Day five. Today was not a good day. 

I almost didn’t write this post. It’s 11:46 PM and I’m exhausted. I want to go to sleep and wake up to discover that this was just a nightmare. But I have to write it.

I have to write it because I know that there are other people out there who are alone. Who are frightened. Who are angry. Who are scared. Who feel so helpless it’s like they’re drowning.

Also, I have to write this because it’s my way of processing.

So fair warning - it is raw and unedited. It is strictly what I have to share at midnight, three hours after he went into the ICU. 

In a previous post, I wrote that my dad has tested positive for the Coronavirus COVID-19. He went to the hospital last night.

Today, things were looking up. He asked for his iPad and even texted my mom a picture of his view from the hospital. 

Then things took a turn. He couldn’t breathe. 

He texted us that he was scared and that he loved us. Then he called. I could hear him struggling to breathe on the other end, but he wanted to tell me that he loved me and that he was proud of me. I told him to stop talking and that I loved him too. And that he was stronger than this. He is stronger than this. He has to be. 

I’ve been crying for the last three hours. 

I want to be very honest in this post. I need to be honest about how terrible it is to have someone you love affected by this disease. We need to take this seriously. And I don’t want anyone going through this to feel alone. 

So here’s what I’ve learned and felt over the past three hours:

1 Reading has both calmed me & filled me with anxiety

As soon as I found out that my dad was going into the ICU to be put on a ventilator to help him breathe, I began reading articles. I’ve been struggling to find the right keywords to give me the results I want. The results I want are the number of recoveries that have occurred with patients who are having severe symptoms. 

What I found both soothed and agitated my fears. Here’s what the truth is. When patients have symptoms that are as critical as his—severe pneumonia—their chances of survival are much less. I don’t have an exact number, but in the epicenter (Seattle), half of the patients died. 

However, there are true stories of patients who were in the ICU, who were on ventilators, who came back. Whose bodies fought this off and who recovered. Patients who have been reunited with their families. I am clinging to these stories. I am believing with my whole heart. No. My entire being. That my dad will be one of these patients. He is strong. This is not his time.

This is not his time. 

Note, however, that these recoveries have taken weeks.

I’m embarrassed to admit that my first response to reading that timeframe was about myself. I thought, there’s no way I can live in this anxiety-filled limbo for weeks.

Selfish, I know. but it’s true—and I want to tell the truth here.  It was the first thought that popped into my head.

Of course, after my narcissism faded, I realized what this meant for him. If I think I’m exhausted from the emotional toll this is taking, I cannot even begin to imagine his exhaustion - both mentally and physically. His body literally needs to fight with all its power for weeks.

So here’s my promise: Dad - I will not get tired. There is no length of time that will deter me from believing that you will be just fine. The terms are as follows: You must not tire either. You must continue to fight for as long as it takes.

2 I want to be distracted, but am overcome with guilt when I am

Another thing I’ve noticed is that I desperately want to be distracted. I don’t want the aching that comes with this much fear. I don’t want that pit in my stomach thinking about how far away I am from my family. And it truly is a pit. There’s no better way to describe it, so I’ll use what writers of past generations have used. 

But the thing about distractions is that they work… for a while. Watching a television show or movie. Talking to friends. Just thinking about something else. 

Then the realization that across the ocean your dad is frightened and struggling and in pain comes back. And the guilt is dark and crawls over like some inky monster. 

Believe me, I am fully aware that this is an illogical feeling. I know that I am allowed to try to distract myself and think of other things. I know that I shouldn’t be crying for however many weeks it takes for him to get better. I get it. I am fully aware that I shouldn’t feel guilty. 

But I do. And I think I will continue to until he is home safe, healthy, and happy. I cannot begin to imagine the fear of being faced with a painful death. One that stopped you from saying goodbye to everyone you loved in person. 

It is hard to allow yourself to feel happy (or even normal) when you know that someone is going through that. 

3 Nothing feels worse than knowing your parents are scared

Which I guess brings me to the hardest thing that’s happened today: accepting my parents’ fear. 

That first text from my dad, when he told us that he was really afraid, made my insides turn in circles. The helplessness that I felt knowing how frightened he was and not being able to do anything—it was unbearable. It made me want to throw myself into a wall. To scream into the night. To crumple into a heap and just disappear. 

Knowing that my mom is scared too is so heartbreaking. We’re alike in that we don’t often talk about our emotions. Well, that’s not true. We’re good about talking through what we’re feeling from a removed approach, but we don’t ever express emotions. For example, “I love you” isn’t exactly something that we say out loud. It’s just sort of known. I’ve said it more today than I think I have in my whole life.

So, to hear her admit that she is afraid, that this is something that she is really struggling to deal with, that she cannot go on without my dad, was jarring. I can’t do anything to help. There’s nothing I can say or do to make her or my brother feel any better.

There’s nothing I can do at all except to believe with everything I’ve got that he will pull through. That he is as strong as I know he is and that he will fight.

He said that he was proud of me. But I haven’t even begun to make him proud. There is so much more that I have to share with him. So much more to do to make him proud of me.