“This is my story, contracting and surviving Covid-19. It was day two of a double shift at my job. I was the only nursing assistant to show up for work the second day on both day and afternoon shift (16hrs) due to staff calling in sick. I was completely in the dark about Covid, because I had been working so hard and didn’t pay any attention to the news. We were not required to wear PPE at this time, it was a Sunday, March 29, 2020. It was one particular patient that made me realize quickly something was deeply wrong. He was already an oxygen dependent patient. He was ambulatory, continent and A & Ox 2. I was walking down the hall in his direction, and he was standing in his room door, when he stopped me and asked if I could bring him some cold water. I inhaled and thought “this is the most disturbing smell I’ve ever smelled during my many years in the medical field.” The entire time I’m getting his water, I’m trying to identify the smell from his breath, and I can’t. By the time I finished my rounds, I was light-headed, feverish and had diarrhea. I got off work and my husband were concerned because I was still light-headed and very warm. I got home and got directly in the shower to try and “wake up” and cool down. I laid down to rest. The next day, I could barely breathe, I couldn’t move, and I had a fever of 105.9 degrees. My appetite was gone. My husband made me comfortable and cared for our younger boys who were 9 and 2 at the time. My breathing had gotten worse, I was going on days with no appetite and my color had changed (I became darker), I was rapidly losing weight. My fever was still high. I was unable to break it. Pain consumed my body, headaches were intense, and by this time my husband had a fever of 105.3 degrees. After noticing that the house was in disarray from the younger children at home, my 25-year-old son stepped in to help. He took care of his younger siblings. My legs were completely useless because they were filled with so much pain, my son had to toilet me and put ice packs on my husband and me. As the days passed, my breathing gotten worse, my head was pounding, my eyesight was very poor, and the pain had not subsided. I had co-workers bringing dinner and food for my family. My relatives were bringing food and medicine, but I felt like everything was out of anyone’s control and at that point, I needed to go to the hospital. Totally oblivious to the chaos that surrounded me in the Emergency Room, I quickly learned what all the commotion was about. I was rushed in the back and blood was drawn immediately. There were nurses crying, “code blue” alarms going off one after the other and complaints of “not enough staff, not enough PPE and “too many people are dying.” They put the oxygen mask on my face and turned it on and said, “Mrs. Brown, we’re gonna have to put you on 100% oxygen because your oxygen sat (saturation) is too low.” Trying not to panic, my eyes bucked a little and my breathing became rapid. I can still hear the crying and the codes and the complaints and I’m just praying to be alright because it seemed no one was. A nurse came back to tell me that I had to be admitted but the hospital is at capacity, and it will be awhile before a room becomes available. Cold, scared and still very much listening to chaos, about 4 to 5 nurses came in my room and hooked up IV’s and explained that I had to be given antibiotics intravenously. I still have no clue what is wrong with me but at that point I didn’t care what they did as long as I got better. Still in the emergency room, it was about 2am when I was told I would be transferred to a room. I got to my room and the nurses helped me transfer to the bed. They placed me on the Covid Unit for observation. Now I knew what was going on. It wasn’t until the next day when I realized I hadn’t seen anyone and my IV’s were running low. The phone in my room rang and it was my doctor. He had informed me that I was Covid positive, and he could not come into my room for safety precautions. My nurses would bring food in a Styrofoam container wrapped in a plastic bag ice cold. I told them that I could tolerate pills by mouth and that I can breathe a little better. I started crawling around my room, my legs were still in so much pain, but I wanted to leave the hospital immediately. I told myself that if I was to die, it would be at home with people who love me because that is why I am kind and positive. I called for my aunt to come and get me; I phoned the doctors so that I can be discharged and told them I can take the medications orally at home and I left there. My husband was back on his feet when I got home but my days became darker. I was consumed with grief and nightmares accompanied by pain and despair. I was always thirsty and never quenched. I laid on one side of my body because I found comfort there only to break it down. My breathing was not better, but I did not want to be at the hospital anymore, so I laid there, gasping for air, unable to raise my own head. Weeks have gone by and my son asked, “Mom you’re still sick?” He and my husband would take turns feeding me, toileting me and trying to keep me hydrated. I kept assuring them that at this rate, I would be dead soon and to make final arrangements, because there is no way a body can stay this sick for this long and survive.”