My Battle with Covid-19
Updated: 7 days ago
Friday, March 27th:
“There’s only two ways out of this hospital,” I thought to myself, as I said goodbye to my wife in the parking lot of Cape Cod Hospital. I felt my heart race with so many unknowns. Will I be one of the lucky ones to go back home… or could this be it? I desperately wanted to kiss her and hold her, but I couldn’t get her sick. I simply gazed at her. This was such a dark moment for us, so I got out of the car as quickly as I could to soften the blow of this nightmare we were living.
But let me back up to the week of March 9th:
The world started to become unhinged. Cancellations of school tours and sporting events. Covid-19 was “making its way” across the Country. I used quotes because I personally believe Covid-19 was here much longer than reported. December of 2019 my wife came down with a horrible “respiratory virus.” This went on through January, and I even had to take her into the emergency room because she was having trouble breathing. I’m feeling there is more to this than what is being told on the media and by our leaders.
Wednesday, March 11th:
I picked our son up from college. My wife and I bought him an airline ticket to Oxford, UK for his 20th birthday, to spend time with his girlfriend, who was studying abroad. I pulled up to his dorm, and I received a text from my wife: “Our competition tour to Florida for our show choir has been canceled.” My heart sunk. I immediately thought of all our beautiful seniors. “This is just the beginning,” I thought to myself. To make matters worse, our lovely daughter is one of those seniors.
Before going home, I make a stop at Target to try to find more supplies for the impending lock-down. It was a surreal moment. Almost every cart was filled with cleaning supplies, canned food, and of course, toilet paper. (I should have grabbed some.)
Later that early evening, the president announced that all travel to Europe had been closed. The UK was still open for travel, but we all sat there staring at the TV, “Do we risk it? Do we send our son out of the country during the start of a pandemic?”
The next dose of reality hit. We were heartbroken to do this, but we agreed to not have him travel to the UK. We lost all funds for the airlines and Air B&B. It was a difficult night to get through for sure, and this was only the beginning of more to come.
Thursday, March 12th:
I go to Stop and Shop at 7am to prepare for this pandemic. I quickly made my way through the grocery store, filling the cart with food, cleaning supplies, and yes, TP. I even bought all the fixings for a corned beef and cabbage dinner with St. Patrick’s Day approaching the following week. Keep in mind, there wasn’t a run on the grocery stores in Sandwich at this date, so when It came time to check out, the poor man at the register looked horrified. “What was he preparing for??” I’m sure he thought. “And should I be getting supplies?” It was a very strange moment, indeed. I spent over $600.
Later that night, we sit with the kids, and I explain to them the severity of this vicious virus. I tell the kids about their mother’s trip to the ER. “I can’t let this thing in. We have to protect your mother. Your mother has asthma, she can’t get this.” The kids gazed down, still recovering from their canceled competition tour to Florida and trip to the UK., but surprisingly they understood. “Yes…” the kids said with their heads down.
Friday, March 13th:
I arrive at Sandwich High School, where I direct the plays for Knights Theatre Company. I was preparing for a rehearsal for A Chorus Line. Earlier that morning, it hit me…. “This could be the last day of school until who knows when?” I crumbled at my desk, “I better do a dress rehearsal, film it, and invite parents to come.” How can this be happening? We are two weeks away from opening. Many students who are in our show choir are also in the musical. Can they endure another loss?
I arrived moments before the dismissal bell sounded off. I stood in the hallway as I heard the principal come on the intercom, “Due to the Covid-19 virus, school will be closed for two weeks…”
My head sunk down as I heard throughout the school an outburst of cheers and celebration from most of the student body. (They did not understand the severity of the situation at the time, and that it could get worse).
I walk into the theatre, and my cast and crew were sullen, many of them in tears. I stood there overwhelmed with mixed emotions as they were all looking at me for answers, but I was just as confused and shaken as them. I took a deep breath and said, “It will be okay. This is only temporary. We will get through this. Let’s have a great rehearsal.” At this moment in time, we didn’t have to do the rehearsals. School was postponed for two weeks, but my wife and I knew we had to continue to move on in the direction of hope. We all stayed and did the rehearsal, even though the sets, props, and some costumes were incomplete. My tech director filmed the rehearsals as well, just in case we would be unable to open the show. Many parents did attend, but the audience size wasn’t at all what the cast and crew were used to, but we did it. They all felt so proud and happy. It was like a dream…. It was such a sad moment, but our cast and crew had two and a half hours of pure joy and hope.
