Fever Dream

Fever Dream

October 25th, 2020

Yesterday, I went to my granddaughter’s wedding. I know I shouldn’t have; the news has made it very clear that it’s dangerous to be in large crowds. But I couldn’t miss it. She’d been planning it for over a year. She would’ve been devastated if I didn’t come. I wore a mask and did my best to keep a safe distance from the other guests.

It took place in the mountains. The leaves were a mix of yellow, orange, and red. The sky was clear blue, and the air was crisp. I wore a maroon dress with a beige shawl. I missed John. He would’ve looked stunning in a navy-blue suit, but he made me a widow two years ago next month. I can’t believe I’ve lived without him this long already.

Sophia looked beautiful in her dress. It was a snow-white ball gown and had a long train. She wore a veil; most brides don’t anymore. Her long dark hair was pulled up in an updo, and she had little sprigs of baby’s breath woven in. She wore the sapphire bracelet that John had given me for our thirtieth anniversary as her something blue. It also doubled as her something old. Her mother and father bought her a pair of diamond earrings for something new.

The ceremony took place outside at sunset. The mountains stood in the distance, a flawless mosaic of autumn. It was short and sweet. After they exchanged vows, the officiant lit two small candles and passed them to Sophia and her husband. They used them to light a third larger one, marking their new union. I cried when they finally said I do.

The reception took place in a large building on the property. It was decorated elegantly with lilies and tea lights. The tablecloths were navy blue, accompanied by gray runners. The dishes and cutlery were rose gold. The music was played by a violin quartet, soft and romantic. It was like attending a royal ball for the queen.

The dinner was a feast fit for a king. I had the prime rib with garlic potatoes and carrots. Drinks were brought out in champagne flutes, though I only had water in mine. So did Sophia; a grandmother can’t help but wonder if that means there’s a small miracle on the way. For dessert, we had wedding cake, of course. It was vanilla with a mixed berry jam topped with buttercream. It was both delicate and rich, absolutely dreamy.

And what kind of ball would be complete without a dance? For the first dance, Sophia and her husband danced to Ed Sheeran’s song “Perfect,” and they truly were. The father-daughter dance brought tears to my eyes. It reminded me of when Sophia was a little girl, and she’d wear her princess gown and make John and Josh dance with her in the kitchen.

After the festivities started to wind down, we sent them off in a shower of birdseed. The groomsmen handed out sparklers to all the guests, and fireworks were released in the background. They departed from us in a carriage led by white horses. I believe that even Cinderella would’ve been envious of how perfect the wedding was.

October 30th, 2020

I slept in this morning, which is not like me. John always teased me for waking up before the birds, so I was surprised when I saw the sunlight coming through my drapes. I began my normal routine and started breakfast. However, when I took a drink of coffee, I couldn’t taste it. I’m trying not to panic, but I think I caught the virus at Sophia’s wedding. The news reports that most people only have mild symptoms. I hope that’s true. They also talk a lot about overcrowded hospitals, diminishing equipment, and increasing numbers of deaths. I know I’m probably being paranoid, but I’m seventy-two years old, and I’m not ready to die yet. I know John is waiting on me, but I want to watch my granddaughter start her family and meet my great-grandkids one day.

I cried after calling Sofia and my nieces to tell them not to come over tomorrow for trick-or-treat. I normally go all out for Halloween. I decorate my yard with spiderwebs, skeletons, pumpkins, and fake graves. I buy full-sized candy bars and bake goodies for my family. I wear a costume to pass out candy, usually as a witch or a fairy godmother. This year, I planned to dress as the wolf from Little Red Riding Hood, when he disguised himself as a grandmother. Unfortunately, it will have to wait until next year.

I don’t know what I am going to do with myself for the next two weeks. I guess I can catch up on some reading and some long-overdue chores. I have been cautious since COVID-19 arrived in the United States. I rarely leave the house or go into public. However, I will miss my daily walks and Halloween with my family. I just have to remember that being lonely and bored for a little while is better than risking making someone else sick.

