COVID-19 Humanity Betrayal ㅤ Memory Project

I’d like to add a personal note at the start of this, if I may—Tyler and I met in 1970—he was he most amazing musician I’d ever seen.   He came over one night, played a song he’d written, and told me he believed I was the woman God made for him.   I told him I wasn’t interested.   Things were awkward after that, so we didn’t see each other again—for 37 YEARS!!!

In 2008, a mutual friend tried to get the whole gang together, which included us.  We started performing together, and were married a year and a half later.   We were married for almost 13 years.   On September 4, 2021, he was asked to perform at a Christian Coffeehouse reunion.   Then we played together on Labor Day, September 6th.   A few days later, the coffeehouse reunion committee sent an email saying that 17 people had tested positive for Covid.

Three days later, on September 9th, we both were feeling quite ill, so we went to our family doctor.   Two nurses in hazmat suits came out to test us IN THEIR PARKING LOT.   They informed us that I was positive; Tyler was negative, but probably “false negative” since we were married.   I asked if the Dr. was going to phone in a prescription.   They told me, no, to go home, and take Tylenol if the fever got too bad.

On the 12th of September, I took Tyler to the closest hospital—we were both VERY ill by this time, but I felt he was worse.   I dropped him off (since they didn’t want me in with Covid), and the ER admitted him, which I was SO thankful for!!  I was sure he’d get the best possible care.   Two hours later, they called me and told me to come up and get him—they were sending him home!!

On the 15th of September 2021, I drove us BOTH up to the hospital—they saw us both for Covid, in the ER.   After a few hours, they told me they were sending me home, but they were admitting him.   I asked them if they were going to call me again in two hours to come and get him, (they were surprised at that), but they said, “No, he’s going to stay here now.”

I called him on his cell phone on September 16th, and the 17th, but they had a bipap on him, and it was getting too hard for him to talk on the phone, so I just talked to the nurses a couple of times a day.   They told me his oxygen levels were improving, slightly, every day, so I had hope.

Covid had a 10 day quarantine, so on the 19th, I called and told them I was planning on coming up to see him.   From their records, they knew we’d been diagnosed on the 9th, which was 10 days before.   I was told that no, the hospital had a strict policy—no unvaccinated individuals were allowed to visit anyone in Isolation.   At one point, I even talked to the Dr. who’d seen us in the ER—he told me, “You sound great!”    I told him I WAS great, and I wanted to see my husband!   He said, “Sorry, it’s hospital policy—no unvaccinated visitors in Isolation.”   I was, perhaps, the safest person IN the place—I was completely immune, and THEY KNEW IT—but…hospital policy.

The hospital kept telling me he was getting a little stronger—needed a little less oxygen.   Then on September 24th, a former coworker reached out to me, and told me she heard we had Covid, and that I needed to get us both on Ivermectin.   I told her he was in the hospital, and I had no control.   I even called the hospital, and asked if they were using Ivermectin.   They told me they had their own protocols, they’d been doing this for years, and they knew what worked.

On the 25th, a couple approached me at a church gathering, and told me that the hospital in question had almost killed their mother—they’d taken her out, got her on Ivermectin, and she was now fine.   They then gave me the number of a doctor they knew, who was breaking protocol.  I called him, and after looking at Tyler’s hospital records, (he had privileges there), he spent at least 45 minutes on the phone with me, and told me, “What they’re doing is criminal. I liken it to, your husband was in a car accident, he broke his leg, and they left him laying in the street for 3 weeks.  Now, they know some will make it, some will run up huge hospital bills, and some will die—which will convince people to get the shot.”

I asked him if he could help my husband, and he told me, “I’m sorry—it’s too late.  If I’d seen him within two or three days after he became sick, I absolutely could have helped him.  But now, I can only do for him what they’re doing.  Remember, he doesn’t have a broken leg—he has broken lungs.”   I asked him if my husband was dying–he replied that he hoped not, but it would be a long, hard road back, if he made it.   He also told me that if I met anyone with Covid, to please give them his number.

On the 27th, the hospital called and said they were planning on transferring him to a Rehabilitation facility, since he was getting better.  He’d be transferred, probably by the end of the week.   On the 28th, they took him out of “isolation,” so I asked if I could come up.  They kept saying they needed a doctor’s permission for me to come up.  Finally, I said I was going up, and they let me.

When I got there, they told me he was hallucinating.   He said he needed to talk to me—he was going to “walk backwards into the big blue room.”  Whenever someone walked in the room, he stopped talking, and recited John 3:16, from the Bible.  Then he’d tell me again about the big blue room.  I’d been there awhile, and he was in discomfort, so I told him I’d be back first thing in the morning.  “I can come up here now, Tyler, they said I can visit!”

The next morning, September, 29th, my phone rang at 5:30 A.M.  They told me he’d gone into atrial fibrillation, he’d been resuscitated, but to get everyone up there who needed to be there, that it didn’t look good.   When I got there, they said he’d been without oxygen for 20 minutes, and asked if I wanted them to try again.  I asked if he’d be normal, and they replied, after 20 minutes, no.  So, I told them to stop the machines, and felt him “leave” the room.

Twenty-three days before, he’d been playing the music he loved, with the wife who loved him.  Twenty three days later, I was calling the Funeral Home.   The only thing that keeps me sane is that, as much as I hate it, it was no surprise to God.  It was Tyler’s time to go home, and he’s waiting for me there.   Someday, I’ll see my husband again—and I can’t wait.

One postscript—a few weeks later, 4 of my friends got Covid, I gave them the Dr.’s number—he treated them. They’re all working their jobs, and loving their life—they got better within two days.  I also have two friends in Wyoming—ranchers—they got Covid, took Ivermectin, and were back to work, again, within two days.