covid diary: day 19

The first thing I read this morning was an utterly heartbreaking account of Tony Sizemore, a man in Indianapolis who lost his wife, Birdie Shelton, to COVID-19. She was the first casualty in Indiana. She worked for a rental car company at the airport, so she was in and out of cars a lot, and the assumption is that she picked up the virus from touching a steering wheel or something that was contaminated. Anyway, she started having a cough and fever, and they treated it at home, until a few days later, when she started having trouble breathing and asked to be taken to the ER. She never went back home. In the space of one week, this man went from having a normal life to being a widower who couldn't even say goodbye to his spouse because they were both in quarantine. Here's just a little snippet of his account:

She was taking so much oxygen, but it was never enough. She had two little tubes put in her nose, and she couldn’t get enough air. They put a big mask on her face to get her oxygen back up, and that made her claustrophobic and panicky. She got real freaked out. I tried to count breaths with her. I kept saying: “Easy. Easy. In, out. In, out.” I couldn’t distract her because she was so deep in her head with panic. It labored her to talk. It labored her to breathe. I said, “Don’t talk then, honey. Save your energy.” There was a TV in there, but neither of us could focus on it. I sat in the quiet with her, for whatever comfort that might have brought her. I don’t know. I listened to her breathing. I watched her. When she was asleep she was taking these real quick, short breaths, like she was gulping air more than breathing it. When she was awake, she was kind of mumbling to herself. Maybe it was the medication they were giving her. I hope to God it was the medication. She was talking about how her eyes hurt, her insides hurt. She would clutch her fists and hit the bed and stuff, and you don’t really know how to help somebody in that frame. I mean, when she’s just clutching her fists and moaning and — I don’t know. I don’t know what I could have done. I sat there for as long as I could and then I got up every few hours to pace the hallway, or I’d drive eight minutes home to feed the dogs. I was starting to go a little crazy myself. I couldn’t keep sitting there, feeling helpless, listening to her breathe. 

It was an awful time. I should be thankful she’s not suffering anymore, but she did suffer some.

This morning, as usual, I was up before everyone else, so I took my coffee and my kindle outside with the dogs to try to enjoy the quiet. But factors were working against me. It was pretty windy, and the temperature, which started around 50, dropped to around 40. I thought about turning the fire pit on, but decided against it, and instead went inside and started ironing the curtains to rehang them in the library. Once Mike got up, he and the boys reinstalled the trim and bookcases, and then I spent the rest of the afternoon sorting, alphabetizing, and shelving. It was comforting in a way, and made me think very much of the years I spent working at Borders.

Since it is Sunday, my colleagues and I also spent the day in a nervous holding pattern, waiting to see how many hours, if any, we would be given for work this week. We were in suspense until late afternoon, when the boss emailed us all and said we would stick with a reduced schedule of 30 hours this week. He also said that the company is exploring its options for small business assistance under the relief bill, so that was a hopeful note. I'm thankful to still have a job at all right now, and I'm terrified that it won't be that way for very long, a sentiment echoed by my colleagues. And my colleague and friend Jill shared that her son, who recently returned home from college in New Orleans, likely has COVID-19. He can't get a test, of course, because his symptoms aren't severe enough as of now, but their doctor says that's almost certainly what it is. So she has additional layers of worry and stress for her son, as well as for the rest of the family, because they're all in the same house, so chances are good that they will all get it.

Today the president decided (wisely, for once) to extend the national social distancing recommendation to the end of April. He has given up on reopening the country and getting people to crowd into churches for Easter Sunday, and now he's talking about how it will be a sign of a job well done if only 100,000 to 200,000 Americans die during this pandemic. Only that many. Meanwhile, he has repeatedly referenced how his press conferences get higher television ratings than the reality TV show The Bachelor. And while he's obsessing about his ratings and not doing anything to protect people or to initiate a national supply chain for tests and medical devices and personal protective equipment, people like Birdie Shelton are dying alone, isolated in hospital rooms. While the president spent his day touting his ratings and belittling reporters who quote his own words to him and ask him to explain his actions, for 374 Americans, it was their last day alive. I can't forget that, and neither should you.

Nationwide cases: 142,649. Deaths: 2,575.