The weekend couldn’t have come sooner. We were all so exhausted, mentally, physically and emotionally. But something strange overcame me. It was a sense of calm, peace, and a sense of security. No one was sick in my family. We have food and supplies. We’re all in one house. All is good. We will survive this.
Monday, March 16th:
My wife and I are out for a walk with our dog. It was a beautiful sunny day, but I started to feel a bit off. “Honey, I don’t know if I’m just exhausted from this nightmare, but I’m feeling really tired.”
My lovely wife reassured me I was most likely just exhausted from all the preparations and the state of the world. She encouraged me to take a nap when we got home.
When I woke up around 4:30pm. My body was aching. “Oh my God,” I thought. “I can’t have a fever.”
My temperature was 101.5.
“Shit,” my heart sank, once again. “You guys, I have a fever…”
The looks on my family’s faces were mixed with emotions of concern, disbelief, and dread. I immediately moved myself into another room. I blocked the entryways with a gate. I brought the small TV in, blankets, and anything else I could think of that I would need as I quarantined myself, just to be safe. At the time, I remained optimistic that it was only the “flu,” but I couldn’t risk the chance just in case it was Covid-19. I had to protect my wife and my kids.
This was our reality. I was isolated in a different room from my family as my fever continued to jump all over the map, but never dropping back to normal. I had the chills and would sleep through the entire day. As time went on, I found it difficult to walk just to take a shower or use the bathroom. I felt “ok” when I was lying down, but whenever I had to walk, I found myself getting winded so fast, and fighting to breathe. I seemed to get control of my breath once I returned to my room and relax. I called my doctor and he told me to stay home and continue to do what I was doing unless my symptoms got worse. Then go in. (I’m guessing this was the protocol doctors all over the country were telling their patients.) At this time, I was still in denial, believing it was only “the flu,” and it was just a matter of time before I would start to feel better. I was sadly wrong.
Luckily, one of our student’s mothers is a nurse. Her name is Kimberly Peterson. Kim was checking in with me and my wife every day. She suggested I get tested. I told her my doctor said it was most likely the flu, and I didn’t fit the criteria to be tested. Kimberly persisted and said, “Ask again.”
Friday, March 20th:
My fever is still sky high, and I have no relief at all. It’s after hours at my doctor’s office, but I call anyway, and I am connected to the doctor on call. Without hesitation, he makes an appointment for me to get tested at the 4C’s Covid-19 testing site the next morning.
Saturday, March 21st:
I didn’t want my wife in close proximity to me. I needed to protect her, so I drove myself to Hyannis to the testing site. That was another surreal moment for me, and it felt like something out of the movie Contagion. I was swabbed in my nose. I returned home and went directly back to my room.
The week of March 23rd:
My wife complains about losing her sense of taste and smell, and she has been having issues with hives. She thought maybe it was all the cleaning supplies she was using. She also complained about mild symptoms like pink eye, and woke up one morning with her eyes swollen shut, so she took Benadryl, thinking it was an allergic reaction to the cleaning supplies or something. And with all this, she continued to take care of me and the kids. She had no fever or any other symptoms. (Looking back now, we realize, she was most likely Covid-19 positive as well, but thankfully never had the disabling affects.)
The rest of the week I continued to battle with the fever, chills, and body aches. The walking took more of a toll on me, and I was feeling more lethargic. By now, I had the dry cough, but it would mostly attack me whenever I tried to speak.
Thursday, March 26th:
I get a call from the nurse, “You are positive with Covid-19.”
“I’m positive?” I asked in shock and disbelief.
“Have you been isolated from your family and have you been using a different bathroom?” Her tone direct and full of concern.
“The moment I got the fever I isolated myself, and yes, I use a different bathroom.” I replied, still numb with fear.
She said it sounded like we were doing all the right things. She told me to remain at home and if my symptoms worsen, to go in immediately. (Worsen… what does that mean? I felt pretty shitty for over a week.)
I hung up the phone. My wife sat down… six feet apart from me. Tears filled her eyes as she simply stared at me. After all the preparation trying to keep my wife and kids safe… this invisible “monster” invaded our home… and through me.
I looked at my wife, with tears in my eyes and struggled to get the words out, “I’m - so – sorry. I brought this virus into our house. I wanted to protect you.” And finally, I could no longer contain the stressful frustration. I broke down and sobbed.