November 2nd, 2020

Yesterday morning, I couldn’t stop coughing. It was dry and painful; each one was tearing my throat to shreds. I also developed a fever. It felt like my skin was on fire. I was able to bring it down with ibuprofen, but I was still miserable. I called my son, Josh, to let him know I wasn’t feeling well. He said he wasn’t too concerned, that it’d pass in a few days. I wanted to believe him, but I felt like something wasn’t right. I called my doctor, and the nurse on the phone told me that they could test me for COVID, but there wasn’t anything they could do to treat it. She suggested I continue to manage the fever at home and go to the hospital if things got worse. My friend Susan brought me some supplies when the pandemic first started. She sent Tylenol, cough drops, a blood pressure cuff, and a pulse oximeter. I dug them out of my closet and checked my vital signs. Everything looked normal, so I focused on resting and keeping my temperature down.

Today, when I woke up, I had trouble breathing. Each breath was a struggle, like when you climb a flight of stairs too quickly, except all I did was take ten steps to the kitchen. I called Josh again, and he told me to call 911. I didn’t want to bother the emergency services; they’ve been so busy lately. But when I checked, my oxygen was low, and my pulse was elevated. I knew then that I didn’t have a choice.

The paramedics arrived at my house about fifteen minutes after I called. They came in wearing goggles, masks, and gloves. Everything was covered except for their eyes. They brought their equipment and checked me out. After they took my vital signs, one of them rushed over with a stretcher, and the next thing I knew, I was in the back of an ambulance. They placed a mask over my face and connected it to oxygen. I could finally breathe.

When we arrived at the emergency room, everything moved fast. Nurses and techs surrounded me as soon as I left the stretcher. They hooked me up to their machines and got an ECG. Someone placed an IV in my arm and took some labs. Another nurse swabbed my nose to test for COVID. It stung worse than I expected, and tears filled my eyes. Someone took a chest X-ray, and then I just waited for hours.

There was a constant buzz outside my door. The fluorescent lights beamed down, giving everything an unnatural glow. People in scrubs kept running by my door in every direction. Before they entered the rooms, they’d stop to put on a mask, gown, goggles, and gloves. The gowns appeared to be made of trash bags, and the nurses looked like the Michelin Man in them.

I was scared and alone, so I asked a nurse if Josh could stay with me. She told me that visitors weren’t allowed due to the pandemic, but she could get an iPad to talk to him if I wanted. I had never even heard of an iPad before. Apparently, it’s like a cell phone but larger, and there’s an app on it that allows you to see people while you talk to them. I told her no; I didn’t understand how that could help. I’d still be alone. She turned on the TV for me and went out the door to help someone else.

Two hours later, a doctor came in. He told me that I had COVID-19, and because I was requiring oxygen, he was going to admit me to the hospital. I was devastated. I had hoped they’d tell me that I had a mild case and I could take some medicine and go home. I called Josh. He sounded worried but promised me that he’d only be a phone call away.

November 3rd, 2020

Last night didn’t go very well for me. I was in the emergency room for hours. My nurse, a woman named Beth, told me there weren’t any inpatient beds available, and I would have to wait until one opens up. I slept as best I could, but it was difficult. There was a lot of commotion in the rooms surrounding mine. Once, I saw Beth rushing down the hall with a big red cart on wheels. I’m not sure what was happening, but it didn’t look good.

At around two in the morning, I was moved to a room. I wondered what had happened to the person who occupied it until before me, but I was too afraid to ask. I convinced myself they’d had a late discharge and were on their way home. I got a new nurse when I moved rooms, but I can’t remember his name. He’s tall and has dark eyes; that’s about all I can tell you about his appearance. Everyone’s face is hidden when they enter my room.

At four thirty in the morning, I needed to use the restroom. I called for assistance, and a CNA helped me out of bed. It was only about fifteen feet away, but I felt like I’d been on a hike. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs. She helped me back into bed and pressed a button on the wall. Within minutes, there were several people in my room: a doctor, three nurses, a respiratory therapist, a phlebotomist, and a radiology tech. A nurse told the doctor what had happened and said that my oxygen dropped into the fifties, and it wasn’t improving.

