A Covid Story

There have been many difficult and challenging times in my life. This includes some traumatic moments from my childhood and teenage years, although I will not talk about that often or even in this story, I can say that God has always been my strength. This year, as we all know, has been overwhelmingly challenging. I have always generally been a healthy person, so it was a surprise when Covid-19 affected me the way it did. This is not say that I have never been ill, I am human after all but I definitely have never been seriously ill. I am the type of person that generally gets rid of a cold in one day. The worst physical pain I have even been in prior to Covid, was around the fall of 2019 when my stress levels affected my immune system so bad that I broke out in shingles. This was caused by a very unhealthy and stressful time in my life as I am a single parent, was working full time, and was also getting my master’s degree. If you are reading this, I highly recommend you never do that.  No doubt, this could have been a factor that played into my reaction to Covid, but it is not for sure.

I do not remember the exact date, but it was towards the end of June or beginning of July that I became extremely ill. It is a feeling I will never forget especially since I was not too familiar with being sick. I woke up one Monday morning with a very high fever, headache and body pain. Since Covid was the trend (or I should say IS the trend) I knew I had to let my job know and immediately went to get tested (which was pointless since at the time results took forever to get). I spent about three days quarantined at home with never ending pain and fever. I had no desire to eat or drink anything; although, if you are Hispanic, you don’t have a choice when your mother insists that you eat caldo the pollo. I would take very few bites at most. Suddenly, on day four, all my symptoms disappeared, and I had defeated such virus….so I thought.

On Friday (day five), I woke up at between 1 or 2 am with excruciating pain in my chest and lungs, and I could not breathe. I could take very rapid and small breaths; however, every time I tried to inhale it should shock my body with pain. I immediately began to panic. I could hardly walk or move without feeling any kind of pain or as if I were going to pass out. It was my son who heard me panic, called my mother who drove me to the hospital. I could feel by the minute my inability to breathe becoming worse. I remember arriving at the hospital and it was adrenaline that enabled to walk in and scream for help. I knew that if I did not, I would maybe not make it. The front desk nurse took my vitals. She noticed very low oxygen levels, a life-threatening fever, and she quickly got me back into the emergency room where they put me on oxygen until a doctor could see me.

The emergency room experience was the worst I’ve had in my life. Within minutes, I was tested for Covid-19 and it was positive. They could not give me anything but Tylenol (which they only did once) for pain and was also put on IV. At first, it seemed that all they wanted to do was get the fever down, so they could send me home (I am sure many of you have had that experience). What I am about to share is a little explicit, so I apologize in advance. I was not allowed to use the bathroom in the emergency room area because of Covid so I was given a bucket toilet seat to use. I was in so much pain that I did not want to move, but when your sick, you have very little control of your necessities so either I went on myself or I had to make the effort to use the bucket, which in my case, was a bad decision. I had no help from any nurse most of the time. They were very neglectful. I had to try and go to the bucket on my own which meant I had to remove my oxygen to go. It was at this point that I realized I could not breath at all. So, I held my breath and moved in agony to the bucket to relieve myself. It was as if I had to hold my breath underwater while experiencing a shock of pain through my body. Immediately after using it, I was so weary that I had to drag myself back to a very small bed (I would not even call it a bed) to get back to my oxygen. It was then that I felt like I was dying, and everything was beginning to go dark. I said a very small prayer. I remember saying in my mind, “Lord I have served you. If this is it, I accept it. You are the one who gives and takes away.” Then I blacked out. I do not remember for how long. It could have been seconds or minutes. I do not know. I remember waking up with the oxygen barely on my face. I just laid there feeling hopeless and with so much pain.

About an hour after the blackout, the doctor finally came in with the nurse. He was a tall black man with a Caribbean sort of accent. I remember thinking, “Thank God, Black Panther is here to save me.” He sort-of did. In front of me, he asked the nurse why my oxygen levels were not being reported to him earlier. He ordered that my oxygen levels be reported to him every 30 minutes or so. Needless to say, that never improved and neither did my fever, so I was finally admitted into the hospital. Also, I never saw the neglecting nurse again. A supervisor came and apologize to me. I also remember feeling a very dark presence that day. Before I woke up with this terror, I was experiencing a spiritual battle in my room and that entire week. I knew the enemy was trying his hand, but my God is always in control and I knew he was fighting for me.

