My dad and his friend both came down with Covid after hanging out and going to a restaurant. He texted me about 3-4 days after he first got sick, and told me he tested positive for Covid, and the day he started feeling sick – November 18.

We lived in different states so everything I know is through texts we sent back and forth. I tried to talk on the phone with him, but he always said he was coughing too much to speak. He said they originally gave him a z-pack, inhaler, cough reliever and Mucinex. They must have given him a pulse Ox because he was checking his oxygen levels each day, with normal results. However, he was severely ill with a cough, fever, headaches, body aches, nausea, and the shakes.

On November 23rd he was able to get in for a vitamin injection of vitamin C, magnesium, Vitamin D and a steroid injection (not sure what that was). By November 27, he was still so sick he couldn’t talk on the phone, but with the help of some friends, had tracked down where to get monoclonal antibodies, and had finally gotten the Urgent Care to write him a prescription.  Unfortunately, it was the weekend, and he was waiting for the pharmacy that administered the monoclonal antibodies to call him.

On November 28th he reported having his worst night yet, feeling like he was going to die, and for the first time had considered going to the ER. The next day he felt better, and we thought he was taking a turn for the better. He spent some time sitting in the sun for vitamin D, and by that afternoon began shaking and reported all of his symptoms being “back with a vengeance”.

We texted back and forth about how infuriated we both were that he couldn’t get adequate treatment, like Ivermectin, and that he had to be the one to find the monoclonal antibodies and advocate so hard for himself to get a script. On November 29, the pharmacy finally called him and he was able to get the monoclonal antibodies (Regen-Cov) that evening.

By the morning of December 1st, he texted me saying he was having trouble breathing and that his oxygen was down to 80-85. He was going to wait it out for a few hours to see if it improved, but after talking with my partner about it, and then shortly after that getting a call from my dad’s friend urging me to convince him to go to the ER because of how bad of shape he was in, I called him an ambulance. He was scared and he really didn’t want to go, but I convinced him it was for the best. We both knew that hospitals were often a death sentence for covid patients. He told me that the ER doctor had agreed with his decision not to get the Covid vax because of how healthy my dad generally was, and how long it had been since he had even gotten sick with a cold.

Shortly before the ambulance had arrived for my dad, he texted me saying his oxygen was down to 69. The ambulance arrived and took him to Havasu Regional Hospital. He said they gave him IV fluids, a steroid, antibiotics, and remdesevir.  At that time, I knew remdesevir was ineffective, and I remembered hearing some negative stuff about it, but I couldn’t recall what was bad about it.  Neither of us knew it was a failed Ebola drug, or that it caused kidney failure, or that it was so deadly. My dad never would have accepted it if he had known any of that. He was educated about the dangers of the vaccine and knew how corrupt the government health agencies and medical industry is. Neither of us knew how deadly that drug was, though.

When I checked in with my dad that afternoon, he said he felt terrible and wanted to cry most of the time. He was completely isolated. He was not allowed any visitors, and even when my brother flew out there and tried to bring my dad some things from his home, the staff acted very annoyed with my brother, refusing to give my dad most of what he had brought.

I began searching for Ivermectin for him, which I wish I would have done while he was still sick at home (I will forever regret that). I got in contact with Health Freedom Nevada and they got me in contact with Health Freedom Arizona. It took a few days to make all of the connections, and it was then that I learned how deadly Remdesivir can be.

Immediately I called the hospital and demanded to my dad’s nurse that they cease any and all Remdesivir. She said he had already been given a full round and that he wouldn’t get anymore. At that point, all I could do was pray for the best. My dad reported that his nurses and their assistants were great, and that they honored his food restrictions for his meals. His new doctor had asked him if he was vaccinated, and when my dad said no, the doctor told him he should have been, and that when he makes it out of the hospital, he should get vaccinated. (cuz apparently this doctor doesn’t understand how natural immunity works?)

At first, it seemed like my dad was getting better. His cough was better and he was finally coughing up phlegm, which we figured was a good sign – getting rid of all the lung gook. His headaches and nausea were gone. I was ready to raise hell and because he was feeling better after a couple of days, he told me to “stand down for now troop.”  My dad’s breathing continued to be a challenge, however. He was being given oxygen and he mentioned a breathing machine.

They started giving him morphine to help with his anxiety while they began placing him on his belly. The nurses had mentioned multiple times to me that his anxiety was really effecting his breathing. He had a history of anxiety and they asked me what they could give him, because they felt like it was effecting his breathing worse than his oxygen level. After a few days, my dad was moved to the ICU and he felt positive about it because he felt like he was getting more attention there. I was still desperately trying to find him Ivermectin, without luck.

By day 5, I had decided it was time for me to go to Arizona so I was packing my family up to make the drive there. I was breastfeeding my young toddler so I couldn’t just hop on a plane by myself. But one of his nurses had said that if he said he [my dad] wasn’t sure about his “coding status,” the hospital might let me in to see him to consult with him about his status.  It was a long shot, but my partner and I agreed it was worth the effort.  My brother had already flown home because he was basically useless there, since they weren’t allowing visitors.

Once my dad found out that we were preparing to go there, he panicked. He didn’t want me to risk getting sick. His nurse told me how panicked he was, and since I knew his anxiety was making his breathing so much worse, I decided to respect his wishes and cancel my plans to go to him. I didn’t know it at the time, but the next day or the day after was when he became too weak to feed himself or text me. His nurses had sent me some texts for him, but the texts had become few and far between. December 5th, after begging me not to come, the texts slowed down.

