Raymon's COVID Update - 10/28/20

 

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Phew! Our first day under our belt after hospitalization. The last two days have been full. Full of joy, full of anxiety, full of hope and lots of work. Yesterday morning we were informed quite early that Raymond was no longer on supplemental oxygen and that he could go home as early as that afternoon. We were originally told he would be in for 10 days to complete the course of medication. Well, as you know, NM is being slammed with Covid cases and our hospitals are at capacity. In truth, he made such a turnaround between Sunday night and Monday that it made sense to send him home to continue treatment. That also freed up a hospital bed for someone more critical. I could also understand that. Nonetheless it created a great deal of anxiety in Raymond, first to be on room air and secondly to be going home. He felt safe there especially after his experience with oxygen deprivation from Wednesday to Friday last week here at home.

I questioned the doctor releasing him regarding safety, contagion etc. He was telling me something different than the infectious diseases doctor was telling me. I was confused. They had a confab and we came up with a plan for release we were all comfortable with. Still, it caused anxiety and stress.

I rushed around getting “the isolation room” ready for Raymond while at the same time spending lots of time with him via FaceTime as we both processed the oxygen shift because, as true with every adjustment in oxygen, there was always that period where his oxygen levels dropped below 90. By the end of the day, that adjustment had usually taken place.

No one tells you about how scary it is when they come home. Or that it will take him 30 minutes to change his clothes. And that it will take us 3 hours to get him settled because he can only do so much and then must stop to rest. No one tells you that when you are this sick you have to take care of yourself because no one can come within six feet of you. No one tells you how scary it feels to be responsible for his care. Can I handle this? Can I be patient enough? What if I miss something? But the idea that he is well enough to be home prevails and we fall into joy.

And then comes nighttime, when it seems they always feel worse than during the day. I hear him over the nanny cam, “Hey Raven, I can’t keep my oxygen over 90.” So we start the dance. Should he go back on oxygen? Shouldn’t he? We finally decide to try 1 liter so we can both sleep. It works.Thank God! We sleep.

Come morning the dance starts again. Can he move around the room and do the tasks he needs to do without dropping below 90 while on room air. As the day progresses he’s able to do a little more each time before his levels drop off. We organize his medications, he physically, me over the nanny cam, reading doctors orders. He straightens and organizes the room in order to access what he needs easily. He rests. He naps. He gets more energy and decides to shower and shave. And he does all this and keeps his oxygen above 90. I give thanks for Divine grace and mercy. I give thanks for Raymond’s incredible work ethic and motivation, doing his breathing exercises and drinking fluids to stay hydrated.

We gather with our family to pray the rosary in gratitude for Raymond’s turnaround. Every day on this Covid journey is different. It is a roller coaster ride with highs and lows, ups and downs, jerked right and left, back and forth. It is a continual exercise in being present to each moment. But mostly, it is a journey of love. My love for my husband, his love for me, Cory’s love for his father, Cory’s love for me, our love for him. It is YOUR love fir us and ours for you. It is all of your prayers and love and acts of kindness that has held the space for this miracle of a healing that is taking place. I thank you for your faith in the Divine and for sharing that with us.

It’s been a long day. I am weary. I love you. I thank you. I go to bed tonight with hope in my heart. I pray blessings over each and everyone of you and your loved ones. Be safe. Masks. Sanitize. Distance. Yes it’s a pain in the butt. It’s a lot more painful to watch your loved one gasping for air.