I call it the “13 hours of Hell” because that’s how long I was in that dreadful emergency room, but once I was admitted to an actual hospital room, things began to change. I remember asking the Holy Spirit to move at that moment. He did. I remember the Spirit beginning to speak to me in a way that only He does. He made me understand that although the next few days would physically be hard that He would not leave me there and that it was all going to be okay. That is exactly what happened. The next 5 days at the hospital were extremely painful. I ended up also getting pneumonia and hypoxia. I had to get antibiotics but for pain there was not much they could do. I would take 15-20 minutes to walk to the bathroom because I had no energy and it was painful to move. I could not lay down to sleep because that would cause breathing attacks. For about 4 days, it was a constant cycle of fever, pain, and breathing attacks. At the end of about day 4, a nurse came to my bed and she forced me to eat fruit (she noticed I was not eating, and she was Mexican, so she was not playing). I noticed that when I ate even a little bit, the fever would go away. The fever would return but I noticed that the eating helped. That’s when things began to turn around.

The virus hits hard for about 10 days and then it just lingers in the body for a while. On day 5, the doctor said that my oxygen levels were getting better and that if I could go 24 hours without a fever, I could go home. I began to read my messages on my phone and started to see how people were praying. God had even revealed to some of them what God already said to me. I remember worshipping God every day. I remember this was probably the best worship and prayer I had ever done. I would sing old hymns and I would just cry and cry and cry (which sometimes lead to breathing attacks lol). I am crying as I write this, not because it was a bad thing. I could not have any visitors in my room, but I know God was there sitting on my bedside as if He were my dad or my mom. I felt like a child… loved and cared for. I had never experienced God in that way, but I am so happy I did.

On day 6, I was released from the hospital and was quarantined for a while. I was out for about a month from work and everyone else. I did not care. I was happy to be alive. For a about a day or so, I still could not lay down to sleep at home. I had to use an inhaler sometimes. Let me back up just a tad…. the first night I came back home. I had a dream and in that dream,  I saw a big black figure who said that he wanted to kill me but could not. I responded and said to him “No you could not.” I rebuked Him and he left my room immediately. Since then, I have felt nothing but peace in my house. It is now December. For months I had still some medical issues that included inflammation in the body, dental problems, high blood pressure, chest pain, diarrhea (yes it lasted for a long time), and in the beginning some anxiety/depression. Yes, you do really do lose your ability to taste or smell for a while. The doctor told me that it is about a 6 month to a year (possibly) of complete recovery. I can say now, I am fully recovered. The most important things I remember through all of this, is the importance of God and family.

First and foremost, life is a gift from God. You need to know that He is the one that gives it and He is the one who takes it. This does not mean God is evil. No, in fact, He wants you to know that even in death (the last physical chapter of life) and pain He is there. His agents and His Holy Spirit are involved in our time here and after. His Spirit was my healer, my visitor, my father and my hope. He spoke to me, not just through others but to my own spirit. It was more important for me for God to be there than for Him to heal me. Trails and tribulations can show us that God is there.  Lastly, my love for family and others has grown. You never know how much time you have left on this Earth. Let people know that you love them, spend time with them, pray for them and show up for them. This was an unforgettable experience; although painful, I learned to see God and life in a different way. I hope this story helps someone. There are many people in this word suffering with disease or loss. Many people have died, and many have not received healing. These are the people we should be helping and praying for daily. The best hope we can give to them is the message of Jesus Christ. That he has paid the price for our sins because he LOVES us. God is with us. You are not alone in your struggle and pain. You may not see Him, but He is there, and He will not leave you. Please be safe, be respectful, and wear a mask!

-Josue Carias