December 6th was the last text I got from him, and his nurse later told me that he the nurse] had been the one to send it to me, per my dad’s request. My daughter really wanted to talk to her Grampy – she missed him – they were very close because he lived in Nevada, close to us during the Summers, and he was our nanny. He agreed to facetime with us on the afternoon of Dec 5th, so she could at least show him our Christmas tree. He could barely get a “yes” or “no” or “hi” out. He was suffering so badly. He couldn’t breathe. He was trying to cry, but even that was hard because he couldn’t catch his breath. I quickly realized that the call was making him too emotional – we were all crying, myself, my partner, and my dad – and so I ended the call after a few minutes, at most.

Aside from the one photo he sent me when he was first admitted, that was the first and only time I had gotten to see him while he was in the hospital. I saw how much he was suffering, and it lit a fire in me to push harder for a call with his doctors, not just his nurses. When I spoke to his Doctor, I demanded that he be given fluvoxamine and she said the hospital couldn’t get it. I demanded that he be given Budesonide and she kept saying she wouldn’t because she “didn’t think it would work.”  I told her she needed to try because she was pushing for him to go on the ventilator, and I wanted them to try everything they could to avoid that. Then she switched her story and said that she couldn’t give it to him because she didn’t think he could inhale it. I argued with her to stop giving me excuses and to actually try something.

She told me, “I don’t really care what you think, I have to do what is appropriate”. To which I said, “What’s appropriate is that you do everything in you power to save my dad, and you’re not doing that.”  I then told her that I was his medical proxy and it was within my rights to have a say in his care, to which she snapped back at me, “You’re not his medical proxy!”. She claimed that he hadn’t signed any paperwork so I wasn’t his proxy.   I explained that he couldn’t speak, text, or feed himself, so clearly he was beyond the point of signing paperwork, and that when a patient gets to that point, care falls on their proxy. She denied me again and said he needed to sign some paperwork before she would talk to me again.  I immediately spoke with hospital administration and they were shocked at what she said, and apologized. They assured that I was, of course, in fact, his medical proxy, given his condition.

About a half an hour later, I called my dad’s nurse to ask if the doctor has gone to see him, and whether she had given him the budesonide. She said that the doctor had just been there and gave him albuterol instead. I was furious. She claimed he couldn’t inhale budesonide, a drug shown to be effective with covid, that could have potentially given my dad some relief, and then turned around and gave him albuterol, which is also an inhalant, and is basically useless against covid.

I then requested a meeting with the ethics board and his entire care team because of how deeply concerned I was with the care he was receiving. The next day, my partner came down with covid and couldn’t care for our daughter, so I had to back off of my advocacy a bit to care for my family.

A day or two later, I came down with covid as well and became too sick to function. I urged my brother to continue with the advocacy, but he wasn’t as educated on anything to do with covid, nor did he have the resources and connections I had been making. I forget the exact date, but I believe it was December 8th or 9th that my dad was finally put on the ventilator. I didn’t get to text with him or speak with him. His nurse told me that my dad was told what was going to happen and that he was very emotional about it.  I know that my dad knew he would never survive the ventilator.

My dad was on the ventilator for a week. My brother had been in contact with his nurses and his new doctor, and did his best to relay information, but didn’t know all the language as well as I did. I spoke with his new Doctor a time or two and he had told me that my dad’s oxygen rate was improving a bit, but that his kidneys were failing.

Around December 12th or so, it even seemed that my dad might be improving enough to survive. My brother had flown back out there, and once dad was put on the ventilator, they allowed my brother to see him. He talked to my dad, and put me and my partner on speaker phone so we could talk to my dad. He also let my dad’s siblings talk to him over speaker phone.  A couple of times, it seemed like my dad was responding to us, based on his vitals, but our hope was short lived.

On December 14th, the doctor called me, and I was too sick with covid to talk to him, so my partner spoke with him. He said that my dad’s kidney function was so bad that it was clear he would not survive. All hope was lost. I cried hysterically in bed, with a high fever, the shakes, and puking.  As I cried and cried, I felt he had left his body. I knew he was officially gone, at least spiritually.

The next day, my brother went to see him one last time. He told me that he had felt like dad left his body the day before, when he had been there with him – the same time I felt he had gone.  We decided it was time to take him off the machines and his body died within a few minutes on the night of December 15th, after 15 days of isolation in the hospital, and basically another 12 days of isolation at home. The crazy thing is that the day he was put on the ventilator, an old friend and client of his had gotten ahold of me and told me she had Ivermectin and Hydroxychloroquine for him. By then it was too late.

She provided us with the meds for my partner and I since we were so severely sick with covid at the time. The night my dad died, my neighbor delivered my mail to my door, that he had picked up from my POBox. We had received the meds. In less than 24 hours, both my partner and I felt significantly better, showing us how effective those drugs could have been for my dad, had he been allowed to access them.

My dad was a man of God. He was loved by so so many people, and he loved so many people, too. He volunteered for his church, helping the needy in his communities. He was always eager to help others. He loved children and left behind 8 grandchildren and a great grandchild. His passing has left a void in the hearts of many, especially mine. He deserved so much better than the inhumanity he endured.