss told me that I couldn't take my grievance for that time because I had used 2 days to be off for a family reunion, I had to reevaluate my priorities. At that point I decided I needed to do what made me happy and fulfilled the drean I had worked so hard to achieve. I stayed with the State for a few more months, but when my real estate customer base grew too much to do both, I was out of there. 

I don’t know what they gave Fred in the hospital in that iv, but whatever it was seems to have kicked the illness to the curb. I got a call on Saturday, the 20th to pick Fred up. He was no longer on oxygen. He was hungry when I got him and he looked really good.

We went to Cracker Barrel and ate an early dinner. He ate a cup of soup, a piece of cornbread and two biscuits with gravy. That amount of food was more than I had seen him eat since he had gotten ill. He looked good on the ride hom, too. Later that evening he walked around on the deck and he sure seemed to be doing better.

Today, Sunday the 22nd- I cannot believe this is the same man I dropped off at the hospital on Friday with sugar levels in the upper 300′s, oxygen level in the low 80′s, with pneumonia, and so weak he could hardly walk. 

We drove to Livingston this evening and ate dinner at Joe’s Italian Restaurant and shared a small cheese pizza. He ate 5 of the 8 pieces, had a salad and ate a roll. This is amazing. He drove. I was surprised by that because even now I have a hard time driving with the weakness in my arms and legs. My arms don’t want to hold the wheel and my foot just doesn’t have much strength to stay on the pedal. So- I’ve got to give the hospital props for whatever it was they had in that iv. 

We are in bed now watching a movie and his body is warm. His fingers are not like ice and laying next to me, he seems just like he did before he was sick. 

I also have to give thanks for all the prayers. I know God heard them. There were hundreds of people we know praying for him. That had to be part of it, too. I am now praying for complete healing for the both of us and my son- who now has Covid and has underlying medical conditions. Luckily, we live just two houses down, so if he needs anything- I can be right there. 

I’m sitting here on Friday night, August 20th, all alone in my thoughts. Yesterday my husband got up around 3am and he had a smoothie, then he had two cups of hot tea. By 8am Fred was awake again after a nap and seemed to have a pretty good morning. We took his blood sugar level, it was 305, and he needed 9 units of insulin. About an hour later he ate jello, three scrambled eggs, and some grapes. I really was excited that he was showing a sign of having an appetite. 

All day long he drank a lot of ice water. He seemed lethargic as the day wore on. He didn’t have a lot to say and he slept a lot. He had just woken from a nap and I laid down next to him. We were just talking and all the sudden the room began to spin. I am glad I was laying down, but I was gettin nauseous from the spinning. I asked Fred if he could feel the room moving or if we were experiencing an earthquake. No, it was just me. I guess it is my nerves. I’m still coughing a lot and am pretty weak.

I can’t remember for sure, but I think he had a snack or two during the day. We had an early dinner- before 5pm. He had asked for rice and green beans. I added a salad. He ate all of it. An hour after dinner his sugar was back up into the danger zone according to his monitor we had attached earlier in the day. It was 356, so he took more insulin.  By 8pm his sugar was up to 442. He took 18 units and went to bed by 9pm.

It was another night of me being on constant watch. It was after 11pm before his sugar went below 400. He was very cold and he didn’t respond when I would ask if he needed water or needed anything. I would shake him until he answered. He didn’t even get up in the night to go to the restroom. Finally, around 5am Fred woke up and went to the restroom, came back and went to sleep. He seemed out of it. His daughter had called around 5:30. He picked up the phone, looked at it and said, “no” and laid it back down. I asked him if he was going to answer and he said he didn’t feel like talking to her. He went back to sleep until 7am.

We were laying in bed talking about what we were going to do when we got up. I asked if he was ready for me to take him to the hospital. Surprising me, he agreed. We discussed the plan for him to get a shower and for us to go. I helped him with showering and dressing.  I had noticed a little blood on the towel and saw that his nose was bleeding. He coughed and I also saw blood in the waste basket after he spit. Off we went after he had a banana and some ice water. His sugar was at 351 when we left the house.

This time when we went to the emergency room, I was well aware that he isn’t going to be coming home right now. I packed him a bag and made sure he had his glasses, phone, and charger. I am sitting here now, tears rolling down my face as I remember kissing him and telling him that I would see him soon as I left the emergency room, not knowing what is going to happen to him. He looked so sick, helpless, and small with that oxygen line going in his nose and him holding his ziplock bag with his identification and insurance, overnight bag at his feet. As I turned from him, I felt the tears start. I got out of there as fast as I could and out to the car. 

