The Hospital

“And I stood there in my pajamas, watching the ambulance drive farther and farther away.”

I haven’t written lately because when I write, it feels like I have to admit reality. Since the last time I wrote, a few things have drastically changed. Grandma passed away in the hospital. Both of my parents are there as well and my whole family tested positive for COVID-19.

Let me catch you up. Three weeks ago, my mom brought my grandma home from the nursing home, where she lived for six years. At first, she had no symptoms. At the same time, my dad had been feeling a little under the weather and would retire to his room earlier than usual. A few days later, it was my birthday and exactly around midnight, everything took a turn. 

My grandma was spiking a fever. With her already weak body, she was fighting a 99-101 degree fever, which lasted for a week. The home care nurse told us there was nothing she could really do, because my grandma was in hospice. On April 27, my mom and I had to make a very hard decision. If we sent our grandma to the hospital, there was a chance we wouldn’t be able to ever see her again. But we knew she was going to pass away if we kept her in our home. 

So we called 911. At the hospital, she was immediately put on a ventilator and a ton of other drugs. She tested positive for COVID-19 the next day. This raised a lot of questions like, “Why didn’t we call the ambulance sooner? Why didn’t anyone from the nursing home tell us there was a chance she had COVID-19? Do we all have the coronavirus now?”

After grandma went to the hospital, my dad had to call the ambulance for himself. I woke up at six o’clock that morning, my eyes sealed shut because of the tears that I had shed the night before. I sensed a sinister panic when I heard the ambulance sirens coming closer and closer to my apartment. Before the medics came, I ran to my dad’s room. He was sitting on his desk chair, limp as a noodle, staring at me with worry and panic. My nightmare was playing out right before my eyes.

The last time I saw my dad was when he entered the ambulance. I stood there with my mask on and nodded at him trying to signal that everything would be okay. I wasn’t sure if it would be, but I wanted him to feel safe. My eyes swelled up as the ambulance doors closed without any warning. And I stood there in my pajamas, watching the ambulance drive farther and farther away. 

That same day, my mom started to feel sick to the point of not being able to breathe. I took her to the ER and she waited for five hours in a cold room, just to be sent home again. There were no beds available for her. When she got home, she couldn’t stop vomiting and coughing up blood. The next morning, I took her to the hospital again. She still had to wait about four hours, but this time, they admitted her. 

My parents have been in the hospital for less than two weeks now, but it feels like a month. My younger brother and I are home alone. We are very worried about our parents, but also about how we are going to pay our bills. The past few weeks have made a tangled-up ball of frustration and anxiety in my stomach. I’m getting bombarded with calls from the hospital, friends, and family—all out of love and concern, but I’m getting tired. Every hospital call feels like an iron to my heart. I have memorized all the phone numbers to the different floors my parents have been in. I’m scared of what news the hospital will tell me the next day. I’m terrified, but I still have to listen.

For my grandma, her heart stopped while she was sedated, resting on the ventilator. Our family decided to cremate her and fly her ashes out to New York, where there’s a spot next to my grandpa. I wonder how my mom is taking it. She’s alone and completely conscious. She has to grieve in isolation. Every phone call has been so short because she can’t breathe. Today, she has been moved to the ICU because her breathing was getting worse. No cell phones are allowed on that floor. So here I wait by the phone, heartbroken on Mother’s Day. 

As for my dad, he’s in very critical condition. He is also on a ventilator. I just hope it doesn’t turn out the same as grandma. 

Being home has been hell. I can’t do anything. I have no power. All I can do is pray.