It was me who was sick, so my husband, Curtis, took me to urgent care for monoclonal antibodies.  There, they gave each of us a bag with hydroxychloroquine and other medicines.  They noticed that Curtis’ oxygen levels were low, and because they were very busy, they said to return the next day to get a nebulizer.

Even though Curtis had no symptoms, the urgent care wanted him to go and get an x-ray at the ER.  He had driven us there, and said to me, “Go park the car, and I should be out soon.  About 45 minutes later they said he had COVID-19 and they wanted to keep him.

At the beginning, he was doing well and was in good spirits – eating, drinking, joking and talking.  He was on the COVID-19 floor with only nine patients.  As days went by, I noticed that Curtis seemed lethargic.  They called for a psychiatrist for evaluation; said he was depressed.  Curtis said, “I am not depressed.  I am tired of being here.

Week Three – Curtis was failing.  They would not let us come to see him. The pulmonary doctor told me he would need rehab for his lungs. They even made arrangements for where he was going to be transferred, but it turned out that they never let him out of the hospital.  His bed was never changed, he glasses were broken and taped together.

On Thursday, September 30th, I spoke with the doctor who said Curtis was doing very good, and that he would be coming home this coming Saturday.  I was very excited.  The next day, I called him, but he never answered his phone several times.  Finally, I called the nurses station and they stated he was being transferred to ICU, and that he was very ill.

One hour later, the doctor called to get my permission to vent Curtis, which Curtis was definitely against.  I asked what would happen if they didn’t vent him, and the doctor said he would go into cardiac arrest. So, my son spoke with the doctor and they intubated him.  He died Saturday, the very next day.

Monday at the funeral home, I did not recognize him.  It is a very cruel story that we were not allowed to visit Curtis – even though my son had a hazmat uniform.  They said we need a vaccination card to enter.

They took him to x-ray his lungs and they saw a small blood clot, which the doctor said was nothing serious. Curtis spent most of the time in the hospital bed and the chair.  He went from a normal personality to not talking.  He just wanted to rest. I didn’t question, I didn’t fight for him, I didn’t see him.

Curtis’ death has affected our family very deeply.  Our sons are grieving terribly.  They were very close to their father.  My youngest has trouble sleeping.  My oldest doesn’t want to talk about it. Our grandson cried because I moved from the house that was his grandpa’s house. For me, the world has collapsed. We were married 50 years. I now know what they mean when it is said: “They pulled the rug out from under you.”

I still have a lot of anger in my heart for trusting the system – for the lockdown.  At some point, there should be justice. Sooner or later there has to be justice.