I never thought it would happen to someone I loved, but it did.
Now here I sit, in this hard wooden fold out chair with its ugly green seat and backrest, next to Melissa hospital bed. My fingers intertwined with hers as I rest my forehead on her lifeless hand. This will be my seat for the next 8 weeks as I pray that she will not die.
Melissa was 38 weeks pregnant with her third child when she became ill with COVID-19. When her condition deteriorates, doctors must rush to deliver the baby before starting Melissa on medication. Unfortunately, the medication is too late to prevent her COVID scarred lungs from failing. Melissa is sedated into a coma, and a ventilator takes over for her COVID ravaged lungs.
The nurses say that Melissa will not survive the illness. The doctors won’t say anything at all.
This is Melissa’s story. She is the one who suffered so horribly, but it is also my story. I was not the patient in the bed; I was the mother in the chair.
I never thought it would happen to someone I loved, but it did.
Now here I sit, in this hard wooden fold out chair with its ugly green seat and backrest, next to Melissa hospital bed. My fingers intertwined with hers as I rest my forehead on her lifeless hand. This will be my seat for the next 8 weeks as I pray that she will not die.
Melissa was 38 weeks pregnant with her third child when she became ill with COVID-19. When her condition deteriorates, doctors must rush to deliver the baby before starting Melissa on medication. Unfortunately, the medication is too late to prevent her COVID scarred lungs from failing. Melissa is sedated into a coma, and a ventilator takes over for her COVID ravaged lungs.
The nurses say that Melissa will not survive the illness. The doctors won’t say anything at all.
This is Melissa’s story. She is the one who suffered so horribly, but it is also my story. I was not the patient in the bed; I was the mother in the chair.
PrologueÂ
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Melissa sat on her bed opening Amazon box after Amazon box. My mother had gone on a shopping binge just three weeks before her third great-granddaughter was to be born.Â
Melissa exclaimed over every gift as she opened them. Harley, Melissa’s three-year-old daughter, exclaimed even louder. The amusing part was that Harley was just three years old and did not know what each item was, nor did she understand that her new baby sister, contained safely inside her mommy’s tummy, would arrive soon.Â
At this very moment, my little world was beautiful, happy, and safe. I had a wonderful husband, two healthy children, and four, about to be five, grandchildren.
The endless lockdowns were over, school was back in session, and our world was getting back to normal. Our beautiful beaches were filled with sunbathers, surfers, and sunscreen-smeared children who chased the waves as they receded from the sandy shore.Â
Although COVID was still very prevalent, the worst was behind us. We were so fortunate that it had not touched our family, although other families had not been so lucky.
My head was buried firmly in the sand with the thought that we were safe, as if the cruel fingers of COVID could not touch us.Â
I wish I could have continued to think we were untouchable. I wish I could have continued on, confident in the thought
I would never have to know how horrible COVID was. I had been living in a fantasy world, and oh, how I wish I could have stayed in my safe little cocoon forever.Â
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1
A Mother’s Worst Nightmare
“Melissa, close your lips around this and take deep breaths,” the respiratory therapist said urgently.Â
Melissa replied in a whispered voice, “I will. I just need a second.”Â
“We have to do this now! There are too many other patients to treat. I don’t have a second to give you!”Â
“I can’t. I just can’t,” Melissa said in resignation. She sat slumped over in the bed and she was holding the breathing treatment mouthpiece down at her lap. “I’m going to die,” she whispered. It was a statement. She didn’t even sound afraid, but I was scared to death. My heart broke watching someone that I loved so much suffer through this.Â
I was sitting on the edge of the bed. “No, you are not going to die,” I said with conviction.Â
“Mom, I can’t.” She shook her head from side to side and shrugged one shoulder up as if to say, oh well. She lifted her hand, holding the breathing treatment, and then let it flop back down onto her lap. “I’m done, and I’m going to die.”Â
I could see that Melissa was tired, and that she was giving up. Fear, unlike anything that I have ever experienced in my 55 years, washed over me. “I won’t let you give up. Please, please put that back into your mouth,” I say, as I push her hand back toward her mouth. “Put this in your mouth and breathe!” I begged, “because the alternative is unacceptable.”Â
Forty-eight hours later, my beautiful, vibrant, sarcastic daughter would be placed on a ventilator.
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August 16, 2021
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Several days prior to Melissa’s hospitalization, I received a call from her. “Mom, Ian has COVID.” Ian is Melissa’s fiancé, and the father of their 3-year-old daughter Harley.
“Are you sure?” I asked, hoping that she would say she was not sure, and that maybe it was just a cold.Â
“I’m sure. He took an at-home COVID test and it turned positive right away. He feels pretty bad and is just lying around.”Â
Melissa was 38 weeks pregnant and had decided to wait until after giving birth before being vaccinated. There just was not enough information on how the vaccine affected unborn babies, and she didn’t want to take a chance. She was healthy, other than being pregnant, so the odds were that she would be fine.Â
Ian isolated himself in the back bedroom, hoping that it was not too late to prevent Melissa and their youngest daughter Harley from catching COVID.