I did hang around the area for an hour and a half in the city to see if the hospital would call, telling me to come get Fred and take him home. I tried to call Fred a few times, but he did not pick up. After two hours I called and found out that he had been admitted and had already had a lung x-ray. He had pneumonia and was waiting in the waiting room. At that point, I could do nothing but head on home because nobody is allowed to wait with the patients in the ER. 

It was 5 1/2 hours later that he was finally given a bed in the ER. He called me after he had been at the hospital 8 hours, but it was a strange call. He said that he had been told by an Indian nurse that I told her he was just tired and lazy, she kept asking him things like what his temperature had been in the morning, saying he should know, and questioning him on what medications he was taking.  I don’t know what all she said, because he was so irritated by it all, that he wasn’t making sense. He told her that they had a list of his medications from when he had been in last week and she still pressed him on it. He told another nurse that he did not want to have that nurse in his area again. He said she was being rude to him and he was pretty upset by her whole demeanor.

When I had called this morning for the update, I hadn’t spoken to anyone with an accent, nor had that discussion even happened. Why would I tell a  nurse he was just tired and lazy? 

After we hung up, I was upset that he hadn’t eaten since before we left the house and he had no water or anything to drink since then. At that point, I called down to the ER and did speak with a woman (was it her?) who did have a thick accent who told me that he was in room 261 and no longer in the ER. Now, I was really confused. I called him back and he said he was still in room 19 ER and that the Indian lady had better stay away from him. He also told me that he was hungry and thirsty and was going out to find someone to give him some water. 

Sometime after 6pm tonight he finally got into a room in the regular hospital. He still hadn’t eaten anything and was really hungry. I was on the phone with him a little after 7:30pm when a nurse came in to check him in and told him that the kitchen was probably closed. How could a man be in their care for over 11 hours with no food? She told him that she would see if she could get him a sandwich and he said that he couldn’t swallow the bread, so he asked for jello. She offered to bring him some ice cream and he asked if he could have two. 

Two nights ago, August 16th - I could hardly sleep. Every time I did fall asleep, I would immediately awaken, thinking that I couldn’t feel my husband breathing. I was so scared. I now realize that I was on death watch. He has continually refused to allow me to take him back to the hospital and he won’t listen to me when I plead with him to just let them check him out. 

So, yesterday we got up and started the day as usual with the fruit and supplement smoothies. He really liked the extra banana in that one and drank it more quickly than he has some of the others. We were both happy that he was going to have a telephone appointment with the doctor at 7pm. 

The day dragged and Fred did not eat much and his energy was drained quickly. I was working from my desk and he slept watched several episodes on Green Acres. Sometimes when I checked on him he was asleep, always with the right eye stuck in an open position, eye rolled up where I could only see white and the bottom portion of the brown. It is strange, but that is how he sleeps now. I do worry that his eye will dry out and get infected.

By 7:30pm and no call, I called the docor’s office. It rang, the answering machine came on and it hung up. I called again and the same thing happened. This made me so mad that Fred was unable to speak to the doctor and get his prescriptions refilled or find out what the next step is.

This morning I got ahold of the doctor’s office and asked for a supervisor. Of course there was noone available to talk to. I was informed that all their offices closed yesterday at 5pm. The girl also told me that he has an appointmen for tonight at 7pm. What can we do about this? Well, I plan to write a strongly worded letter to the doctor and explain that the lady who schedules these appointments needs better training or to be fired.  I am livid now. So, at that point I figured we would wait and talk to the doctor.

Not too long after my call we got a call from a supervisor who told Fred that they would make him a 6pm appointment to go in person. Okay, we had a plan. I could tell that Fred was really getting fed up with all these things going on because when asked how he was and was he better by the supervisor, his reply was that he was not a doctor and he could not say. He also said he had no training to know. WOW. This coming from Fred was something I had never seen before.

We sat down for lunch a little later and I had heated soup for Fred. When I started to pray, he got mad. He said that we need to start praying before the meal is cooked because he wanted his food hot, not having to eat cold food after a prayer. If he wanted it cold, he would have eaten it from the can. I have to admit that I liked the fact that he was getting emotional. He had shown no signs of any emotions, just sitting around in a daze for days. I saw more life in him this morning that I have in two weeks.

