On the 31st of July, 2021, my husband developed a headache followed by a small cold. I told him it was probably the weather change. He never gets sick ill, so he took a Tylenol and some orange juice.

The next day he said he felt very lethargic and a bit weak, so, I told him to rest. On the third day, he said he felt like he wanted to pass out because he started feeling light headed. I said, This doesn’t sound like a cold. Maybe we should get a Covid test,” since it was raising everywhere.

I made us all wear a mask, and I told my children to keep away as we did not know if we all had it. I did a little research on the net to find Covid symptoms.  We went to CVS for testing, as every where else was booked. We had to wait a day to get results. His and mine were both positive, but my children’s were not.  We both isolated apart. He in the guest room, and me in our bedroom.

His symptoms started increasing more and more with a cough, chills, vomiting and diarrhea, dizziness, loss of taste and smell.  I was told by the nurses hotline to give him over the counter meds, and stay away, as my symptoms could get worse as well.  I did.

I gave him vitamins and electrolytes, Tylenol, Vicks, teas, water, liquid I.V. soups. He had no strength to eat, swallow or get up. He spent most days lying in bed.

On the 6th of August, he had a bad cough that didn’t sound normal. I asked him if he wanted to go to the hospital.  He declined and said, “For what?  They’ll just end up killing me.”   I tried to convince him they wouldn’t do that. He refused, and continued with home therapy.

August 10th, he started to look a little better, and asked to eat something. An hour after he ate he started throwing up and wouldn’t stop. He started having trouble breathing. I argued with him to let me take him to the hospital, but I let him know I wouldn’t be able to go in due to Covid being so high.

My symptoms were not as bad as his, but he insisted on not going. I had a feeling things were turning worse. He became angry and hostile towards me, and threatened me if I called the paramedics. I should of just called that day.

Finally, on the 13 of August, after pleading with him and being so scared of him possibly dying, he agreed to go in. He hugged me, and said, “I love you momma, don’t cry no more, okay?”

The paramedics came and checked his oxygen levels at 64. I explained his symptoms to them and let them know we were trying to get better. Mind you, we did not know the severity of Covid-19 at all, as we isolated for 2 years, never going around anyone.

I’m not to sure exactly what went on in the ED, but what I do know is that they asked him if he was vaccinated. He told them, “No.”   A nurse told him he should of gotten vaccinated and this probably wouldn’t of happened. It wasn’t a nurse attending him – it was someone she was talking too!

He kept telling me that they took forever to get him into a room, and kept moving him to different floors. The financial department came in to ask if he had insurance and they assured him he’d qualify for free insurance if he met the requirements.

I’m not quite sure what was told to him about his symptoms or the severity of medications they wanted to administer to him, as he was always so adamant about taking anything even cold medicine. He was a strong believer about taking anything whether it was a cough drop, Tylenol, even a vitamin. He was somewhat holistic. He believed in true immunity, which is why we often clashed with me giving our kids medication.

Once he got settled in, I was told by his nurse that he was on oxygen and an IV.  I asked her about Ivermectin if they were giving that to him as I heard it helps with Covid. She stated they had to follow the hospital protocols and were giving him medication for 5 days along with vitamins. I asked her what that was, and she said it was to help treat Covid patients to get them better. I told her to please keep me updated with every detail since I knew I wouldn’t be allowed to see him because I was still positive. She told me she would.

My husband had texted me the next day on the 14th, telling me they gave him some steroids for his lungs, but he still felt like he couldn’t breath. He thought he needed more. He also said he felt funny and he wasn’t sure what they were giving him. I told him to ask and to advocate for himself, and if he didn’t feel right to push the button. He told me it wouldn’t do any good since the nurses were hardly around. They would come in every hour just to do his vitals and leave. When he pushed the button, they would take forever to communicate.

He told me they kept placing him on his chest to help his lungs, and that he couldn’t text me as much as they kept putting his phone on the table. He kept telling me he was getting frustrated cause he had the feeling of needing to urinate but could not. He said he felt like his bladder was going to explode. So, I called the nurses’ station and asked what is going on, since they did not want him getting out of bed as he was a fall-risk.

