21 Days

I couldn’t get answers, I couldn’t see her… Anxiety levels through the roof. I had to drink, had to numb myself. It all blends together. It becomes a personal horror movie. When a loved one is in such great peril, and you are forbidden from seeing them.

November 19th, 2021, Friday.

A normal day. Up at 5:30. 35 minute commute to work, where I did my job for 9 hours as a pre-press technician and graphic artist. It was a typically boring day. One lady in customer service had called in, and nobody thought anything of it. She was often out with various illnesses, including issues with her asthma.

Her husband, who also worked at the company, but on second shift, called in later in the day, stating that they suspected they had the flu. Some concern was raised, and discussions regarding COVID tests were rampant at that point. I wasn’t concerned, because I spent very little time with this lady. Even though her desk was in the same room as mine.

When the workday was done, I made the same commute home, but traffic is always heavier in the afternoon, the commute is closer to 45-50 minutes. I never rush. I don’t need to be in a hurry. Traffic is what it is and there is literally nothing that can be done for it. So for me, the day had been like every other day that week. Work is work, a requirement for a paycheck. I take pride in my work, but for me it is old hat and not overly challenging.

Once home, my wife and I always sit and talk about the day. She is disabled because of a heart and lung condition. Left ventricular myocardia and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), though she had quit smoking six years prior, the onset of COPD had already started. It doesn’t heal and slowly progresses. Kim simply waited too long to quit smoking.

Because of her disability, she could not work, and spent many hours during the day by herself. Trying to fill her time with phone conversations, computer games and working on her star autograph collection “Kim’s Galaxy of Stars”. None of that filled the need for one on one personal attention.

I, of course, am hyper aware of this and always, without fail, came home from work and sat at the table with her to talk about our day, eat dinner and make plans for the upcoming weekend.

My wife and I, as well as our daughter Ariana, had a normal Friday evening. After our dinner and talk, we would break off to do our own little things, and meet up periodically throughout the night.

November 20th, Saturday

It was the weekend before Thanksgiving. My Aunt Pat had invited us for a Thanksgiving meal on Sunday, rather than the typical Thursday meal. It was planned this way so that the families involved in the get together on Sunday could get together with the other half of their families on Thanksgiving day.

We were very excited to go, and our plans for Saturday were limited to go to the store to get a dessert for the meal on Sunday at Aunt Pat’s. Kim loved cake, and was disappointed that she couldn’t find a Thanksgiving cake. We settled for a normal cake, but it truly wasn’t what Kim envisioned.

That night, I went out on the front porch to have a cigarette. Though Kim had quit smoking, it wasn’t something I had been successful with. I’ve tried many times, but the result is always the same: failure. I will try again someday. Regardless, I was standing on the porch. It was god awful cold, as it always is in Western New York State in November. I caught a chill, something that never happens to me. It was odd. My entire body shook, and it wouldn’t go away. I ended up going to bed early just so I could get under the blankets and try to warm up.

November 21st, Sunday

I got up early. My body is simply tuned to it, because of my work schedule. I felt great, full of energy, and chalked up my incident with the shakes the night prior to just being fatigued. I’ve never been a good sleeper, and getting a good night’s sleep always invigorated me.

Kim and my daughter always sleep in. I get a good three to four hours of time to myself in the mornings on weekends. Drinking coffee and working on one of my various projects. I draw and write, as well as create tabletop role-playing game scenarios for my bi-weekly game.

It was a normal Sunday for me. After my family pulled themselves from the sheets and had their morning coffee, we all prepared to go to Aunt Pat’s. It was a special day. My Uncle John had been put into a home with Parkinson’s. We all knew he wasn’t coming home, and Aunt Pat simply needed family. We were there for her. She’s a splendid cook, a great aunt and a great friend. My cousin was there to share in the event, as well as her daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter. A few of their friends arrived as well.

It was a fun afternoon, reminiscing with my cousin and aunt, cracking jokes at someone else’s expense. There was no drama, just brilliant company, great food and cake.