 Melissa and I decided I would make the two-hour drive to Orlando to help her with Harley and Ian. I was pretty sure that I was going to end up with COVID as well, but I had received the vaccine a couple of months earlier. I knew it may not stop me from getting infected, but would hopefully keep me from getting really ill.Â
My youngest daughter Emily had also received the vaccine at the same time I had, but as luck would have it, she and my sister ended up with COVID. They both recovered with no complications. My husband and I avoided coming down with it that time, but Emily still fell ill, so I knew it was possible.Â
When I arrived, Melissa was in pajamas. Her long dark hair was up in a messy ponytail and she was holding a rag and some antibacterial cleaning spray. She had been busy all morning trying to clean all the counters and doorknobs, hoping it might prevent the rest of us from getting ill. Two days later, she tested positive for COVID.Â
My husband had done some research on pregnancy and COVID. This is when we learned how dangerous the Delta variant was during pregnancy. Our Governor, Ron DeSantis, had set up monoclonal antibody stations for people who were at high risk and my husband urged me to take her for treatment.
Melissa already had an appointment to see her OB the next day and she wanted to ask her about the treatment that my husband had suggested. Melissa called the office the next morning to let them know she was COVID positive. The nurse who answered the phone instructed Melissa to come after business hours that day to avoid exposing other patients.Â
Melissa was scheduled for a cesarean section in just a few days, but after examining her, the doctor wanted to delay the delivery until the COVID infection was gone.Â
Melissa came home with the news that the surgery was going to be postponed, and that the doctor said they just needed to let the illness run its course. I asked her what the doctor had said about monoclonal antibodies. She replied she had given the doctor the information, and the doctor was going to investigate it.
August 21, 2021
Melissa was ending the first full week of her illness. She was beginning to feel better, but I was now feeling ill. I knew it had to be COVID. Since Ian and Melissa were both feeling better, and I was still hoping my granddaughter might escape illness, I drove home and sequestered myself in a bedroom so as not to expose the rest of my family. I should have just stayed because I ended up driving back the next day when Melissa’s breathing difficulty worsened.Â
I took her to the ER in Orlando and dropped her off in front of the hospital door. She had to go in alone because security was not letting anyone in but the patient. I watched her walk through the doors and then left to find a spot in the parking garage, where I spent the next 4 hours waiting.Â
I was feeling horrible. My neck, shoulders, back, and hips ached. I was sweaty and exhausted and could not stop coughing. I could not imagine how Melissa felt, as bad as she was.
There were a couple of texts from Melissa while she waited for the doctors to decide what they were going to do with her. A couple of hours later, she called to tell me they were going to release her with some medication. I was surprised they were going to send her home, but the hospitals were overrun with patients and they only kept the ones who they felt were in danger. She came home from the hospital and went to bed, where she stayed for the next 20 hours.Â
August 22, 2021
Ian and I tried to get Melissa up to walk so fluid would not pool in the back of her lungs, but she was struggling for oxygen by this time and just didn’t have the energy. We did everything that we could think of to help Melissa, but nothing worked.Â
I was standing at her bedside trying to think of anything that may help, but Melissa got frustrated. With a voice so weak that you could barely hear it, she said, “I need help, but nobody is listening to me.”Â
“Melissa honey, you have to go back to the hospital!” I said, as I hurried toward the bedroom door to have Ian call 911.Â
We stood by helplessly as the EMTs loaded Melissa onto the gurney. Harley stood in the corner watching. She didn’t approach, but stood there with her finger in her mouth. Her long blond curls bounced around her face as her head quickly turned to look at Ian, and then me, for reassurance. I did not want her to be afraid of what was happening, so I tried to reassure her that Mommy was going to the hospital where the doctors could help her. I think I was also trying to reassure myself.Â
Once the EMTs got Melissa into the elevator, Ian and I took Harley to the balcony. She had panicked and tried to get out the door to go with mommy but we couldn’t let her. We had her wave to Mommy when the gurney became visible in the parking lot, as if this were a normal thing instead of a horrible, frightening situation.Â
Ian and I still did not realize the gravity of the situation, or maybe we just didn’t want to.Â
 Since the hospital would not allow either of us to go in with Melissa unless they admitted her, the EMTs advised us to stay home. We tried to make things normal for Harley as we waited for news. We helped her with the puzzles that she loved to put together, all the while waiting for the phone to ring.
As the realization hit that Melissa would not be coming home soon, we had to decide who was going to go stay with Melissa in the hospital, and who would stay home with Harley and Alexandra.