“It’s not your fault, Kevin,” She reassured me through her tears, “You have to fight this, okay?”
“I can’t get you sick. You shouldn’t be in this room. Please go.” Tears still pouring down our faces. We can’t hold hands, we can’t embrace. She had to leave the room.
I lay there weary. I had a stroke two years ago. I have hyper-tension. I have high cholesterol. Oh, dear Lord, what will this turn into? Can this get worse? Will I make it? I must survive this!
The Morning of Friday, March 27th:
Kimberly Peterson dropped-off Pedialyte, Gatorade and protein drinks for me. What an angel. Again, Kim has been in contact with Melinda every day and multiple times a day. By the afternoon, Kim wanted to Facetime with me, and I agreed.
She took one look at me and said, “Kevin, you need to go in. You’ve been fighting this fever way too long. I will let my co-workers know you are coming in now.”
Unknowingly to me, at this time, I had already lost 17 lbs., I was dehydrated, and my kidneys and liver were in very bad shape.
I packed up a few things, put my mask on and said goodbye to my children, still not being able to hug or embrace them. I told them I loved them and slowly walked to the car.
I am amazed my wife was able to drive me to the hospital. It was definitely a tense situation. The mask I was wearing felt like someone had their hand on my mouth and nose. I felt like I was being strangled. I had to put the window all the way down to get more air.
My poor wife would glance over at me from time to time as I coughed or gasped for oxygen. My shoulders hunched downward from exhaustion. I was so weak.
5pm Friday, March 27th:
“There’s only two ways out of this hospital,” I thought to myself, as I said goodbye to my wife in the parking lot of Cape Cod Hospital. I felt my heart race with so many unknowns. Will I be one of the lucky ones to go back home… or could this be it? I desperately wanted to kiss her and hold her, but I couldn’t get her sick. I simply gazed at her. This was such a dark moment for us, so I got out of the car as quickly as I could, to soften the blow of this nightmare we were living.
I turned around one last time and gave her the sign of “I love you,” in American Sign Language. A gesture I have been doing with her since we met 32 years ago. “Would this be the last time I say I love you to my Porcelain Doll?” My heart sank, and I was greeted by a nurse, and she immediately placed me in a wheel chair and took me in.
I am placed in an ER room with a glass window. They take my blood pressure and temperature. My fever is still high. Another nurse begins to tape several sheets of paper, Covid-19 related I imagine, to the outside window to warn anyone before they enter my room. The nurse takes my blood. I’ve never seen so many vials in my life, different shapes, sizes and some already with liquid inside which would mix with my blood. They take an X-ray of my chest as well. A nurse hooks me up to oxygen. Okay, this shit just got real.
After a while, a doctor comes in, I forgot her name. She places her hand on my shoulder, she is wearing complete protective gear. “Are you okay if we have to intubate you?”
I take a moment, “You have to do, what you must do.” I say through my cough attack.
“Okay, you relax. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.” She says. “You should know, if we have to go that route, you will be out for about 10 days.”
“Okay…” I say deflated on many levels.
“For now, just try to rest.” She walks out of my room.
Later on, another doctor comes in. I forgot his name. He says, “So your blood-work is definitely off. We feel it would be a good idea for you to stay for a few days so we can get things back to normal and monitor you.”
Realizing the severity of my condition, “Okay.”
“Good. We’ll have you brought up to the second floor in a moment. Rest the best you can.” The doctor said.
As I lay there, alone, warning signs on my window door, without my wife next to me, so many thoughts flooded my mind and heart. I grew more scared of all the “what ifs.” I was so exhausted and weak from being so sick for almost two weeks…. did I really say goodbye to my children in the proper way? I should have said more. There’s still so much I want to accomplish with my life, and my biggest dream of all… to be a grandpa. I cried.
My emotions weren’t helping. I would cough more. I tried to calm down and focus only on my breathing which took so much effort. Focusing on my breath did take my mind off of all my personal concerns. Little did I realize; I had been fighting for my life.
Around 8pm, I am wheeled up to the second floor, the Covid-19 floor, to my own room. I transfer over to the bed, the nurse connects my oxygen back up, they inspect my IV, and one nurse tells me, “Don’t watch the news.”
“Right?” I say wryly, “We’re living it.”
“Rest,” they depart the room.
