October 26, 2021 - Tuesday evening
Iron River Hospital

Life's really all about priorities, isn't it? I've been lying in bed for the past twenty - plus days trying to organize mine. In fact, all have been condensed down to two objectives: breathing in and breathing out.

It's simple. In/out. In/out. In/out. Cough/blood. In/out. In/out. Rinse and repeat. Ah beautiful sweet air. Who cares if it comes force fed from a green bottle?

Currently, my newest passion is breathing.

I wonder who gave whom the Covid that's wracked my body, the disease that still insists it wring every last breath from my soul. I'll blame Yooper Brother Mark. It's always easy to blame the baby brother, the guy who's not here to defend himself. On the other hand, I probably shouldn't get too carried away. He's been after me since early last August to get “the cough” checked out, to see a doctor and make sure I was hitting on all eight cylinders.

But then, it was all about priorities last summer. I had a garden to tend, wood to process, grandbabies to visit, a beautiful wife with whom to share the near perfect summertime weather. Plus, anyone who's read anything knows that the entire culmination of the past several years of activities was to have ended with a February kick off of the Appalachain Trail 2022 through hike.

It was all about priorities.

Sargie brought me to the emergency room the first time a couple of Thursdays ago.

Amazing how, when a person is lying on his side at 1 AM and reaching for the stars in an effort to grasp any amount of oxygen, the number one prioritiy is in the simple act of breathing.

In/out. In/out. In/out. Cough/blood. In/out.

"Take nice, slow, easy breaths,” said the ER charge nurse. “We've got you.”

I must have been somewhere outside the zone, wherever that is.

“Who are you? Where are you?” she began asking. Hell, if she couldn't see who she was talking to, I wasn't going to answer. It was obvious I was right there in front of her. Maybe she was the one with Covid, not me.

I'd like to say I saw beautiful music, mystical birds singing songs only I could hear, or a quiet voice that reassured me I'd be okay. At one point, I did see Mom and Dad, standing there watching over me, neither seemingly concerned, just knowing, telling me to keep calm and all would be okay.

Brother in law, Pat, told me when he was so ill, Sargie's parents came into his room, the exact same where I lay, and stood over him, but that was then and this was now.

Typical Dad. I could actually hear him saying, “We got this Charlie.”

And we did. Dad and I always were a good team. Hell yeah, it was all about priorities.

Oh and yes, Jesus did make a cameo appearance, but I'm not sure from where He appeared. He was either in back, in front, or around Mom and Dad but only for a few short seconds. That's okay, when it comes to Jesus, I can go for quality and not quantity. He was there long enough to let me know that as usual, He was in charge.

I've had no fear of death, haven't for many years. I've often said I'll welcome Heaven when it's time to go home. Dad always said he knew where he was going when he passed as did Mom.

So do I.

Until it's my time, I'd rather hang out with Sargie, family, and friends, and enjoy our little slice of Heaven on Pentoga Road.

Back to Jesus and yesterday afternoon's arrival back at the hospital. I think He said to just let go... and I did. The next thing I knew, I was in capable hands, blowing veins that had been filled with contrast left and right, bleeding from any one of the multiple holes that have taken up residence in this thin skinned frame of mine.

I thought a lot about Sargie yesterday and felt so grateful for all our family and friends. She and Mark sat out in the parking lot for hours waiting to hear news of my progress.

Isolation, full blown Covid, lungs filled with some sort of gooey glass, and an emergency situation meant Sargie was confined to the parking lot to ponder and worry. Thank God for Yooper Brother Mark to help carry the burden.

Somehow I've lost more than twenty days this past month (along with twenty five pounds.) I barely remember being here in the hospital and know I've spent hours staring at the wall or out the window. I've lost time, lots of it.

I was initially discharged last Saturday afternoon. Told my lungs would need time to heal, a quick picture was taken to ensure no blood clots had formed and just like that, I was being wheeled to Sargie's waiting chariot. We stopped at the pharmacy, made arrangements to have canisters of oxygen delivered to the house, and just like that, we were back on Pentoga Road.

Conditions began going downhill almost immediately. Unable to retain any breath, I crawled up the stairs to the spare room and collapsed into bed. I knew I was in trouble, serious trouble, more trouble than I'd ever been in in my life.

I remember going through the ice on the Squirrel River in the arctic years ago. It was in slow motion, the Tundra slowly slipping through an unseen hole in the ice. I tried to crawl over the machine, but ended up being submerged, caught on the fender.

What I really remember is being grateful that one ski had caught on the edge of the ice. Holding my breath, I reached up and tried to use the ski to my advantage.

Time was running out. My lungs cried for air. Five seconds, four, three, two... I couldn't hold my breath any longer... but I did.

Fighting for breath with Covid has been the closest thing to drowning I've experienced since. It's made everything else seem small, almost diminished.

Sargie called the ambulance Monday morning. With no supply of available oxygen in my lungs, I told her I'd never leave the spare bedroom, that I would probably die right there. After twenty days of fighting, I was tired. There was no fuel in the tank. I tried crawling to the bathroom, but I could only wretch and fight for breath.

It was the first and only time in my life that I thought it would be easier to let go than to fight. This tough old bird was tired. I laid on the bed thinking how comfortable and cool it felt, that no breathing was necessary, and how nice it would be to simply quit breathing in/out. In/out. Cough/blood. In/out.

It wouldn't have taken much.

Thank God I have a fighter in my corner who was strong enough to do it for both of us. She and God did for me what I was incapable of doing for myself.

The ambulance arrived and transported me to the emergency room. What a wonderful medical staff we have in our little town. CAT scans show I have multiple blood clots embedded in my lungs, those nasty things that refuse to allow even a little spare oxygen to pass. I'm told it could be days/weeks, months, even the possiblity of years, before my condition improves. I was even given the news that it may never, that my life could be reduced down to gulping continual oxygen and handfuls of blood thinning pills.

Yeah, that ain't gonna happen. As I said, it's all about priorities.

I got the news today that I'll be in the hospital for a few more days. I'd much rather be here than putting Sargie through the suffering at home. Poor girl. She has to be all done in. What a trooper, but then anyone who knows Sargie knows that's the way she rolls.

For you medical nerds, I'm currently on 9 liters of oxygen so to hold my saturation rate around 9 or so. As soon as it's removed, that number sinks into the low 8's and below, dangerously low. Sure makes brushing my teeth or even eating a dicey proposition.

So you know what I know. Am I happy? Heck yeah, I'm writing this aren't I? Twenty four hours ago, I'd have given you a rifle, a bullet, and a five dollar bill and begged you to shoot me, so see, it's not so bad.

After all, life's all about priorities. Time for the next chapter to begin.

As Dad said, “We got this Charlie.”

Damn straight we do, Dad! Let's get 'er dun.