“Mountaintops are for views and inspiration, but fruit is grown in the valleys.” – Billy Graham
Friday, October 15, 2021, will forever be etched in my mind and heart. It was the day our journey began — a journey that would soon prove to be the scariest roller-coaster ride of my life.
I’ve gone back and forth so many times over how to tell this story. How do I begin to explain not only what I saw, but the gut-wrenching, tear-filled emotions — the desperation — that filled those days? And how do I possibly put into words the beauty that somehow existed in a dark valley overshadowed by death?
Honestly, I don’t know. But I’m going to try.
There are two reasons I feel compelled to share this story.
The first is because I never want to forget it. As terrifying, exhausting, and painful as it was, it led me straight into the presence of God in a way I had never experienced before.
The second reason is simple — because I said I would. I’ll explain more about that later, but during one of the many intense and emotional moments of prayer, I gave my word to God that I would tell this story to anyone who would listen.
So here we go.
It’s Just Allergies…
Friday, October 8, 2021, was an ordinary fall day at work, and I was eager for the weekend to begin. October was always a month our family looked forward to. Along with cooler temperatures, we celebrated my husband Joey’s birthday on October 6. The rest of the month was filled with family traditions — watching Fall-time movies, visiting a local haunted farm and corn maze, and occasionally carving pumpkins.
That Friday evening, we were getting together with longtime friends. My daughter Kayla, my friend, and I planned to make Halloween treats. I texted Joey to tell him I was looking forward to the night, but that my allergies were acting up and I had a tickle in the back of my throat. He mentioned his allergies, too — coughing on and off. Later that night, everything seemed to settle down.
Over the weekend, things began to change.
On Saturday, I noticed Joey had a shiver. Still, he didn’t seem too bad. On Sunday, we went out to dinner and then to the movies. But by Sunday night, he wasn’t feeling well and wasn’t sure he’d be able to go into work the next day. By Monday, his cough had worsened, and he called in sick. His boss told him he would need to take a COVID test before returning.
To this day, I’m not sure what the mental block was, but until that moment, the thought of COVID had never crossed my mind.
Testing for COVID
Joey and I went to a local clinic for testing. We sat in the car waiting for results, Joey coughing constantly now. When the nurse came out with the results, Joey was positive. I was negative.
As the week progressed, our two sons — Josh and Cameron — and I began experiencing symptoms. We tested positive on October 14. The following day, October 15, Joey would be admitted to the hospital.
During the week that Joey tested positive, I worked from home since I’d been exposed. Joey stayed mostly in our bedroom while I worked from the living room. Occasionally, he’d come into the kitchen for ibuprofen to help with the fever and splitting headache, but most of his time was spent in bed — exhausted, coughing, or standing under hot water in the shower, trying to ease the body aches.
A friend of mine who is an EMT urged us to buy a pulse oximeter to monitor his oxygen levels. The instructions said normal oxygen saturation was 90 or above. She told us to stay on top of pain medication, rest, and keep moving — warning that lying around too much could allow pneumonia to set in quickly.
Whenever I asked Joey how he was feeling, he reassured me that he didn’t feel good, but that he was “okay.” A couple of times he mentioned that while taking hot showers, he felt like he might pass out. Knowing how hot he liked his showers, I brushed it off, assuming the heat combined with all the coughing explained it.
One day, I went into the bedroom to check on him and laid my head on his chest. I heard crackling.
He didn’t want to call the doctor and insisted he was fine. But when he mentioned again that he felt like he might pass out after bending down to pick something up, I began nagging him to call. Eventually, I persuaded him to at least call the nurse advice line.
“I need you to hang up right now and call 911.”
As Joey explained his symptoms, I stood nearby listening. At one point, the nurse asked if his skin looked gray. I hadn’t noticed it before, but now that she said it, his color did look off. She asked for his oxygen saturation reading, so I ran to grab the oximeter.
I slipped it onto his finger… 64
She told him to take a few deep breaths… 75
Then she said words that sent chills through me:
“I need you to hang up right now and call 911.”
Around 8:30 that morning, the ambulance arrived. I don’t know if it was because of COVID, but they made Joey meet them outside. As they took him to the hospital, I ran back inside and cried.
The boys were still asleep, and I had a sinking feeling that I should have woken them before he left. I hid in the bathroom so they wouldn’t hear me breaking down. A thousand thoughts raced through my mind. I was afraid.
After pulling myself together as best I could, I told the boys and texted our daughter. Joshua, our youngest, asked me if his dad was going to die. I was floored by the question and didn’t know how to answer. Each of them, at some point, asked if Joey was going to be okay.
I didn’t know.
I didn’t want to scare them — especially when I didn’t yet know how bad things were — but I also didn’t want to lie and promise everything would be fine. All I knew was that people who went to the hospital with COVID either stayed there for a very long time… or they didn’t come back.
I told our parents, family, friends, and coworkers. Prayer chains immediately went into motion. Any update I received from Joey, I shared with those who were praying.
Finally some answers
It took all day and into the late evening before Joey finally received results.
The next morning, I updated everyone:
“Heard from Joey last night. He has COVID pneumonia. They’ll do a five-day treatment on him. He could possibly come home on oxygen, depending on where he is when he leaves.”
I let out a small sigh of relief. I was hoping he’d be home sooner, but five days felt manageable.
Unfortunately, it would be far longer than five days.
To be continued.
To read the whole series, click here.
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