A Test of Faith: My Journey Through a Coma and Recovery from COVID-19
A Harrowing Tale of Survival, Faith, and Finding Gratitude in Life's Darkest Moments
After the surgery to remove my right kidney, life returned to normal. I thought, based on what the doctors had said, that if I would take care of my remaining kidney, everything would be alright.
Finally, I only needed one sonogram, chest x-ray, and yearly visit with the oncologist. I saw the nephrologist or kidney doctor every six months. All reports continued to be good each year.
Then, in January 2020, my family went on a vacation. We rented two condos in Florida. We had a great time. My daughter-in-law, Katie Gardner, made jokes about “tweenty tweenty“ (2020). It was going to be a glorious year. She was attempting to intimate Barbara Walters and how she was saying it.
We did not know that the world would undergo such a dramatic transformation. Suddenly, church services were being canceled, and fear and panic reigned even among the leadership of faith-based churches and ministries. It was like the world was ending.
It all frustrated me immensely. It seemed to be that the devil was trying to stop the preaching of the gospel, and even some of my best friends wanted to close the church and stop the services.
Then it happened.
May 2020 Covid
I remember very little of this. I will share what my family told me, but I got sick. Experiencing headaches, difficulty breathing, and losing my mind was overwhelming.
Betty persisted in telling me to go to the doctor. I refused. I was not in my right mind because of a lack of oxygen.
Our son David called from Peru and, according to his mother, cried that she was killing me. She insisted I refused to go to the doctor.
Finally, the family was amid horrible arguments about what to do. I did not know I was struggling. I spoke, acted like I knew what was happening, and refused to go to the doctor.
They hooked me up to my CPAP machine, and I got a little relief. Betty says I laid around like I never do. I complained of having a severe migraine headache. She would catch me just lying and groaning in pain.
Chris, our oldest, called an ambulance. They say this angered me. I took a shower, got out, was extremely weak and tired, and waited for the ambulance, insisting I would drive myself if they were going to be so persistent.
I stubbornly told them I would not go in the ambulance. We stood in the garage waiting, and when they arrived, they looked around and asked where the patient was. My wife pointed at me.
I agreed to get in the ambulance but would not lay down on the gurney, but I immediately did. Betty rode up front. The ambulance driver was wearing a mask, but Betty was not.
Arriving at the hospital, they separated us. It was 4 or 5 in the afternoon on May 20, 2020. At 3 am, Betty got a call that they had put me on the ventilator. They told her that, hopefully, I could come off after three to five days.
The medical team intubated, medically paralyzed, and put me into a medically induced coma for the next 21 days. I know nothing of it except the wild and crazy dreams I had.
By the time they finally woke me up, I had lost 30 days of my life.
Communication with my family
Of course, I had no contact with my family or anyone I knew. When they finally woke me up, I did not understand why I was in the hospital. In my drug-induced stupor, I thought I was a prisoner in a Chinese torture camp.
The doctors or their staff talked to my wife and warned them I would never be normal; I might have brain issues. I might never walk again. I might be an invalid.
I still have a large scar on my left cheek where they left the tube that intubated me. They did not care for it correctly since they did not think I would live. When I arrived home, the wound was almost through to my teeth.
Taking out the tube
When they woke me up and took out the tube, I did not know where I was or why. They were all wearing masks and asking me my name and birthday. They had head coverings, multiple masks, and multiple layers of gloves, and I was in a bed naked except for the “beautiful, open hospital gown.”
Remember, I did not know why I was there. I tried to get out of bed and run. As I fell, I saw a breathtaking explosion of stars. I still remember them talking about my fall and getting me scanned.
A prisoner
They now placed a person to watch me around the clock. Imagine me being locked away, not knowing where or why. Then people dressed in weird costumes ask your name every hour. Did I know where I was and when I was born?
I finally got access to my phone and called my friends. I wanted them to meet me outside the hospital and help me escape. I kept saying I wanted to exercise my medical rights. I wanted out of the hospital.
An Angel Unaware
A lady from our church who is a nurse had visited me even when I was in a coma. Faith Insisingmay kept my family posted. She had access to me because she is a PIC nurse and moved all over the hospital.
Faith was the only person I recognized and knew when they woke me up. She brought food to my room, talked, challenged, and motivated me to live.
After I got home from the hospital, she visited our house nearly every day, at least once a week, to make sure I was doing what I was supposed to do.
There will never be enough words to thank Faith. She is our friend and family. Faith, if you read this, we love you.
I later found out that Faith had been to our house almost every day and taking care of Betty, who was suffering from a horrible case of COVID-19 and double pneumonia. Faith gave her IV infusions of antibiotics every day.
Therapy
Next, they sent in people to teach me everything. One lady was in charge of my mental state. She asked me how long I thought I had been in the hospital. I told her, “80 or 90 days, I believe.”
She pulled out a calendar and told me what day it was. Then, she showed me the day of my admission. Then she counted the days with me like a child. She asked me to tell her how many days it had been. It was something like 25 days by then.
Another person came in to teach me how to go to the bathroom, dress, and brush my teeth. I was very weak.
They said that I had lost 80% of my muscular strength, and even laying there for nearly 30 days would have affected my bones.
A very sweet lady came in to teach me how to turn over in the bed, sit up, and finally start walking. She was a tiny lady but told me she could handle this big ole boy, and she did.
She was my favorite. Many people had been very curt and nearly rude, but she was not. All the therapists were much better than how the doctors or nurses treated me.
Going to the bathroom
Now, you talk about a significant undertaking. It was a bathroom duty. At first, the guard always watching me would fuss at me if I even turned over in the bed. Since I had tried to escape, they had placed a motion sensor under me that would sound if I tried to get out of bed.
I wanted to urinate and called the man. He told me I had a catheter to relax. That was different and frustrating, but I finally did.
Then I needed to go to the bathroom on the other end, number two. I asked my guard if he could help me. He was not a natural-born American because he did not understand me.
He said I told you that you have a catheter. I said, “Back there?” I did not know they did that! He said relax, so I did and filled the bed with diarrhea.
The nurses were quite angry with me, and I understood why, but I did not know better.
Finally, when I was off the catheters, I had to use the urinal bottle, which was difficult and embarrassing. When I finally had to sit down in the bathroom, I asked my guard if I could go.
He came over to help me. I told him I could work. He told me I could not escape his sight, so he walked with my walker and me to the bathroom. I entered, and moving my gown, I finally sat down with great effort.
My buddy just sat there watching me. I told him I did not think I could go with him sitting there watching me and asked to close the door. He said absolutely not. But he moved the door an inch and continued staring at me; oh boy, that was weird.
When I finished, I couldn’t even clean myself up, and the poor guy had to help me. I can’t explain to you how humiliating everything was for me.
My other angel
The food tasted horrible, and everything had a weird smell. I did not want to eat or even live. Faith was the person who preached most to me, but then I had another angel, or I dreamed I did. I believe God sent her.
An African, she had a strong Nigerian accent. She came into my room and stood at the end of the bed. She asked me why I was acting like I was. I told her I wanted to die. I hated everything that was happening to me.
My friend Randy Stirewalt had already died. He was a better man than me. Why was I still alive? I was close to the finish line. Could not God just take me?
This nurse, angel, or whomever, she said, you know you are not right. You know this is a bad attitude and not what God wants you to have or do.
She told me to get my heart right and obey God. I humbly agreed.
That day, my attitude changed, and I decided to live again.
Hearing Betty
About all I can remember from when I was under is that I thought I could hear my wife’s beautiful voice in the hallway. She welcomed everyone, met their needs, and hugged them, but I was alone.
I would hear her, so I called out and asked her to come in and talk to me, but she wouldn’t. I had never felt so alone in my life. I said I have given you 50 years of marriage. Can you not take time for me? Of course, all that was a dream or a nightmare.
Getting out of the hospital
Finally, I was getting much better. I have not told you many crazy stories that I dreamed and remembered. They weren’t true after all.
I called Betty and begged her to come get me out. She responded by saying that she was not allowed. I so desperately wanted out that I was very rude to her. I told her I would get others to come if she didn’t come.
When Jimmy Soncco, my son-in-law, finally picked me up, I felt like a convict escaping prison. I walked out triumphantly. Well, actually, they pushed me down the hallway in a wheelchair, and the medical personnel cheered that I could go home and played the Rocky victory song.
My only sanity
The only thing that kept me sane while in the hospital was preaching to myself. I started in Genesis 1:1 and preached the whole Bible to myself. I saw the great creator, God, loving people and using us to carry His message of grace to the world. It took me hours, but I finally got it down to about 45 minutes from cover to cover.
That is the part I will never forget. God loves the world and wants all to be saved. He has been on a mission to rescue lost sinners since the beginning, and I wanted to be part of that.
To be continued…
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