(shared at work)
Monday, Jan 3rd
As soon as the Urgent Care opened, I walked up to the check in counter with Diya (my daughter). The lady at the front desk looked at us and asked, "You guys were here yesterday, right?" "Yes, and the day before", I answered. And even the day before that, I added silently in my head.
Back tracking to Dec 31st, new year's eve, my husband and son woke up with sore throat and fever and same day tested positive for COVID-19. Diya started showing some strange symptoms the next day, a rash that kept spreading throughout her body over the next few days. We made, multiple visits to urgent care, and many night phone calls to the nurse line - they all provided lots of assurances that this was just COVID and we just needed to quarantine at home and let this pass through. They were all eager to keep us at home and not have COVID exposed people around in their facilities.
So, there I was with Diya, on day 3 of our consecutive visits to the urgent care. But this time, the nurse that took us in did not even attempt to treat her. Diya's condition had deteriorated so much that she told us to go to ER immediately and then promptly left the room and exclaimed "OH MY GOD" as she closed the door behind her. We heard her through the door and my heart sank.
I drove Diya straight to Mott's Children's Hospital and within minutes of checking in, she was admitted into the ICU, with the diagnosis of Stevens-Johnson-Syndrome, or SJS, a rare, unpredictable, and serious condition when the immune system reacts to something and mounts an attack on its own body. They did not know for sure what triggered it, but the rash had spread all over her body, not only on the outside, but also into the inside organs. Many teams of specialists were hovering over her, and she was connected to tubes, needles and wires in no time. There were endless tests being run, statistics and projections, hypotheses and probabilities – if only I could process all this information and digest all the data and find the right solution! @#!@#!!!
The next few hours were a blur, or maybe it was few days, weeks? Time warped, and at some point, my distraught mind registered that I needed to inform people. But who? And what was I going to tell them?
The reality was that even though we had a diagnosis, there was no root cause, there were multiple theories and conflicting opinions on treatment plans and a poor prognosis overall. We did not know what we were in for or how long.
I called home first but found myself lacking in adequate words to describe what was happening. The only thing I could tell my family for certain was that they could not visit her – being COVID positive, they were not allowed any where near the hospital premises. And I could not leave, if I did, I will not be allowed back in, so I was going to stay with her, for as long as it took.
I figured I should call at work …. Didn't I have a Staff meeting or something? The whole thing felt so surreal and out of place. I called one of my team members, told him what was going on … I don't think I was very coherent. Being a father himself, he understood completely. I felt comforted.
I asked him to "just take care of stuff" and related "we don't know what we are in for, or how long". He told me to just take care of Diya and not worry about work, the team will figure it out.
I called one of my colleagues, there was some program crisis and escalations were starting to trickle in. I asked him to step in. "Absolutely, anytime" he said. 'Anytime' was what I needed to hear 'cause the same haunting words were circling in my mind ""we don't know what we are in for, or how long".
I txted my boss, didn't even have the energy to call. I got immediate response "Family First. Health First". That's it. No questions about when I was going to be back or who will cover during my absence. He trusted me. And I trusted my team and my colleagues to help and support and handle things.
Later, I called another colleague – this time for personal help. His wife was a Doctor and I needed advice. She helped me sort through the mind-numbing medical lingo and hospital protocols that I was struggling with. I was so grateful to talk to someone who knows the system.
Days and nights fused together. Diya started responding to the treatment and started stabilizing. While recovery was still a distant notion, it was a relief to see some improvement. I started breathing easier, I might even have dozed off in that singular reclining chair that I had been camping out on.
Diya, on the other hand, started to get worried. Are you going to leave me here and go home? Don't you have to go back to work? How can you take so many days off? You don't even have your laptop.
On and on, she peppered me with these questions. She is very familiar with my typical work schedule, so she could not believe that I could just step away for so long. I reassured her that everything was taken care of at work, and I really was going to stay with her – as long as it takes.
She mulled it over and then said something truly remarkable, "You seem to have good friends at work, tell them I appreciate them". It was a precise choice of words, and it came from the depth of gratitude of a child's heart. It made me pause.
I looked up the word "Friendship" – its described as a state of mutual trust and support. And yes, that is precisely what I received and precisely what I needed during that time.
As I think, more broadly, about our current environment, our lives, our work – do we really know what we are in for, and for how long? Who do we lean on, who do we call for help? And who can we offer our friendship to?
(As I write this, I am happy to report that the whole family is doing much better and planning for Spring break someplace warm soon!)
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