My first night:
You’ll have to forgive me; I don’t really remember everything exactly the way things unfolded from this point on. I was so ill, weak, and not really that sharp. I was given two Tylenol pills which didn’t really help. Having a fever that long definitely messes with your mind. I never really slept comfortably. It was as if I was half-asleep and awake. I texted my wife to let her know about my temperature and other health issues. I already missed her and the kids so much.
Saturday, March 28th:
The battle begins. I’m told my kidneys weren’t looking good (again, I’m sorry I can’t remember exact conversations), and they were going to address that. They also discovered I had double pneumonia and were going to use antibiotics in my IV. The nurse also informed me they were going to try liquid Tylenol in my IV to help with the fever. Within one hour, it did go down to a lower grade fever which brought me much hope and some relief. I texted my wife immediately to let her know my body is responding to the liquid Tylenol. She was overjoyed and encouraged me to continue to rest and still take it easy. It was great news.
But it was short lived. Later that night, my temperature shot up again along with the body aches. The nurses would alternate between the liquid and the pills of Tylenol. It seemed every time I took the pills; my temperature would come back. I still wasn’t sleeping so well because of the Covid-19 cough. It’s hard to describe, but it’s deep and feels like someone is sitting on your chest and covering your mouth and nose at the same time. Even with the oxygen support, my levels were in the 80’s. (Later I would find out that Covid-19 patients seem to suffer from symptoms very similar to altitude sickness which is a good description, because every time I had to move, it took so much effort, and I would be instantly winded.)
Sunday, March 29th:
I wake up to the morning nurse to take my vitals. My temperature is gone! My eyes tear up. “You’re a fighter, aren’t’ you?” The nurse says with an encouraging loving tone.
“I guess so…” Still overwhelmed by no fever. Keep in mind, it’s been 14 days. “So, this is what it feels like to have no fever or body aches,” I thought. I called my wife as soon as the nurse left the room.
“I love you, Kevin. You fight this, okay? You get stronger. We love and miss you,” Melinda says through hopeful tears and exhaustion. “Now try and rest.”
The day goes on, and I am fever free. I order lunch, and I try to get caught up on some Facebook messages. There were so many beautiful notes of love, prayers and support for me and my family. It was overwhelming. I take a few naps during the day, continuing to rest and staying hydrated. By late afternoon, I start to feel sluggish once again.
My fever came back with a vengeance. 103.2. I laid there lethargic. The night nurse comes in with 10 ice packs. “Okay, we can’t give you any more Tylenol because your liver numbers are way too high, so we’re going the old fashioned way,” she says with positive energy as she began to put ice packs behind my head, on my forehead, under each arm, three on my chest and belly, in my groin area, and on my legs. You would think this would feel horrible, but I was already so numb from the battle, I didn’t really notice any difference. I simply lay there covered in ice packs. So weak.
This was the most challenging night for me. My emotions took over again. I couldn’t help but cry and pray that my body would start to respond to all this treatment I was receiving. All the “What ifs” took over once again. Then I would start to cough even more. I tried my best to relax and give into my situation and try to sleep.
About four or five times throughout the night my IV monitor would start to beep and only within 45 minutes. Something was wrong with it. What exactly? I don’t know, but it kept me up just about the entire night as I battled the high fever. The last time it beeped and woke me up, I threw and kicked all the ice packs off in frustration and called for the nurse again. I had reached my breaking point. I was angry, not at anyone specifically, but just pissed at my situation and what I had to endure since March 16th.
“I’m so sorry, I will fix that monitor,” the nurse says as she races toward my IV, “Oh your ice packs fell?”
“No! I don’t like it anymore. I just want to sleep,” I replied with my frustration.
She checks my forehead, “Well, you’re as cool as a cucumber, aren’t you?”
I think that was around 5:00 am. I finally fell asleep, but it wasn’t long.
Now keep in mind, in addition to the beeping monitor and my body covered in ice, I had nurses coming in to check my vitals and take blood samples. They had a job to do and that was to save me and make me well.
Monday, March 30th:
A brand new day. My fever did lower. I forget the exact temperature, but it was low grade, jumping from 100.2 to 99, but by mid-day, it would be completely normal. I had another X-ray in the morning. I rested throughout the day and even took several naps.
Even though I was still exhausted, I did feel my body was lighter. The nurse gave me a spirometer to work on my breathing. At first, I could only take one short breath, barely reaching 500 and that was followed by uncontrollable coughing. But I tried. I had to help my lungs get stronger, so I could get out of here and back to my family.
