There have been 1.3 million articles written about the effects Coronavirus (COVID-19) has on the lives of people of color. An abundance of us work in the spaces that were deemed as essential. For those that don’t and weren’t able to find work from home options, the pandemic hit an all time low. Jobs that require manual labor and close quarters take an extra toll on both the mind and body; adding to the already doubled risk of contracting the virus. For most, the pandemic hit in early to mid March of 2020. For DaQuan, a man who graciously tells his story, that wasn’t the case.
The first time I caught COVID was in January 2020 before anybody knew what it was. I was getting sick and coughing hard for a week straight. I didn’t have any more paid time off so I was going to work very ill, the last day I got to work and nearly coughed up a lung. I spit up blood and everybody around me was terrified.
They called an ambulance and I went to the hospital. Remember, this was before we knew what it was so I was diagnosed with influenza B got some meds and they sent me home. I recovered about 2 weeks later and went back to work.
Two months later COVID shut the world down and I started working from home. I wasn’t around people for a while. When I went to see an older family friend, he was pretty touchy and close to me. A week later I started feeling weak for a couple days and I couldn’t eat but I figured it was just my diabetes acting up. Later, I got a call telling me my family friend had COVID and was in a coma, they said he might not make it.
Mind you, I’ve been hospitalized a couple times for an extended period of time over the years so I know when I’m pretty sick but then it started getting bad it felt like my gut was twisting inside; it got so bad I woke up and just went to the ER at University of Chicago hospital.
I was praying it wasn’t COVID on the way there. A doctor in a full hazmat suit came in and told me I was Positive. He left out and I was just sitting there in shock for an hour. I let go of a few tears and wiped them off.
They moved me to a special wing of the hospital that was quarantined off for COVID positive patients. My body was in so much pain over the course of 23 days that I barely slept the entire time. At that time [of my hospitalization] COVID was just kicking off in the country and it was only 2 weeks into the stay at home mandate; it was all over TV. This was when people thought you had to be coughing and have certain symptoms to have it but I didn’t. I felt extremely weak and it felt like I was getting stabbed in the stomach over and over again every 15 seconds. My head felt light and I couldn’t eat anything. It would go on for hours. Then it felt like I would get a slight break, where my stomach would relax and I could breathe and talk. So for every 3 or 4 hours of extreme pain, I’d get like 45 mins of peace.
The only thing sadder than listening to my own cries was hearing the other patients crying in pain. It was some of the saddest nights of my life knowing we were all hurting so bad and knowing this will be some of our last memories ever on this earth. About 12 days into the whole process there was an older woman in the room next to me who had to be strapped down cause she was going crazy and was screaming in pain.
Then it had just stopped, and I realized she had died. There weren’t too many times during the whole thing that I ever, ever doubted that I would survive it, but that night I really considered that I might not make it out of that hospital. I’d turn on the tv and would feel worse. All I saw was “COVID death toll rises to 10,000s” and how the whole world was just scared.
Most importantly the people who were in charge of caring for us, the nurses. Just like life, each one brought a different spirit. I remember the good ones and the bad ones. One of them was older and held me one night while I cried and consoled me like my grandma would’ve. They all pulled 12+ hour shifts back to back and helped save a lot of us.
The absolute worst part was watching/hearing people being rolled out in a body bag. After 3 weeks of fighting off the virus, I finally felt better. (They pretty much immediately rushed me out [of the hospital] to [make room]) and after about 2 more weeks I was finally whole. I never shared this story, because it was a really horrible experience, but I wanted to share it so it helps people who went/go around saying COVID is fake and those who still go out partying every weekend maskless around 100s of people. I promise you it’s not something you EVER want to experience and just because it never touched you personally, it was and STILL IS 100% REAL. Please be more cautious and respect people’s spaces. I want to get back out and start living too, but not at the expense of my or others well beings.
Hearing what it was like to have COVID not just twice but to be hospitalized by it, truly changes how one sees the impact of this pandemic. They aren’t just numbers on a screen, statistics, they’re real breathing people. As we enter into year two of having COVID-19 in our lives, it’s important to take a step back and think about when this all began, and why it’s important to continue the preventative measures laid out for us.
Stay 6-feet apart, wear a mask, be safe. We love you.
~Adrienne