Luckily, the patient advocate nurse from our insurance called and inquired about Fred while we were eating. I spoke with her and told her about everything up to now as far as his upcoming appointment and all the problems with the doctor’s office. I also told her that his sugar had been at 305 and he took 8 units of insulin and the other kind, too. That had happened about 2 hours prior. She asked that she be allowed to call the doctor’s office and get things in gear. She also asked for a new sugar reading. It was 353 now and he was barely keeping his oxygen at 90-91 with 3 liters of oxygen coming in. When he removed it, it was in the low 80′s. 

While I was on the phone with the advocate, she asked if he was depressed or suicidal. I told her that he was depressed, but - no, not suicidal. He is a man who is used to being physical and going out and doing things. He feels helpless. She stressed the importance of calling 911 if he needs it, even if he does not want to go. 

After I hung up I told Fred what had been said. He said that he was depressed and starting to feel “that way” that she said. I asked him if he really was and told him not to give up, he’s going to get better. I told him that its okay to be depressed, but if he starts saying he is suicidal, I will have to call someone. He started yelling at me that everyone wanted him locked away, either in the hospital or in the mental hospital. He said I was just like the rest of them. I told him that if he needed help, I was going to get it for him, but that it is all going to be okay- he is going to get well. I know he is lashing out at me because I am the one who is here, but that was really hurtful. 

We quickly got a call that we could go to the doctor right then. Because I was worried he may be going back to the hospital, I snuck his overnight bag into the truck. The portable oxygen machine starting going downhill quickly and all the charge was gone by the time we got to the doctor. We had it plugged into the lighter and we also tried using our inverter. 

The nurse took his sugar and it was so high that it did not register on their meter. It actually showed “HI”, so he was sent to give a urine sample. He was tested and no longer positive for Covid. His blood pressure was 124/86. He had weighed fully dressed on the 6th and was 204 by their scale. Today, fully dressed he was 184. That is 20 pounds in 12 days. The doctor explained that the diabetes is eating his muscles. They gave him a breathing treatment, an inhailer, and said that the key to beating this is to get his diabetes under control. She gave us one of those patches for his arm and he will now test three times a day.

My husband has been home now since Thursday night, August 12th and tonight is August 16th. I can tell he is going downhill. His skin is hanging all over his body and he is so sick. He is sleeping most of the time. If he takes off the oxygen for a minute to go to the restroom, when he comes back his oxygen level is down in the mid-80′s. He doesn’t have much of an appetite, but he is eating better than he was a few days ago.

We found out that 9 people from our church currently have covid and two other families have members with it, too. My niece and her husband in Louisiana have it. I don’t know what varient anyone has, I just know that it is getting scary.

People are arguing over the vaccine. I don’t know or care what is in it, but I do know that I am fully vaccinated and I seem to get doing better every day. I am still weak.  Fred chose not to get the vaccines and he stands by it. He also keeps saying that he does not want to be on a ventilator or respirator. These two things scare me because I will have him on one if I think it will help him if it ever gets to that. 

As a Christian, I know that God is in control of everything. I have never doubted that or feel as though I have any control over any of this. I have prayed so hard for Fred to get better, but as I pray, I am also praying for all those we keep hearing about daily. This Covid is a lot worse than anything I can imagine. I get the feeling that whomever created it and is still tweaking it knows what it can do. It’s going to take a long time for Fred to be back at 100%. He is physically drained and struggling as it is right now. Walking to the restroom has been a challenge. I told him I would wheel him in my office chair, but he hasn’t wanted me to, yet. 

He did use a small grocery basket to push around when he was really weak after coming home from the hospital, but found it was to hard to push with the oxygen in the basket. He didn’t have the strength. Fred is one of the strongest men I have ever met. I know this stuff has to really bother him.

Tonight, I came back from the store and bought him all kinds of things I know he likes. He gave me a list and my new way of thinking is that whatever he eats is better than not eating at all. I am making healthy smoothies every morning and we both like them. I hope they will help put a little energy in him. However, the foods I bought him tonight are all processed and probably not too good for him. 

Fred went into the hospital on August 10th. They admitted him, but they did not have a room for him, so he stayed in the emergency room for 22 hours before getting a room. The hospital began turning people away right after he was admitted. We are both thankful that he was allowed to be seen. 

I had stayed out in the car waiting to see what was going to happen because the hospital was not allowing anyone in the emergency room or wating room except for patients. After two hours I was told that I could go home, as they were keeping him overnight.