Tuesday, March 31st:
I know the doctor had come into speak with me every day, but it all blurs together. All I remember is this day because of the look in his eyes. It appeared to me he was impressed that my body was starting to respond to all the treatments.
The doctor stared at me, his eyes seemed to grow wider as he leaned in to take a closer look at me, “You look good!” he said with a surprising tone in his voice. “Now how do you feel?”
“Well, I’m still exhausted, but I do feel better, if that makes any sense,” I said with a half-smile.
“I guess you know a lot of people who work here?” the doctor said as he leaned back in his chair.
He went on to name several different people, all who had kids participate in our theatre and show choir programs at the high school.
“They’re all sending their love and they are cheering you on. You’re a popular man.” He says with smiling eyes, “Your lungs are looking a bit better. Everything else is starting to level off in the right direction. Now... continue to rest, and I will see you tomorrow.” We fist pumped as he left the room.
This was a good day. My body wasn’t as weak, and I was able to unplug my IV and take it with me whenever I had to use the bathroom. It felt great to walk just a few feet and back to my bed. A sense of calm rushed over me. “I just may walk out of here yet…” as I texted my wife to tell her what the doctor told me.
But I feared the approaching night. Will my fever come back? Am I truly over the hump? Only time will tell. And so, the evening came, and I did have a low-grade fever. It remained in the 99.3 to 99.5 range. I was a bit fearful and frustrated, but I also knew that fevers tend to rise at night anyway, so I remained hopeful. Sure enough, by morning, my temperature was gone. This would be the norm.
Wednesday, April 1st:
The morning started off wonderful. The nurse came in with my breakfast, and I was greeted with a warm and loving “Hello.” It turns out, I knew her. It was the lovely Sarah Mandy who used to live around the corner from me. I basically watched her grow up. She sat down next to me, held my hand in hers and gave it a good squeeze.
“I’m so sorry you have been dealing with this horrible virus. How are you feeling?” She asked through all her protective gear. But I recognized her beautiful caring eyes.
We chatted very quickly because it was dangerous to stay in my room too long, but what a great way to start my day.
The doctor came in and told me more good news. My body was responding to the treatments and things were looking better.
“But how is your breathing?” His tone turning.
I’ll be honest, I was still winded, not as much, but winded whenever I got up and walked around the room. My oxygen levels would jump from 94 then back down to the 80’s.
“I feel you should stay one more day. I want to keep you on the oxygen,” He said with a serious manner.
I was disappointed I could not go home yet, but I totally understood and I felt it in my lungs. So…. another night. (What am I complaining about, right? I was in such good hands.)
I think at that point, I was done with being so ill. I was exhausted physically and emotionally.
Sure enough, at night, my temperature went up to the 99 range, but thankfully dropped in the morning.
Thursday, April 2nd:
I woke up feeling hopeful I would get released if my oxygen level was better. I had breakfast, a nurse came in to do her routine, and more blood work was taken. My body was feeling better than most days since my illness, but still, not quite 100%. A nurse came in to check on oxygen levels, “Here we go,” I thought.
As I sat, it was reading 93-95. The nurse had me walk around the room. It did drop to the high 80’s and then back to 93-95. She said, “Okay, much better than yesterday. Let’s see what the doctor says,” she said removing her oximeter from my finger.
About a half hour later, my room phone rang. It was the doctor, “Okay, Kevin. I’m going to allow you to go home today, but you’re still in recovery, and you must take it easy. I will be coming to chat with you very soon.”
I took a long, slow breath in, and exhaled even slower. Tears rolled down my face. “I made it.”
I called my wife and told her the great news. I was, indeed, coming home. We shared more tears, but tears of joy and gratefulness. Can this nightmare be over?
As I walked around my hospital room to gather all my things, I finally sat in the chair to collect my thoughts about the seriousness of what I had been through. There were so many “what ifs” during this ordeal. I never felt so lucky in my life. I counted all my blessings and gave thanks to the Lord and to all my angels in Heaven. I gave thanks to all my friends across the United States who sent Facebook messages to me and my wife, and for the drop offs of food and supplies. My eyes teared up again as I thought about our friend and nurse, Kimberly Peterson and how she continued to check in on me daily and told me to go in. God forbid, if I didn’t. After all, that weekend turned out to be the worst phase for me. If I was still at home that weekend, things could have gotten even worse, but I didn’t have to worry about that now. I made it.
