During this pandemic and time of crisis, I wanted to relate a small tale of the experiences of my wife, Anna, and I as newly transplanted Sun City residents.
We were native New Yorkers and moved to Henderson, Nevada about four years ago. But Henderson has a bit of a transient, soulless quality, although it is a great place, so we thought Sun City was the right move at this time in our lives. Just our luck, we moved in April. My Mom, 95 years old, was going to live with us but developed heart failure and died before we could get her out here. It was about six days before we moved.
Just as we settled in, everything started to shut down. With certain co-morbidities that were controllable, we knew we were at high risk. We thought we did everything right. We canceled a trip to Pennsylvania to be with our daughter and her family during Thanksgiving out of an abundance of caution. We interacted with our wonderful new neighbors at Circa Court, but always at a distance. We went out maybe once or twice per week to shop, wearing our masks and sanitizing.
It did not matter. COVID came calling for me on Thanksgiving evening and for Anna the next morning. It started as a persistent cough and by the next day, Anna and I had the traditional symptoms of low grade fever, headaches that would not go away and labored breathing. We went to the emergency room at Banner Boswell. They tested us and we were positive. They sent us home with instructions for care. But they also pleaded with us to come back if we did not improve.
During the week, food was an anathema to us. I lost 15 pounds on the COVID diet! We became severely dehydrated. My kidneys were hurting. My daughter called from Nazareth, Pennsylvania and urged us to call 911, which we did on a Sunday. My cousin, Cindy, who just moved here a few weeks ago, was there for us and rushed over. Next thing we knew there were seven uniformed firefighters from the fire department. I have to say that they did not all acquit themselves as best they could, given our dire circumstances. One fellow, whose name I did not get, and who I will refer to as “Cowboy,” was the cynical one in this group of these first responders. He said that going to Banner Boswell was akin to a “money scheme.” The hospital wanted our money, he said, but emphatically postured that we would be transported there only to be sent home because there was “nothing” they could do for us.
I am here to tell you that “Cowboy” was full of it and out of his league. Now please do not get me wrong, the men and women of the fire department are heroes in their own right, but occasionally somebody speaks from misinformation, perhaps bias or ignorance, but I do not believe with maliciousness. But if we listened to “Cowboy,” we both would never have survived this.
We can’t say enough about Banner Boswell. I never met so many heroes. While I could barely breathe with a nasty case of pneumonia, we were in awe of the heroic efforts of everyone from the emergency room to the cardiac ward upstairs. The CNAs, the Nurses, my doctors, the respiratory therapists, all of them! You can never compensate these people enough, heroically coming into our room and attending to our needs. My doctor, Dr. Park, came in with a respirator and sounded like Darth Vader, but he was a Jedi Knight.
It was heartbreaking that people were crashing on our floor in the cardiac unit. The staff let my wife, who was several doors away, come and visit me. But so many people never made it out of the ER to come upstairs because now the ward was overwhelmed. There must have been two or three code blues every day down there. The staff was always there for us. As sick as I was, I was always concerned for the staff. On my first night my night nurse was on the verge of tears. I could see how overwhelming it was for her, but that did not stop her from doing what she could. On the day of my discharge, there was a delay because patients were crashing all over the ward. They were apologizing to me! I just wanted to give them my bed for someone waiting in the ER because I was on the mend.
“Cowboy,” I want you to know that they saved our lives. Try not to unwittingly aid and abet this disease through disinformation.
In closing, I would like to say that COVID-19 is no hoax. This virus is no joke. I personally thought I was on my way to the intensive care unit and then the crematorium.
Wear a mask, do not be cynical. Stay home this Christmas so that you can see your friends and family next year. We are almost there. We can do this. Be well and be blessed. When I wake up every morning, I feel stronger and grateful for my second chance, but I grieve for those and their families that were not as fortunate as we are.
Editor’s Note: Al Palumbo is a semi-retired certified resume writer and carerr counselor working for Randstadt. He is a member of a virtual team that provides outpatient services to large companies that have had to let employees go.