Sadly, the day had taken a toll on Kim and we left earlier than planned. We had hoped to stay long enough to see my other cousin’s daughter, but she was running late because of another commitment and just couldn’t be there when we had all gathered. It was fine. We would catch up with her soon, we hoped. It had been a long time since we had seen anyone since the lockdown.

When we got home, that afternoon is when my personal hell began. My phone rang. It was my boss. He was calling to confirm the lady in the office was out because of COVID. My heart sank as I looked at my wife. The woman I love and had spent the entire weekend with. I knew immediately that I was infected.

Hanging up the phone, I filled in my family and told them I had to go out in the morning and get a COVID test. I called my Aunt Pat to let her know. I was horrified. This was not the way anyone would envision getting that kind of news. I knew it was probably too late, but I avoided my wife and daughter the rest of the night.

November 22nd, Monday

I woke up not feeling well, but not really sick. The place to get tests wasn’t open until 9:00 a.m. so I had to wait. I drove there early and waited in the parking lot. Once in, the test was quick. By the time I got home, I was feeling horrible. I knew without a doubt that I had COVID and I had more than likely infected much of my family.

I spent the entire day by myself on the couch, away from my wife and daughter. They were worried. I don’t get sick. Since my wife and I got married on July 1st, 2000, I can’t recall any memorable sickness other than the occasional cold. This was different. My sense of taste and smell were intact, but I had a fever of 103 degrees and the idea of eating or drinking anything simply turned my stomach.

Kim and my Ariana were fine. They didn’t feel sick at all, but they were worried.

November 23rd, Tuesday

My family wasn't sick, but I was. I was glad, glad that they were not. I couldn’t imagine what I’d do if lost one of them. The results for my COVID test were still not in, and I spent the day on the couch again. Kim and my daughter knew to stay away. I had talked to my boss several times. He and I agreed I had COVID. We were just waiting for the confirmation. I got that confirmation at 9:38 p.m. A full 24 hours plus after I had been tested. It was positive.

November 24th, Wednesday

Exactly the same as Tuesday. I was severely ill, contemplating going to the hospital, and thinking better of it. The hospitals were already overrun. There was nothing they could do for me.

November 25th, Thursday. Thanksgiving Day.

The plan had been to make a fine meal of pork ribs. That didn’t happen. I was in no shape to cook, and even worse, I had no desire to eat. Neither did Kim. She had presented symptoms. She was infected. Our daughter too. Thanksgiving Day is now a day of pure misery for us. Never again will Thanksgiving be the same.

For me it had become increasing difficult to breathe. My chest was tight and my illness just as bad as the two previous days. I was miserable. I hadn’t eaten in three days, and the only thing I was putting down was water, and not much of that.

We all suffered together at this point. My concern for Kim, unspoken. She knew though and reassured me she didn’t feel that bad.

November 26th, Friday

Kim woke and came out to see me sprawled on the couch. I was still sick and worse, not able to breathe. I had to sleep sitting up when I could sleep at all. She was worried, said I should go to urgent care. I of course said no, our extra money was to take care of her doctor needs. Not mine. Typical man, I suppose. She said she felt great. It must have just been a one day infection for her. I was relieved. Our daughter was still sick, but only had a headache. We were both relieved.

November 27th and 28th.

On Saturday, I still was not getting better. I was a full 7 days into it. I was hoping for relief, but what I got was my wife sitting in the chair huffing and puffing. By Sunday she could hardly move, much less breath.

November 29th, 1st Day of Hell

The day started simply with all of us going to Urgent Care. As a family unit. My health wasn’t improving, my wife’s health was degrading quickly and my daughter still had a headache.

We arrived at Urgent Care and they immediately separated us, performed COVID tests and stuck us on oxygen machines. I could hear Kim in the other room, as the doctor was tending to me. I showed her the positive COVID test results on my phone. She nodded and informed me they called an ambulance to come and take Kim to the hospital. The oxygen levels in her blood were critically low.

