WOMAN DOES EVERYTHING NECESSARY TO “ESCAPE” THE HOSPITAL

Smokers and Alcoholics Get Treated for Lung and Liver Diseases, but the Unvaccinated are Frequently Ignored in the Hospital

I began to journal a day before I was released from the hospital, but all I could get out was “Covid isn’t about politics.” I was so alone. I was feeling so ashamed that I didn’t follow the “narrative” and get vaccinated. I had friends die from Covid while I was in the hospital. “This is real, people and families are being torn apart and why?” I kept asking myself. “WHY?” I knew with the deadly aggressiveness of Covid, it was man made. Within 3-4 days I went from having a cold to kidney failure.

I woke my husband up about 4:00 AM on a Sunday morning; something in me was saying I needed to go to the hospital. We pulled up to the entrance and a wheelchair was brought out for me. My husband and I were met by a security guard in a tiny room and the security guard escorted us to the registration desk. The nurse took me and told my husband to go home.

He wasn’t allowed into the room with me, he didn’t know what was wrong with me, and he wasn’t even allowed to wait in the waiting room. He later told me that he went out to the car and cried. He felt helpless and didn’t know if that would be the last time he would ever see me.

I was put in a room and the first question was, “Are you vaccinated?” I replied, “No” and the nurse immediately said, “WHY?” I really wasn’t doing well and simply said we didn’t believe in it. I was honestly stunned by her question as I didn’t think it was anyone’s business why I chose not to be vaccinated.

Honestly, I tried to research the vaccine, Covid, pros and cons but nowhere could I find unadulterated information. Everything was saying the vaccine would save your life. However, I would read that there was a 98% Covid survival rate unvaccinated. Nothing was making sense and I honestly wasn’t going to inject something that had so little study and, quite honestly, was being “pushed” by our government.

Another nurse came in and again asked me WHY I was not vaccinated. I have studied body language and am very intuitive of a person’s tone and demeanor.  I immediately began to feel discriminated against. I immediately felt that the staff felt this was my own fault and I deserved what was going to happen. The doctor later came in and sitting across the room from me said, “Well, you’re in kidney failure, you have Covid, and there aren’t any beds at the hospital so you have to stay here until they can find one.” Then he left.

I called my husband and told him. I didn’t know what kidney failure meant, I didn’t know if I would recover, I didn’t know if I would die . . . I didn’t know anything. Eventually they found a bed and an ambulance transported me to the hospital. Every person I encountered that day asked me “WHY” I was not vaccinated. I was so tired of hearing that question because to me, it was nobody’s business and what does it matter?

Later I found out that there was this rumination amongst medical staff that if you weren’t vaccinated, you shouldn’t be treated. Based off of that, I wondered why they treated smokers who had lung cancer, alcoholics who had liver failure, drug addicts, etc. I had never in my life felt that medical staff should take personal opinions or politics into the hospital or into their treatment, but I was finding out that didn’t apply with Covid.

For the next week or so, my phone would be my only connection to my husband and family. I asked for my husband but was told I was in quarantine and he wasn’t allowed in the hospital. I stated that I was lying in bed with him and he was the one who took me to the hospital, he’s been exposed so why can’t I see him? I was told that having anyone in the hospital who isn’t a patient makes the other patients and staff uncomfortable.

As the days progressed, I got worse. The hospital gave me Mucinex and Tylenol, neither of which did anything. I was hungry but was told that the cafeteria was understaffed so they “were doing all they could.” I was a couple days in when I didn’t have the energy to even stand to get to the bathroom. I had to ask for a catheter. Yes, “I” had to ask. I quickly realized that if I didn’t ask, nothing would get done.

I was given a huge pill because my kidneys weren’t doing well. It was chalky and I couldn’t get it down because my throat hurt so much. I asked, “Since I am already hooked up to an IV, why can’t you just put this in my IV?” I asked the same about pain medication. I was told they couldn’t do that in a regular hospital room, only in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU). I asked for some water to dissolve the pill and only then did the nurse mention there was a drink that I could have that would have the medication in it instead of swallowing the pill. I felt like such an inconvenience and that the staff was going to do nothing to help make any of this easier on me.

Eventually, I got to where I had to go to the ICU. So much of this is foggy for me, but one night in the ICU, I felt like I was on a battlefield during a war. I was told they opened up a new ICU wing for Covid patients. I was wheeled in to that new room where I immediately heard a lady crying, screaming in sadness and that lasted for hours. I remember thinking, “Why is she crying, at least she gets to be here with her loved one as they die. I’m alone.” I felt like the worse person for thinking that.

After she finally left, I heard a lot of commotion, fighting, anger from a patient, things or people being thrown around a room. I asked to have my door shut; I couldn’t handle the noise. I was starving, the oxygen was killing my sinuses, and the pain was so intense. I pushed the call button and no one would come. I finally called my husband and he had to call the hospital to get me help. I believe that was the night I texted him saying, “They are trying to kill me.”

So much of what I remember is just moments, not in any specific order. I remember the doctor coming in to tell me there is something that has been working for Covid patients but there is none in stock so she is going to try something else. What that was, I don’t know. Apparently, I got an infection of some kind and was put on strong antibiotics, what that was about, again, I don’t know.

I remember asking if I was going to die, multiple times, and was just stared at by the nurses. The doctor simply told me that was up to me and I had a 50/50 chance. There is so much more to my story that I am still learning about. What my husband experienced, my brothers, and my children. This is only the surface of what Covid did to me and my family.

In the end, I researched on my phone how I could “escape” and go home. They wanted to keep me in the hospital for several more weeks for rehabilitation. But after such a traumatic experience, I wanted to go home. I asked what I needed to do in order to be released and I was told I had to have my oxygen lower; I did that. I had to be able to walk to the bathroom; I did that. I was told I had to walk down the hall; I did that.

But then I said, “Enough.” I asked the doctor if I was going to die if I went home and since he couldn’t say I would, I told him I would check myself out if I didn’t get released by him. I went home the next day. No follow up from the hospital but I didn’t care. I didn’t want anything to do with them ever again. I went to a new doctor who prescribed me Ivermectin when I started getting sick again a month or so later and I was fine. About a year later I was able to get into the Covid clinic at a different hospital, and I am currently going through tests to see what type of damage occurred. Lots of scarring, a partially collapsed lung, unexplainable joint pain, memory issues, confusion, still unable to breathe normally, headaches, just to name a few. I am now learning that Long Haul Covid is a new beast in itself to maneuver.

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