It was the dead of night. About 1 hour. Tomorrow I have to leave the Covid department of the Clinical Center and go home. Corona is gone, pneumonia won't happen so soon. Ali retreats. I received the very last infusion of antibiotics and vitamins and turned on my side to try to sleep. At that moment, I hear the booming voice of medical technician I., who coordinates the work of the nurses in the ward all the time but, according to protocol, does not enter the rooms. So I don't even know what it looks like, but I understood from the communication that was constantly taking place that the man was flying. From door to door, fulfilling the requests of covid nurses for new ampoules of longacef, hemomycin, paracetamol, for brownies and infusion solution...
The voice of technician I. announces: The two critical ones, if the deterioration continues and they begin to die - the doctor said, there is no resuscitation. It doesn't help... In the background I hear the eerie sound of a respirator from the next room, to which one of the endangered patients is connected. A disturbing tone, similar to that of hospital sirens. Not so shrill, more blunt and equally ruthless. With that music, which announces perhaps someone's death, I fall asleep. Circumstances of man get used to everything. It was the same after the 2007 wait.
How it started
Let me go back to the beginning. My story about corona, its secrets and dangers, challenges, misconceptions and mistakes, has only one goal - to inform, warn and maybe save at least one life tomorrow. Or help someone not to get to the Covid ward, especially not to the helmet balloon or respirator.
It all started with the awakening on Sunday, September 6. Severe bone pain, people usually describe such a condition with words - as if I was hit by a truck. The temperature is close to 37. Corona is in the subconscious, but the person still thinks of a better option first: the past Sunday, after the election, was very tiring and work-related, the immunity has dropped and the body is looking for a day or two of rest. Same thing tomorrow. The temperature during the morning reaches 37,3, but one aspirin quickly solves that. I call the chosen doctor K., who tells me to do a blood test for KKS and CRP, as well as a urinalysis. For PCR, you should wait at least another day or two, because corona needs time to show up in the test. Blood test within normal limits, urine also. The chosen doctor says that he is not happy about some small deviations of monocytes, but that only PCR can show whether it is corona or not. I have already made up my mind - corona, nothing. I found comfort in the words of friends - better now when it has to be than in the winter, now that you push through then you are calm for half a year, and by then I guess there will be a vaccine. On Wednesday 09.09, who believes in numerology not a very lucky date, I am going by car to the scheduled PCR test in front of the Institute for Public Health. The column of cars reminds me of the time of sanctions and waiting in similar queues for fuel, which needs to come from an unknown direction. And when - we don't know. Here, however, everything was known. One after the other, one by one in the car, we slide along the established line to the check point where the laboratory technician is waiting and politely saying: First the nose, now the mouth. And in 10 seconds everything is over. Happy that everything went so quickly and painlessly, I return home. General condition unchanged. True, the bone pain has passed, but the temperature is hovering around 37. Everyone asks me about my appetite, loss of sense of smell or taste - my agreement is: never better. I don't remember when I enjoyed food, flavors so much. I guess also because I didn't have time for that for a long time. Or that I felt there were more important things waiting for me. On the fourth day, I feel a little better, the results of the PCR test should arrive in the afternoon, I am already convinced that everything was just a trick and not the terrible corona, and I am scheduling appointments for tomorrow. Around 18:30 I receive an SMS from IJZ - it's your result negative!
I can not believe. I'm asking if it's not a mistake - Željko Ivanović, JMBG 0223... - negative finding! I come out of self-isolation after four days and hug D. What a wonderful feeling. Family, News, friends, everyone was informed that not even corona can make me positive! I also stop drinking that effervescent aspirin that even Trump claims is a miracle cure and return to normal life. The first mistake and a big misconception.
The drama begins
Tomorrow I'm already in meetings, I'm also going to Hemera to see a friend, no one is thinking about corona anymore. The weekend is coming, I hope for additional rest and regaining strength. Malo morgen.