I must have driven them crazy, but I called several times the next morning to check on him. They were alway polite, but one lady did tell me that I could bring his cell phone up there so I could call him directly. I did run it and some clean clothes up to him and then went to our doctor to get some medication because I was feeling terrible. Oh, on top of covid, I still have bronchitis.

Finally, on day 3, August 12th Fred called to tell he I could come get him. It wasn’t that easy. It literally was seven hours later that he was discharged. Another two hours to get his prescriptions filled and we were finally home, where he wanted to be.

I will never forget seeing him sitting in the wheelchair with the oxygen and his bag. It broke my heart. He looked so small, so sick, like he had lost a lot of weight. I know he hadn’t had an appetite before going in, but he couldn’t eat what they offered because it was hard to swallow. 

Sunday, August 8th. Fred is in bed and has only gotten up to go the restroom. He is coughing, but it is rather weak. He has been running a fever of anywhere from 100.9 to 102.4 and tylenol is bringing it down. I hate to leave him, but I have to go to the doctor and my doctor’s office cannot see me. I decided I will back over to Livingston to where I had gone a few weeks prior.

The drive over wore me out and standing in line waiting to get checked in seemed to take forever. I felt strange standing in a line where people in front of me and behind me could catch Covid if I had it. However, I guess standing six feet away is the best we can all do in the clinic.

I did test positive on August 8th. I was so weak driving home that I had to pull over and rest. My arms were like lead and I was so tired. I also had to pull over every time I had a coughing jag. It took over an hour to get home, less than 25 miles and light traffic.

Fred and I have decided to take care of each other. We aren’t going to be able to have anyone come in because we can’t chance infecting them. That evening I ordered $300 worth of groceries and figure I will cook for him, help him get well, and we will be just fine. 

Monday came and several friends called or texted to tell us to get ivermectin, the monoclonal transfusion, and/or hydroxychloriquine. We needed to call the doctor to get it going. I did call at 9:40am about the Ivermectin and the doctor was supposed to call us back to let us know about the prescription. By 3:00 I hadn;t heard anything so I called back and was unable to speak to anyone. I had to leave a message. At 6:15pm I decided to call back to find out what the plan was. I was informed that our doctor’s office said that Ivermectin was not covid FDA approved treatment, so we could not get prescriptions.

Tuesday rolled around and I called down again to see about getting the monoclonal transfusion to be told that our doctor’s office does not give referrals for it.  So, I asked about the hydroxychloriquine and was told that I would get a call back. Nope that did not happen. No call back. 

Okay, so it had already been three weeks since I got bronchitis. I am still coughing and my chest hurts. I have taken all the medications prescribed for me. I figured I would have to go back to the doctor again. WIthout insurance it is so expensive and until I get on Fred’s at his job, I just have to pay whatever the fee is. I figure I will go back on Saturday or Sunday. 

Friday, August 6th was going to be a closing on a property that I needed to attend. Fred had gone to work sick. He told me that the new driver with him the day before kept inquiring if he was okay because he was doing a lot of coughing. On the way home Thursday, Fred bought some cough drops. He coughed a lot during the night and said he was going to try to get an appointment with the doctor. 

Just as I finished my closing and was heading to the property to retrieve my sign, I got a call from our doctor’s office. They had Fred there and he had tested positive for Covid. They took blood, gave him a steroid shot, and he told me later that he had begun to feel weak. Just before they gave him another shot, he passed out. He got a big scrape and bruise down his arm from hitting the wall.

I just about flew down the highway to get there. I prayed out loud and I prayed harder than I had ever prayed... up to that point. They gave him same yogurt and water and he was waiting in a room when I got there. I asked about getting the test and was told it was $200.00 to get tested and for the antibodies test. So, I paid it and tested negative, but positve for antibodies. The nurse explained that meant I had already had Covid. I looked it up at home and saw that it could also have read that way because I was fully vaccinated. But, I did not have Covid at that time according to the test.

I emailed my client and the buyer and told them that upon leaving the closing I had gotten a call about my husband and the positive result. I had to inform them so they could plan accordingly. I did tell them that I tested and it was negative.

The next morning, Saturday the 7th, I got up feeling like I had been hit by a mack truck. My eyes were red again, just like a few weeks before with bronchitis, but I was hurting all over, and I was having weakness in my arms. Every time I lfted them I felt as though I was holding a ton of weights.  I figured I would be okay, but that the bronchitis was still lingering.