Facing A Possible COVID-19 Diagnosis With Hope

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This isn’t related to cleantech, but at the same time, it kind of is. If we treated our planet better, if we, as a species, did things differently, if we chose to put the health and livelihoods of our people first instead of putting profits first, perhaps I may not be facing something that was mistaken for strep last week. 

Baton Rouge has transformed into a hotspot for the coronavirus. I made a choice to change my name a few weeks ago (back to my birth name). I went to the DMV, to the casino for some champagne, and then took a stroll along the levee. It was a celebration of life — a new life and closing of a chapter.

I think that is the only time I went somewhere that could have put me a risk for what the doctor told me this weekend he’s pretty sure I have: COVID-19. There is still a small chance that this severe pain as I breathe could be something else. However, the doctor’s eyes were filled with pain as he sat there, twisting his hands and struggling to tell me what I suspected — that it definitely wasn’t strep. It also wasn’t pneumonia — my lungs were clear. 

I wasn’t going to go to the ER again. Everyone was saying to stay at home. It had become a mantra. My friends, my instinct, the news, and the CDC were all saying to stay home. Then it got worse. The pain in my chest left me breathless. My thermometer was telling me 98.9° and my lungs were begging me to do something. I felt helpless. So I called the referral line and had a video conference with a nurse practitioner. 

“I think you may have it. The testing centers are open Monday through Friday from 1–3 pm. If you are in severe pain, you need to go to the ER.” I didn’t have a fever — it had broken again. It’d peaked at 101° and then broke, then peaked again at 100°, broke, and hovered in the 99° range. There has been this cycle of a low-grade fever breaking and then restarting, and I just couldn’t breathe. So, I went in. I put on a mask that I’d been given last time and tried my hardest not to cough on the ride. I could see the fear in my driver’s eyes. Her voice was kind as she said, “I hope you feel better.” I wished her well. 

During the 10 or so hours I spent in the emergency room, I witnessed a lot. My X-ray tech told me in a voice choked with tears, frustration, and exhaustion, “This unit is a war zone,” echoing the words of another ICU healthcare worker in a New Orleans hospital. I gripped the X-ray machine and held my breath. It was the second most painful moment in my life. The first was the exact same situation 23 years ago when I’d just been diagnosed with asthma. This time, however, I didn’t stop breathing. I used breathing exercises to get me through — something I’ve been doing for years. 

I also saw something different that I didn’t see during my last visit to the same ER. I saw fear in many eyes — eyes of nurses, doctors, and medical staff who took down my information, who took my temperature. In the voices yelling “code blue!” I saw exhaustion, false hope, and sadness in many eyes. I saw a mother and her toddler, several elderly people, and people my age as well. I also saw hope in my own doctor’s eyes as, while I was gripping his hands, he explained to me what he thought I had. 

He took a deep breath and told me that he thought I had a respiratory virus and there is a big chance it could be the coronavirus. He also said that if it was COVID-19, then I may be on the mend. If I had been exposed around the 11th of March (the other date that I could have been exposed was the 16th, when I went to the ER the first time), then three weeks have passed. He explained that by week three, those who were going to die would already be in the intensive care unit (ICU). He didn’t think I was as high a risk as I had worried about previously, but he put an order in for me to get tested.

The ER is only testing people who are being admitted into the hospital. I go on Monday to the testing center — something that wasn’t set up when I first went to the hospital. If I have COVID-19, then I’m one of the lucky ones. There is still a small chance that it could be a different respiratory virus with the same symptoms, however. We’ll find out soon. Whatever it is, I am going to fight it with every breath I have.

While I was at the hospital, I received a text from Cole Davis, who is working diligently to help our local hospitals in Baton Rouge and New Orleans get supplies. I told him what had happened and explained that I was at Our Lady of the Lake (OLOL). He then told me that OLOL was one of the hospitals he’d been trying to get information on to determine where to send supplies to if he’s able to get supplies. I was in the right place to find out.

We will give away all our ventilators, whether we buy them or build them

— Elon Musk (@elonmusk) March 27, 2020

There is a purpose in many things — a reason for everything. Every action leads to something. This, I have to believe. I told one of my nurses that I’d randomly asked Elon Musk to send Louisiana hospital ventilators — and that he replied that he would. Her eyes went from despair to filled with hope. It lit her weary features with a brightness that only hope can give. I told her there were people out there trying to help. So, I asked around. Everyone said the same thing: drop them off at the emergency room entrance at the front desk. 

“We need masks,” or  “We need supplies,” was the common expression when I brought up the fact that there are companies such as Tesla and SpaceX that are dropping everything they are doing and making ventilators. “I didn’t know that,” someone told me with eyes filled with a heady mixture of hope and relief.

We’ll try to get & deliver as many as possible. N95 masks are a pain to wear btw. Less onerous masks are better most of the time.

— Elon Musk (@elonmusk) March 23, 2020

Our doctors, nurses, and medical workers are on the front lines and this pandemic is hitting Louisiana, the US, and the world hard. It’s just getting started here, but I want to redirect your focus, even if briefly, to hope. Sometimes we have to face the darkness with the fires of hope — we need to stop for a moment and breathe. Every second we are here, we have a chance to spread hope instead of fear.

“We are the poetry in motion. We’re the fire in the sky, slip sliding with purpose into the black; into the sky and stars,” —SOJA

We can be proactive about our health and spread love while social distancing. Elon’s ventilators may not get here in time to save some of the people whose paths I crossed today, but there is a chance that they will get here in time to save the doctors, nurses, and others who may desperately need them. And it’s not just Elon Musk — hopefully GM and Ford will help. Hopefully the new invention by Prisma Health that was just approved by the FDA will get to where it needs to go. Hopefully we as a species will wake up and focus on what really matters. It isn’t profit. Hopefully we as a species can evolve to be kinder toward one another and our planet.

The GoFundMe fundraiser below has supplied several hospitals with masks. New Orleans Children’s Hospital and Baton Rouge General were just two of them. I encourage you to donate.