On Sunday, September 13, that is, seven days after the first symptoms of weakness, I can barely get out of bed. I somehow stumble to the bathroom and see that it's time for a serious examination. I wouldn't go to the emergency room, it scares me, so I call a private surgery in the neighborhood. After I told doctor S. about my medical history and presented the sms that I was negative for corona, a short examination of the lungs with a stethoscope followed. You can hear scratching, the beginning of bronchitis, if you want to be sure, you can go for an X-ray. I suggest either an antibiotic or longacef injections. I feel that the devil has taken the joke and I choose the latter. Two days, then control.
On Tuesday, a new examination, the condition is the same, two more injections reinforced with urbazone. Wednesday, September 16, a day to remember. And unforgettable. The condition is getting worse, I feel that I still have to go to the KBC. I call Dr. J., a pulmonologist, which I know is the correct address. When I barely uttered a few sentences about the situation and events, she said coldly and decisively: I'm waiting for you in the office at the Polyclinic in 10 minutes. Let the husband bring the instructions later.
My nurse picks me up at the Polyclinic and takes me for an X-ray. Then huge tubes of blood are taken. The doctor says: now go home, when the findings are finished I will call you to tell you what to do next. As soon as I entered the apartment, less than 15 minutes had passed, the phone rang and I saw the name of Dr. J on the display. I followed, feeling that it was not good news. But I'm answering, life is filled with more bad news than good news, by the way. "Listen, Dragon, this is no longer a joke - you have pneumonia on both sides. Strong. More progressive on the left wing. You have to go to the hospital", concludes doctor J. I'm not going there unless I'm dead, I knocked at first. Give me a D., she says. Of course, women decide everything. I am their servant. In 20 minutes I was in front of Urgentno. A new PCR test was performed there in the container. And then reception, papers, hospital room. Doctor J. orders the nurses for therapy and blood tests. Before she left, I said to her: The octopus is falling, the corona will not come to my head, will it? She smiles restrainedly, she says do not worry, but I can see that she is worried.
For the first time after 10 days of agony, I feel that I am safe. Even when the information arrived the next day that the new PCR test was also negative, I did not ask to go home immediately.
However, the situation does not change. The dry cough is getting more and more intense, and the strength is getting less and less. Going to the toilet is already an effort equal to climbing Bobot. I'm short of air, inhalants don't help anything... I tell my sister to bring the inhaler machine, I can't look at her. The only thing that brings my breath back is water. Non-carbonated. I drank 6-7 liters a day. The nurse comes with the swabs - a new PCR test is being done, but now the sticks go to the handles. I cry, I scream, but that too ends. Dr. J., together with her colleagues and the hospital pharmacologist, concludes that longacef does not work and changes the therapy with a new pair of antibiotics. The temperature is now already rising to 39 and, as agreed, every day at 17:30 p.m. I pick up my phone and start sketching out Monday's column - Milo to the forest, Tamara to the Chetniks. I will conclude later that the fervor of the mind extinguishes the fire of the body. I write, I even enjoy it, I almost don't feel the fever. The nurse comes to hook me up with another IV round, but I ask her to wait ten minutes so I can finish the second paragraph. He looks at me and doesn't understand what I'm talking about.
On Friday 18.09. regular visit, no significant changes, inflammation stable and solid, the cause is still unknown... Doctor J. says: We're going for a lung scan.
Finally - corona
Sister I. arrives with a wheelchair, I somehow sit in it, but with a mask over my face it's much harder to get air. I'm sweating and gasping for air. Fortunately the CT department is close by. The technician walks me through the scanner tunnel several times, with commands breathe deeply, don't breathe - the first one is difficult for me without coughing, and the second one has almost become a natural state for me. In an hour, Dr. J. comes and says that the scan confirmed bilateral inflammation, but since the scanner provides a deeper insight than the X-ray, a process resembling corona can be seen at the base of the left lung. "We will do a swab for antibodies", he concludes. At the same time, a new therapy and a new pair of antibiotics are being introduced. The race with time and the still invisible corona but more than clear pneumonia continues.
Around 15:21 p.m., Dr. M. from the IJZ came with the same sticks - only then did I count the stars when she was taking swabs. I knew it was the fourth PCR test, Dr. J. tried to calm me down by talking about antibodies and not to panic. The evening falls, the cough intensifies, the temperature rises. Already seen. The text works really well for me and it makes me calm and happy. Around XNUMX pm I send it to the editor.