I got a glimpse of her through a window as she was rushed out to the ambulance. I had been informed not to leave the room I was in to reduce any chance of spreading the infection. My daughter can’t drive, and her health wasn’t in question. The doctor asked me if I was ok to take her home, and then go to emergency myself. At this point I had not eaten for 9 days. I was severely dehydrated, and I needed medical attention that urgent care could not provide.

Assuring the doctor I would go, I ran my daughter home, and then drove to the hospital. As I suspected, the hospital was overrun. They were tending the patients in the waiting room in stages. There was a special area quartered off for those of us suspected of having COVID. Leaning on the wall, sitting in the chair, I dozed between tests. They would come and wheel me into a room, take blood, then wheel me back out. This went on for several tests. There was no point in time where I felt my life was in danger from the virus. I was wasting their time. I wanted to know about my wife. They wouldn’t let me see her, even though I was infected.

I spent nine hours in the emergency room. They brought me in, hooked up an IV to help with the dehydration and then simply told me to go home. I asked to see my wife again, and they refused to let me.

I drove home, still sick, knowing that I had what they called COVID phenomena. My oxygen levels were steady and there was no reason to keep me. I was glad about that, but what about Kim?

I knew I would not work in the morning, and could not for several more days. The fourteen day quarantine started when I got the positive result on my COVID test last Tuesday. I waited impatiently at home for my phone to ring. I was exhausted and finally went to lie down. It was 11:59 p.m. when my phone finally rang. It was Kim.

She was scared. She wanted to come home. “They told me I could die!” She wailed at me. “They are waiting for a room in the ICU.” She continued. Kim wasn’t a crier. In fact, the twenty-six years we’ve been together, I had only seen her cry a very few times.

I could hear the fear in her voice. I tried to reassure her. Told her they knew what to do at the hospital. Told her I loved her and that I would talk with her tomorrow. I was exhausted. She was ok; she was calling.

November 30th, Tuesday

The next morning I tried to call her cell phone, but she didn’t answer. I tried many times throughout the day until I finally had to call the ICU desk.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Pelton, your wife is in a medically induced coma and she has been intubated.” The nurse explained matter of factually.

“What?!” I replied. “When the hell did that happen? I talked to her at midnight last night.”

“The procedure was done early this morning. I’m sorry,” she replied.

“Why wasn’t I called? Why was I not informed?” My heart was breaking. What if I never got to speak to her again?

“Mrs. Pelton signed the papers herself,” the nurse responded.

“Can I see her?” I asked in anguish.

“No, she has COVID, until the doctor releases her from the COVID protocol she cannot have any visitors,” was her response.

I hung up the phone, numb. Wracked with guilt for wanting to go to sleep the night prior. She needed me, and I hung up that damn phone.

Every day after that was a blur. I eventually recovered and returned to work, in body only. My mind was in the hospital with my wife. I called every day trying to get updates. The rotating schedule for the nurses made getting information difficult, and during those 21 days, only one doctor called me with an update.

On December 18th, 2021, Thursday, my phone rang at 3:00 a.m. The nurse said her name, but I can’t recall it.

“Mr. Pelton, your wife isn’t doing well.” She explained. I could hear the empathy in her voice. “She’s dying.”

Half awake, my heart leapt into my throat and I caught a massive sob before it ejected from my mouth. “Can I come see her?” I asked in a strained voice. Tears welling in my eyes.

“Yes, Mr. Pelton,” she replied. “You can come see her.”

“I’ll be there shortly,” I responded. I don’t really recall what happened between that moment and the moment I walked into the ICU ward at the hospital. The nurses were bone weary. You could see it on their faces. The look that said they were highly paid hospice care givers. They dressed us in viral suits and for the first time in 21 days, I got to see my wife. My daughter was being strong, but I could see anguish in her eyes.

