I have little memory of anything after being admitted to the hospital on March 27 with Covid-19 pneumonia in both lungs, until I woke up from a coma on  May 6, 2020.

My time in the ICU is a mash-up of real events and dreams. There were moments of fear, sadness, and confusion all mixed in with life-saving medical procedures. And, when I started the long, arduous journey back, I even found humor. I remember lying in a hospital bed at the second hospital (of a  total of four), thinking I have to survive…I have stories to tell.

In my family, stories are the myths and legends that define you. I knew I wanted to share mine.  

I was intubated three different times. Intubation seemed like a dream-like sequence where I was being held underwater in a large plastic zip-top bag. In the bag with me were two impressive pinkish stones that I think represented my lungs. As my doctor and a nurse removed the respirator, I thought the water was being emptied from the bag and the rocks were discarded.  And then I gasped for breath. The nurse said peevishly, “ You could have told me she had Covid.” That’s my first memory of hearing that word.

Then I thought the nurse insisted that she needed a souvenir of my intubation—a small ruby she extracted from my tooth while the doctor took another tooth as a memento. I don’t have to tell you that I never had any gems in my mouth and all of my teeth are where they were before Covid!

The medical staff who brought me through this had to “gown-up” ( in hospital parlance) in outfits that looked like exotic space suits bearing a strong resemblance to C3PO from Star Wars. The gowns covered the nurses from head to toe—and to be honest, I could be standing next to them on the street and not recognize the people who literally saved my life. But can you imagine thinking you are being cared for by a group of aliens!

During my treatment for Covid, I thought that I and other patients were on a rickety tug boat on the ocean. One time I saw a case of ice-cold diet cola on the boat. I wanted to drink it—but the nurse told me that it would kill me if I had any. After arguing with her, telling her that it was good for people who had low blood pressure, I was angered by her refusal to let me have it. I resolved that the first thing I would drink when I got out of the hospital was a frosty bottle of cola. I became quite obsessed with it, daydreaming about cola dripping water from the ice it was in. Strangely, I actually don’t like cola—and rarely drink it.

I’ve never actually seen any plays that could be called absurdist. But I think I directed a real-life “absurd” event.

One morning, I hatched a plan to get various people to help me get released from the hospital. I reasoned that I was a captive, being held against my will, which was against my rights. So, I got on the phone and started calling people, including my sister-in-law in Buffalo, my brother, my sister, my friend, and my Significant Other. And possibly others. I made a case for them to intervene on my behalf—at one point making a conference call between a major airline, my sister-in-law and me. During that call, I demanded that  Connie come to Florida to get me “out of here” telling her that I’d feel much better at home. I have a vague memory of Connie trying to be reasonable while the airline representative was trying to book her airfare, as I orchestrated the whole thing!

I called my brother Brian who is a minister and asked him in a very calm, cool way if he could call a colleague here in Florida who would come to the hospital and get me sprung from the claws of the very people who were helping me. Again, he reasoned with me, telling me that he didn’t think he could actually do that.

Finally, my sister called and we had a conversation that went something like this.

“So, Kathy, you’ve been very active on the phone today, calling people to get you released from the hospital.”

“ Well, I think I’m a lot better.”

“What do your doctors think?”

“ I don’t know. I haven’t told them yet. They’re forcing me to stay here and that’s against my rights.”

“ Well, maybe you should use that energy to recover, so when you get back, you will be ready to be home…”

Finally, I played my ace card—my Significant Other. He did an almost heroic thing by driving to the hospital where I was and pleading with the security guards to allow him to rescue his damsel in distress. He finally had to leave when the guards threatened to call the police.

That’s when my family knew he was “ a keeper,“ a real Mensch who truly loves me.

Interestingly, I didn’t call my daughter because she lives on the West Coast and I knew it would be too early.

Oh, and did I mention that I could barely talk? My voice has been badly affected by my three intubations and is raspy and hard to hear.

Later, when my family related this story to me, I had memories of doing it—but I had forgotten how determined I was to get my way.

I often recall that morning and chuckle. Here I was, barely hanging on, but pushing other people to do my will. I guess that’s part of why I survived.

My hallucinations included a dream-like sequence in which my Significant Other and I were at a sumptuous party hosted at a home that was partly a  spaceship. It was owned by a bartender we liked from our local pub—a young kid who certainly wasn’t the very wealthy doctor-in -disguise as I thought. While we were at the party, I kept waiting to be driven home in the spaceship-like house. I remember my intense disappointment when that didn’t happen. But after being reassured that we’d be invited back, I was happy to know that I’d be driven home in the spaceship.

Around this time, I thought that Bart, a friend of ours, fooled everyone into thinking he was a doctor.  I even imagined that he performed an operation on me inserting Styrofoam blocks into my chest and arms and legs. After that, he went and manipulated the blocks to inflict pain on me—rather like a demented Wizard of Oz. The pain in my legs was unrelenting. I calmed myself remembering that my vascular doctor had reassured me earlier in the year that my leg pain was from surface veins. “ Ha!” I thought, “ You can’t kill me, it’s just surface pain.”

Then I felt squeezing in my chest that took my breath away while Bart, the Evil Wizard, enjoyed inflicting it. My bravado lagged—and I had to acknowledge that he almost won that time. The pain ended soon after that. But I was still mad at Bart. Later, my Significant Other told me that Bart, in particular, frequently asked how I was and said he was praying for me, I was furious. How dare he, I thought, after what he did when I was in the ICU! It took me a while to realize that this whole incident was not real. And an even longer time to get over being angry at Bart.

At about that time, I became aware that I had been through a terrible illness. Sheila, my chief nurse, came in to check on me.

“What happened to me?” I asked.

She took my hand and told me that I had bilateral pneumonia caused by the Corona Virus. She assured me that I would recover.

Five months later, after being in four different hospitals and a Rehab Center I finally went home.

My memories are a mash-up of reality and fantasy, which, quite h onestly, I find humorous in their absurdity.

And, the best part is, now I can tell my stories.