On Saturday, 14 days after the first symptoms, and after a few days of a whooping cough and fever, I feel a little, minimally better. Obviously, the new therapy is the best so far. The visit comes, I say that I'm perfectly fine and I can't wait to be let home. With temperature, blood is taken every 10 minutes, paracetamol must not be given during that period. Those hours with almost 40 degrees were hellish. At 22:30 p.m., after I've changed 4 shirts from sweating and taking my temperature, my phone rings. I see Dr. J's name on the display. Let me say darling, I told her. You can. You have corona, they informed me now from the Institute that the last test was positive, she retorted. Finally, I thought. From the voice of Dr. J., I would say that she was relieved - I was pathetic. In a knockdown. Instead of the exit that I had hoped for, even though it sounds crazy, I am now waiting for a transfer to the floor above and the famous Covid ward. Sister B. tells me that she knew from the beginning that I had corona, that I was packing things and breathing more and more difficult. Somehow I got ready for the uncertain journey and the same cart to the new destination. The first thing I said to the nurse when we walked down the corridor to the Covid ward was: Well, this is the Hilton! Why did you wait until now to bring me here.
She just laughed and ran with the cart. They put me in a room with a similar patient who was connected to oxygen, with a mask on his face. Two sisters in spacesuits help me unpack and settle in, after which they agree between themselves about brownies and infusions. One of them says that Dr. J. said to put the oxygen on 15. I get a sterilized greenish mask, put it on my face and feel that it suits me. Good. It's easier to breathe, finally. In the coming days, I will slowly discover the secrets of various methods from the doctor. Oxygen is the first and most convenient for the patient: through the mask, as many liters per minute as the patient needs to raise the saturation, or percentage of oxygen in the blood, above 88-90. By the way, normal saturation in healthy lungs ranges from 96-98... Mine was 82 that first evening. A serious candidate for a ventilator. Luckily, I wasn't aware of that at all.
The first night with a mask, the first with a positive test for corona and the first night without a temperature. Let's go
A light at the end of the tunnel
In the following days, the situation improves somewhat. The cough is less frequent and shorter, as soon as it thickens there is a mask and oxygen. I will never repay him for that help. I follow the portal and see that the situation surrounding the formation of the new government is already getting complicated. Vučić is openly sabotaging through DF puppets. I can not believe. The fall of one regime was awaited for three decades and the spent trio DF would rather have Milo back in power than go to some embassy or council. It's already past 22 p.m., I call the editor-in-chief and tell him how I would like to write an article on the subject of Vučić and the new government. In an hour I send him: The last gasp of the desperate. He replies to me after reading: Very good. We release the portal in the morning.
New infusion and finally the first, real, deep sleep. After more than three weeks. I was so comatose that the legendary technician M. whom I called Pomet and his sister A., called Struja, gave me a morning therapy of three bottles of infusion while I slept. I wake up at 9:30, dozens of messages on my phone. Everyone about the text, nobody about corona and oxygen. Nevertheless, on September 23, a new parliament and a new president were elected. There, another victory. Let's go... The text is also transmitted by a number of independent Belgrade portals, they call me from Danas and from Nova S for statements and an interview. I ask them - does it suit you better with a mask or without a mask. Then they realize I'm in the hospital. But we're ending that too.
The saturation is already better, doctor J. announces a new x-ray and new blood tests. In the afternoon, reports arrive that the situation is stabilizing. In the morning, reduce his literage to 12, says Dr. J. to the sisters. I'm already starting to measure the saturation and I'm looking forward to the jump to 88 percent. On Friday, 25.09. in a spacesuit, after infusions and breakfast, Dr. M., a physiatrist, arrives. She greets me from my colleague V.'s godmother and says that we will do lung and breathing exercises. Five exercises. After each one, saturation is measured and the first signs of fatigue are observed. It's like learning to breathe again. During breaks, I take an oxygen mask and water. Suzu mine. Nowhere without her. Remember that - water kills corona too. It's not scientifically proven, but that's my subjective feeling.