My wife texted me, “I’m here, Honey.”
The nurse wheeled me out to the parking lot. The automatic doors swished open. The fresh air hit my masked face. I took a slow deep breath, feeling so blessed and grateful.
I could see our car. I felt my heart-rate increasing as I was wheeled closer and closer to my wife…. my life.
The nurse opened the car door. My wife was on the phone talking with my doctor. She turned to face me and Melinda’s eyes swelled up with loving tears. I took my time getting in and thanked my nurse. She gave me her blessings and shut the door.
Melinda wrapped up her conversation with the doctor. She took my hand in hers, “You asked the doctor when you can cook again?” She spoke with a shaky voice. “I love you, Kevin Lasit. You had us all worried. Let’s go home.”
April 3rd through May 4th:
I’ve been lucky enough to be home for 32 days as I write this. The first week home was slow coming. I still had a low-grade fever, but it would go back to normal in the morning. The fatigue is something else with this virus. I would still get winded walking to the shower. The first night back, I experienced the craziest night sweats I have ever had in my life. It was so bad; my shirt was drenched as if someone had hosed me down, and left me shivering. I texted my wife to bring me down a new shirt in the middle of the night. I had to remain in isolation from everyone else until, finally, my quarantine was lifted within my family. At last, I was able to sleep in the same bed with my wife. (The best night of sleep I had since March 16th. Just to be next to her was healing.)
My follow-up blood work came back, and the doctor told me my kidneys should be back to normal in another week. My liver number was 79…. The doc shared, at my worst, when I was hospitalized, it was over 300. My follow up X-ray also looked better and showed signs of clearing. My next X-ray is scheduled for May 12th. Right now, I am still dealing with the residual effects of the cough, fatigue, and my heart-rate still elevates due to my lungs still working for air, but rest assured, I am making progress. I’m on the mend.
I’m cooking again, not much, but it is so relaxing to play my music and make a delicious meal for my family. I sit in our backyard to get sunshine and fresh air. I even get out for short walks with my family on the beach. A small dune can get me winded quickly, so I take it very slow, stopping many times to catch my breath.
Part of my recovery is also dealing with all the losses that occurred from this deadly virus. Our show choir’s competition tour to Florida, our spring musical - A Chorus Line, and the biggest blow…. our daughter’s senior year of high school cut short, along with all of our other amazing seniors, their rite of passage, the traditions that we have created and established…. just vanished. I will get through it. We shall all get through it, but damn…. does it hurt.
At the same time, I look back on my fight with Covid-19 and remember the gift I was given. The gift that my body responded to the treatments. I was able to go back home to my family. That’s the scary thing about this virus, if you are hospitalized, it could go either way. For now, I rest. I listen. I take care of myself so I can be around for a long time, and I am creating new dreams.
Thank you, Cape Cod Hospital, for getting me back home to my family. To all the doctors, nurses, and staff at the hospital, thank you. To all our friends and family, thank you for all the loving messages of support and prayers. To our neighbors, friends, and family for dropping off food, and lovely drive-bys!! To my earth angel, Kim Peterson… thank you for being there and taking care of us. Thank you to our Town Nurse with the weekly calls since my return home. And of course, thank you to my Porcelain Doll, my wife… Melinda. Thank you for taking care of me. Thank you to my kids, for helping their mom for over a month as I fought Covid-19. My recovery is so bittersweet, as I think of all the others who didn’t get to go back home to their families. My heart goes out to everyone who is impacted by this brutal virus. Let’s all walk a little more slowly as we reshape our world into a better place for all.
Update: May 15th, 2020
I want to thank everyone for taking the time to read my blog about my battle with Covid-19 and my recovery. I am happy to say, I have recovered. My hope is, by sharing my story, it will bring light to the impact of this horrific virus. If you get it, it hits people in so many different ways. There's no telling how far it will take you. Another scary thing about this virus is my doctor told me I may have immunity for at least one season. One season? Dear Lord, I would never want to go through that again. He also said they are still researching the virus and there is no guarantee of even one season. We all must be patient and continue to be safe until a vaccine is made. Thank you to Gabrielle Rosson, reporter from Cape Media News, Cindy McCormick reporter from the Cape Cod Times, and Julie Loncich reporter from WCVB Channel 5 Boston. I hope my story will help others make better informed decisions during these uncertain times. Remain safe and healthy.