Everyone quickly jumped to work. They took labs, x-rays, and something called an ABG. After that, a short-haired respiratory therapist brought in a machine and told me that it would deliver a larger amount of oxygen than the nasal cannula I’d been wearing. She explained that it delivered both a volume and a percentage of oxygen, although, to be honest, I’m not sure what she meant. I was relieved after she connected me to it. I could breathe without using all my strength.

After my episode that morning, I wasn’t able to get much sleep. The nurses and respiratory therapists were constantly in my room. I continued to have trouble breathing, even though I was wearing my oxygen like I was supposed to. Eventually, the doctor came in, and they moved me to the ICU.

November 5th, 2020

I’ve been in the ICU for two days now. There are a lot of machines attached to me, and they alarm frequently. The lights are dim, but the monitors flash, so it’s rarely truly dark. The doors are made of glass, and they seem fragile. The Big Bad Wolf wouldn’t have to huff or puff to blow them down.

It’s been hard to get any rest. I sleep in short spurts when I can. My oxygen has improved since they transferred me. I have to wear a mask that covers my nose and face most of the time. It’s called a BiPap, and it’s very uncomfortable. I’m thirsty all the time because it dries my mouth out so fast. My tongue feels like it’s made out of sandpaper.

The staff has been incredible. They comfort me as much as they can, although they look so strange to me in their protective gear. Yesterday, they brought me an iPad, and I called Josh. I was wrong to jump to conclusions about it at first. I was so relieved to see his face. He said that he’s been taking care of my house for me and wishes he could be with me. I told him I’ll be home soon, though I’m not so sure. The doctors told me that my lab work and x-rays are looking worse. I don’t care what they say, I can’t give up. I’ve been doing everything they tell me to do, and I don’t want to die here alone.

I think being in the hospital is starting to affect my mind. Last night I started seeing things that weren’t there. I was wide awake, and I thought I was back at home. I tried to get out of bed to do some laundry, but someone rushed in and stopped me from getting up. They reminded me where I was and that I needed to stay in bed. About an hour later, I thought I saw something sitting in the corner of my room. It looked like the wicked witch from The Wizard of Oz. She laughed and flew away on her broom in a gust of wind. When I told my nurse what I’d seen, she brought me some medication, and I fell asleep for a few hours.

November 7th, 2020

The alarms are screaming louder and more urgently than before. I am so scared. Although I’ve been wearing the BiPap, my breathing is getting worse. I am exhausted, but I am doing the best that I can. I want to get better for my family, but I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this. There’s a part of me that wants to give up and be with John.

My nurse came into the room a few minutes ago, stern-faced and moving urgently. She evaluated me, stepped out for a minute, and then a doctor stepped in. She told me that her name is Dr. Andrews and that, unfortunately, I am not improving despite everything they’ve done for me so far. She said the only option they have left is to put me on the ventilator. She told me they’d give me medicine to keep me sedated and comfortable. She also said that there is no guarantee that I’ll get better. Even on the ventilator, there is still a chance that I could die. I told her that I wanted to be put on the vent, I can’t stay like this anymore.

I heard the doctor call Josh in the hallway to tell him what’s going on. She answers his questions patiently while nurses rush around the room gathering supplies. They placed a big red cart outside my room. They’re getting ready to come in now. These may be my last words, and I should say that I’m brave and I know I’ll be okay, but I can’t promise that. So, if I don’t make it and you’re reading this, please give this journal to Josh. I need him and Sophia to know that I love them both and that her wedding was perfect. I want them to know that I went to be with John, and I hope to see them again someday.

Franklin City Times

Barbara Jean Wallace, age 72, died on November 10th, 2020. She was born on May 12th, 1948, in Franklin. She was a dedicated teacher who loved to read and garden. She is preceded in death by her husband, John Wallace, her parents Edith and Walter Williams, and her sister Evelyn Todd. She is survived by her son, Josh, his wife, Tonya, her granddaughter, Sophia, and a soon-to-be-born grandson. A memorial service will be held virtually on November 13th and can be accessed via the Tompkins Funeral Home website. The funeral will be held at Franklin First Baptist Church at 4 P.M. on November 14th. The family requests that anyone who plans to attend please wear masks and stay at least six feet apart from other attendees.