His nurse called the doctor who authorized a Catheter, and he was able to urinate. During the day. he said he was getting annoyed because he’s breathing wasn’t getting better and he thought the meds were not working. He said they had him on 60 liters of oxygen but it wasn’t going up. He also stated that he had the feeling of having diarrhea and didn’t know what to do. He had a accident on his bed, and this caused him to go into a panic attack of embarrassment. I reassured him he was fine and that they’ve probably seen worse, making light of the situation.

He asked how I was and I told him, “I’m better. I’m just worried about you.”  He said, “Don’t be. I’ll be okay. As long they stop giving me this HBag.”  I wasn’t quite sure what he meant.

The last message I received from him was of him telling me he was tired and he was going to bed. I told him I loved him and to sleep with the Angels. On the 16th of August, I got a phone call at 8:42 A.M., from a doctor telling me they’re not sure if he was going to make it, and to prepare myself of the worst. That they were trying to resuscitate him back to life. I was not understanding anything at all. I was in disbelief, scared and confused.

At 8:48 A.M., the doctor called me back and said they tried their best but he was gone. So vague.  No empathy. I screamed into the phone crying, saying, “Nooo, it’s not true.”  I tried to calm myself down while grasping for my breath, and told her I was going to the hospital.  She advised me they wouldn’t allow me in. I told her I did not care.  If he is gone, I have the right to see him. He’s my husband and best friend, my world. You can’t deny me that. She then agreed to let me see him.

As I got there, I had volunteers waiting for me with a wheelchair preparing me to go up on the 3rd floor. I was afraid, not knowing what I was about to see, scared of everything going on. They reassured me I was going to be okay, and asked if I wanted a Chaplin to go with me. I told them my husband is a spiritual person. As I got there to the 3rd floor I was greeted by a nurse who made me put on 3 sets of ppe and 2 masks and gloves, cause I was not vaccinated. (I was asked the same thing.)

She lead me into the last room down the hall and opened the slider doors. And there, lay my beloved husband. All I could do was cry and kiss his lifeless body, touch his face, run my fingers through his hair smell his skin and kiss him. His mouth was still covered with stained blood that they tried to wipe off. He looked yellow and his eyes were slightly opened.

I asked the nurse that came in the room who gave me his property what happened. She said that he became anxious in the morning, and he started trying to take off his oxygen, so they gave him a sedative. She told him she’d be back because she was going to get him something else for his oxygen. As she was walking back to the room, she noticed a code blue and found him on the restroom floor unresponsive with no pulse. She then said she tried administering CPR and  compressions and got a faint pulse. Other doctors and nurses put him back on the bed, and rushed him to ICU and intubated him.

While putting him into a new room, his pulse was gone, and doctors couldn’t save him. I asked her how long was he down, and did they hear any alarms going off as he took off his mask?  She looked at me and said, He was down for probably 7-10 minutes.”  I was confused and upset. Like, how could you not hear any alarms going off? Where was all the nurses?  Why did he become anxious?  What did they give him? So many questions I needed to know, and she didn’t any answers to give me.

I told her with tears running down my eyes that his brother and sister would be coming up from Los Angeles soon, and they deserved to see him too!

I have so many questions about this, and I’m not gonna stop until I get my answers.  It will be 17 months on the 16th of March, and everyday is hard. I not only had to mourn the loss of him but of our daughter too. My children have had to mourn 2 deaths along side of me. My 4 year old son has had his first heartache of loosing his father, and it wasn’t easy having him see him in a casket either.

Along with the other stresses, his family made me feel blamed for his death. My children have lost their best friend, their PaPà, and I lost the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with; the one person who loved me unconditionally and accepted me for me. It’s hard to find someone who’ll just accept your every flaw and faults. I never thought I’d find one person, but I did, and little did I know he would be spending the rest of his life with me. My life changed on August the 16, 2021.