On Saturday, they drop my oxygen to 8 liters per second. The on-call doctor V. comes to visit and says that all the findings are excellent and that she is preparing me as if I will go home on Monday. But the final decision will be made by Dr. J. the day after tomorrow, after the new X-ray. And on the weekend, I do exercises with a physiatrist doctor. I cough less when I sigh, the saturation does not fall below 84. As soon as I take a break and put on the mask, it jumps to 92-93.
It's Saturday, we should already be thinking about Monday's column. Friends inform me that the previous evening Milan K. had a violent attack on some local TV - all DPS jobs, says Marioneta, from drugs to Pink, are taken over by Željko and Vijesti. Then I read on our portal the spokesperson of the octopus, Miloš N., who enthusiastically quotes the mentioned performance of Milan K. Duplo golo, DPS and DF and three decades lost in transition. Here's a new column I thought: Milo why did you sell us to Pink.
On Sunday, they reduce the oxygen supply to 6, and in the evening to 4 liters per second. It was the last night in the Covid department of KBC, you already know how it went. I described, at the beginning of the story. And here I should add: when, despite the high values of oxygen he receives through the mask, the patient still does not have the required level of oxygen saturation in the blood and when his number of respirations, i.e. inhalation and exhalation in one minute exceeds the normal 16 to 18, then he is switched to a helmet balloon. Which irresistibly resembles an astronaut's helmet. The helmet is connected to a machine that controls the oxygen content in the balloon and makes it easier for the patient to breathe. I told Dr. J. that I really like it, I would like to try it while I'm there. She replied that I was crazy and went to the other patients.
If even a helmet cannot improve saturation and respiration, explains my genius doctor (borrowed from Elena Ferrante), and when the values of partial oxygen and carbon dioxide are greatly disturbed - then the patient is put on a ventilator. Then the machine "breathes" for you and the real battle for life begins. Your lungs are in the hands of that machine.
I have to talk about death again. Because corona kills. In the world, there are already over a million people on the list of those lost due to the consequences caused by the corona. Its power to transform, hide, spread, attack various organs, lungs above all, but also those chronically weak, is terrifying. If it stays only on the tongue or in the nose, then nothing. If it goes lower, expect chaos.
The most shocking story I heard is actually ours, Montenegrin. A friend of a patient who died of corona when he was only 50 years old, in the first winter wave, told the story. I asked her if he had any chronic diseases. is not, she said. So how did he die, what got complicated. She replied: He was positive, among the first, in a small town, I think he died of depression! Nothing was clear to me, I asked what does corona have to do with depression?! Ima, she said softly, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. Half the town immediately found out that he had corona, that he was therefore contagious, he saw it as an accusation that he was spreading the virus and endangering others. He went mental and it killed him.
Oh, Montenegro Oh, dog land... (J. Brković)
Monday, September 28, 22 days after the first symptoms, 10 days of self-isolation and self-diagnosis, 12 days of KBC - I'm going home. The crown also fell. The lungs still need time, I'll wait. My sister watches me pack and says: You must be happy, going home. I would still stay, I reply, to which she nods. As a volunteer, I clarify. To do this wonderful work that you do and how you do it. With so much love and dedication. Two nurses in a shift on 16 to 20 difficult patients, give each one more bottles of infusion three or four times, don't mix it up, don't miss it, be punctual. And all that for 400 euros per month. I have to again, how is that DPS. Because KBC with all that it has, with the staff above all, could be national pride. Our Acibadem, for all our people. It is only necessary to remove the hand of any party and to spend every cent allocated for the Clinical Center. In 30 years, DPS failed because party and personal interests prevailed. That's why many left, among them some of the best. We will see a new government. We are just waiting for you.
Technician I. announces loudly from the corridor: at 1.15:XNUMX patient Ivanović and patient B. should get ready, an ambulance is waiting for them to take them home. That's when I saw patient B for the first time in the cart they used to take us to the elevator. He was exhausted, scared, but happy that he survived. I probably looked similar to him.
I come home and D is waiting at the door of love. She pulled the trigger again.
I can see it in her face. I comfort her by saying that I will finally get serious and accept that I am not so young anymore and that I have been barking at the stars a lot.
Bonus video:
