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COVID-19

Photo by: Tim Bindner

I have not written in a while, but I have a good excuse why.  I was sick and ended up in the hospital.

Monday November 30th began a week of pain, weakness, weight loss and misery for me.  As my symptoms began, I notified my boss I was not feeling well and may need a bit of time throughout the day to rest.  The next day I couldn’t function well and called in.  This is where another aspect of my misery began.  As co-workers and friends hear about my illness, they began reaching out to me.  Most conversations began the same with I am sorry you are sick or feeling bad, then they those conversations quickly turned to diagnosis.  I have a few friends that are doctors, but no one I received a diagnosis from has any medical training.

Multiple times I was told I had COVID-19.  Then I was told by someone it was a stomach bug.  Another mentioned the flu.  Yet another told me a story of a relative who had the same symptoms and had stomach cancer.

Jump ahead to Thursday of that week and after to speaking to my doctor I went to the ER.  I drove myself, quickly got back to a room, and then began receiving treatment.  After the tests were completed, analyzed, and the results given to me, they decided I needed to stay overnight, which I did.

Friday went by slowly, and finally, I was discharged from the hospital, 23 hours after I entered it.  I slowly drove home and parked myself on the couch for continued recovery.

Part two of my misery soon begun.  Many of the same people that diagnosed me previously were now calling/texting/messaging me to tell me to “get rest” or “take my vitamins” or make sure I eat” and other advice.

I am 52 years old, know my body better than anyone, and know what I need to do.  I appreciated the thoughts and caring that everyone was providing, but was getting more and more angry with each person telling me what to do.  The medical professionals told me and sent me home with papers, telling me what the days ahead had in store for me, and what I needed to do.  Yet everyone felt the need to tell me their medical advice for me.

I finally snapped at someone and told them simply I hate when people treat me like a child and that I understand what I need to do.  If I am not eating, it is for a reason.  If I am not drinking, it is for a reason.  I know my limits, but what I didn’t realize is mentally I felt I was being backed into a corner.  A wounded or sick animal, when cornered, will lash out.  That is what I did.  I had finally had enough.

I emailed that person a few minutes later to apologize, but have not heard back.  Likely my criticism was too harsh.

I share some things but feel the most vulnerable when sharing my medical issues.  Why?  Everyone automatically jumps to conclusions and knows what is best for me.  They feel the need to fix something.  Whether it is a diagnosis, recovery advice, or simply a maternal instinct, I got this over and over from everyone.  I am not a medical expert, but I know my body.  I know that the pains I felt that week rivaled pains I have experienced when I had kidney stones.  I know what causes them, and what I need to do to get some comfort.

I appreciate the caring and support, but I don’t need the advice.  I will get that from the medical professionals.  My friend Mark, when I told him what happened said simply, “are you okay?  Do you need anything from me?  Get better soon.”  Not diagnosis, no medical advice, just support and the willingness to be there for me if I needed it.

I may rub people the wrong way with this post, but I am just sharing my experience and the 13.5 lb weight loss I experienced in 5 days, the many sleepless nights I was in pain, and my visit to the hospital.   I did not have COVID-19, but had something else.  What is not important.  What is is that I am recovering and getting better each day.

I was (and still am) weak, was dizzy, and in was in severe pain.  I tried to explain to people I was fine and going to be okay, but they drew their own conclusions without even listening to me.  Like Johnny Cash said, “Trust gets you killed, love gets you hurt and being real gets you hated.”

Until next time,

Tim (a. k. a. Kilmer)

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