Alexandra was Melissa’s 9-year-old daughter from a previous relationship, who was with her father at the moment, but we knew she would want to come and be with Harley as much as she could. Even though there was a five-year gap between their ages, the two girls were best friends. They slept together in the same twin bed, even though there was one bed for each girl. Alexandra and Harley loved to run around the apartment screaming, while an imaginary dinosaur, whose only desire was to eat them for dinner, chased them.
It was plain to see that Alexandra had learned her caregiving skills from watching mommy. I could hear Melissa in her voice as she spoke to Harley. She had the same gentleness in her voice that Melissa had, as she patiently taught Harley her colors, counting, and the alphabet. Harley worshipped Alexandra.
Melissa eventually texted us to let us know she was waiting for the doctor, and we would hear from her once she knew what the doctors were going to do. It felt like days, but it was only four or five hours when we received the next text from Melissa. “I don’t have any definite answers yet, but I’m pretty sure they are keeping me. That’s all I know so far.”Â
I texted her back. “Have you seen the high-risk OB yet?”Â
“For a brief moment, but information is coming in very slowly. I’m too tired to type much. They put me in a labor and delivery room, but that doesn’t mean anything. You and Ian need to go get a rapid test now and take it. If you or Ian are still positive, they will not let you come in, and I will have to be alone. I’m alright though. I feel too crappy at the moment to be scared.”Â
I grabbed my purse, jumped into my car and got to the drugstore as quickly as I could. There was a box of two tests at the first store I went to. As soon as I got to my car, I ripped open the packaging and took the test right there in the driver’s seat. I was anxious as I watched the results window; the pink tint flushed over the white screen, the red control line appeared, and with crushing disappointment, so did the positive line. I was only several days into the illness. Ian was well into his second week. We could only hope that by some miracle, he would test negative.Â
As I arrived home, I already had the bag with the last unopened test hooked around my wrist. I put the car in park, threw the door open, and ran into the apartment. Ian was standing by the kitchen counter waiting for me as I came in the door. He looked at me, head tilted to the side, silently asking what my results had been. I shook my head. “I’m positive. Now let’s pray that you are not.”Â
He took the test, and thank God his results were negative. We had to wait an agonizing 15 minutes, per the test instructions, to be sure that the results were, in fact, negative.Â
While we were waiting, we received another text from Melissa. “Please tell me as soon as you get Ian’s results.” She had said in her earlier text that she felt too ill to be scared, but this last text led me to believe that she was scared, at least a little, and she was alone.
Both Ian and Melissa had hospital bags ready to go. They had been expecting the birth of their baby girl and wanted to be prepared. Ian grabbed both bags and ran out the door. I received a text from him soon after he arrived at the hospital. “I’m with Melissa now.”Â
“How is she?” I asked.Â
“She’s hanging in there…waiting to hear how, but Ivy will be coming tonight. Baby’s heart rate is up and Melissa is showing signs of pre-eclampsia.” He said that the doctors were meeting to decide the best course of treatment for Melissa, but first they needed to deliver the baby. Melissa needed medications that were not safe to give while the baby was still inside.Â
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Covid-19 has left a painful mark on many lives, and its reign of terror isn't over yet. We have all lost or known someone who has lost a person to this virus. Children have lost a parent, sometimes both. Parents have lost children. Covid strikes hard and fast, and it doesn't discriminate on age, gender, or color.Â
The Mother in the Chair by Wendy Reese is a mother's emotional retelling of how her 38-week pregnant daughter contracted covid, gave birth to a beautiful, healthy daughter, and then spent weeks battling the covid beast.
Doctors and nurses have pleaded with people to get the vaccine. People chose not to for various reasons. A common one is they are unsure of the side effects. In Melissa's case, she said there wasn't enough information on how the vaccine would affect her unborn child. She thought she was healthy. She thought it was safe to wait. Unfortunately, covid had other plans for her.Â
Covid took many precious moments from Melissa. She missed out on the first couple of months of her daughter's life. Her husband had to go on medical leave to take care of their children. Her mother sat with her morning to night, hoping her daughter would improve and fearing she wouldn't. Each setback tore Melissa's mom apart. That's the thing with covid when you start to feel better, it digs into its nails and pulls you back under.Â
The staff at the hospital were phenomenal. They worked overtime to give Melissa a chance to survive. They push themselves until their bodies cramp but still find the strength to keep working. We owe them a debt of gratitude!Â
Melissa's story ended with a happily ever after, but that's not the case for so many others. But all the days in the hospital and the days following her release are 100% relatable to anyone who's suffered through violent coughs, ventilators, medical-induced comas, fevers, infections, trach, and physical therapy to relearn basic skills: walking, eating, talking.Â
I encourage you to read this story. Share it with those who think covid is fake or "not so bad." Please get the vaccines, so no one else suffers the way Melissa did - the way her whole family did. Also, support others in your community, as Melissa's community supported her.Â