I have seen the face of COVID, and it is a horror show. Kim, laying there in the bed with a tube shoved down her throat. Wires connected all over her body and the catheter tube sticking out from under the bedsheets. Medically paralyzed and sedated. Her tongue stuck out between her teeth and the tube. Her skin was dry, and there were raw spots on her face from where the tube and been rubbing against her skin. I held her swollen hand, pressing my forehead against it and cried. I begged her to be ready to come home for Christmas. Our daughter leaned on my shoulder and cried.

It was at this point that I found out she was septic. No one had given me that information prior to that moment. There was no doctor there. Why was there not a doctor in the ICU ward? There were nurses and breathing specialists, but no doctor. Why the hell wasn’t he or she here? Who was on call?

They told me her condition was destabilizing because they had recently flipped her onto her back. This was something they needed to do periodically for all the patients. There were eight others in her ward.

The problem was that none of the patients were doing well when they were on their back. They needed my permission to put her back on her stomach. When a patient is on their stomach for too long, especially septic, the fluids in the body flow with gravity. It put pressure on the organs along with a host of other things.

I agreed, and my daughter and I went to the family waiting room. Roughly thirty minutes later, the nurse came back with a smile on her face. Kim was stabilizing.

A gasp of relief escaped me. Our daughter, Ariana, just looked at me with puffy eyes. The danger wasn’t over, and she knew it.

The Sunday after our scare, the doctors released Kim from COVID protocol. I could visit her. As soon as I got the news, Ariana and I drove to the hospital to see her. I was so worried, so lonely and afraid. We stayed for several hours, just sitting with her. I talked to her, but I can’t remember what I said. The nurses said she could hear us, so I begged her to get better. Begged for her to come home. Her favorite day of the year was just around the corner.

All week long, I visited. They got her on her back and stabilized her. It was a step in the right direction. I read a book to her. I spoke with the nurses. Phillip was an amazing man. We talked for a while. He fought back tears. He knew, the other nurses knew, but no one could say anything. Phillip had warned me to expect a call from a doctor. Ariana visited often, but she had a hard time with it. It was hard to see her mother like that.

December 23rd, ironically my mother’s birthday, but she had died two years prior, the week before Thanksgiving. The doctor finally arrived and came into the room. He was solemn. The look on his face said everything I didn’t want to hear. He took his time. No person wants to deliver news like that. Kim would not recover. COVID had effectively turned her lungs into cardboard. COVID pneumonia had destroyed her lungs. Even if she survived, she would have a trach the rest of her life and she would be bedridden. He was recommending the removal of life support.

I couldn’t help it. I broke down. Ariana wrapped her arm around my shoulders. She was there for me. I found out later; she had given up hope on her Mom’s return. She had already accepted it, but knew I wasn’t ready.

The doctors wanted to do it right away. I just couldn’t. Kim’s favorite day of the year was Christmas. She loved presents. She loved buying presents. I had to give her just one more Christmas day. Her medical care was switched over to comfort care.

I will not get into the emotions of opening gifts from a loved one you know you’ll never get to talk to again. While my daughter and I opened the Christmas gifts from Kim on Christmas morning, it was not a joyous occasion. It was the second hardest day of my life.

On Monday, December 26th, at 11:15 a.m. my wife Kim M. Pelton, passed away due to complications with COVID-19. This was the hardest day of my life. Having to choose the day she would pass from this world. It is something I would not wish on my worst enemy. It hollowed me out. There was nothing left but grief and misery.

The holidays will never be the same for us. We not only lost a wife, mother and beautiful person, we lost the happiness that came with the holidays through her. Kim was one of nine people on that ward. Not one person infected with COVID in that ward survived. This is not a slight on the medical personnel taking care of them. They worked hard; they tried hard, but COVID is a mean and unrelenting enemy. Taking people without previously existing conditions as neutrally as those who did.

Why am I writing this? I don’t really know, maybe it’s therapy for me. An extension of my grief. Our 22nd wedding anniversary is just around the corner, and she is constantly on my mind. I love her and miss her more than anything in this world.

I don’t want her to be forgotten.