BY PAULA HELD
HAVE A LIFE
An ambulance took me to a rehabilitation
facility in Glen Cove late
on Monday afternoon, August 10..
I had two negative COVID-19 tests
at the hospital before the rehab
would accept me. Once there I
had three more tests in four days
because someone had been in the
building who tested positive. For
all of the residents, this meant no
use of the gym and the exercises I
was looking forward to.
I was given a walker to slowly
walk a small part of their hallway.
There was always someone behind
me with a wheelchair in case I
needed to sit down. I couldn’t deal
with using a bedpan anymore so
each time I needed the bathroom
someone had to wheel me there
in a wheelchair and then take
me back to my bed. They saw to
it that I was washed, dressed and
fed each day. My appetite was small
so the dietitian gave me three small
meals and tuna salad sandwiches
in between. Much of the food they
served I had never eaten before like
sausage, knockwurst and pulled
pork, and I was happily surprised
that most of it tasted good. Because
of the pandemic, each of the
patients ate alone in his/her own
room. We were not allowed to eat
together in the dining room.
My need for oxygen went from
seven liters on August 10 to three
liters by August 30.. It remained at
three until September 14 because
my breathing got worse after any
exertion by movement, eating,
talking, bathroom and dressing.
After showering, I realized that
the skin on my torso was peeling.
All over I had greyish blobs
of loose skin that I peeled off. It
looked nothing like peeling from
sunburn and it took many weeks
to finish the peeling process. By
the end of August I realized I had
lost a lot of hair from my head. It
was mostly on my hair brush and
comb. The hair on my arms and
legs went from short and straight
to long and curly. My vision had
deteriorated, especially in my right
eye. I needed to wear my glasses
more than usual and hoped that
it was a temporary condition. All
of these were problems caused by
the virus.
Because of the pandemic, I was
still not allowed to have visitors.
All my New York children and
grandchildren were finally given
permission to see me for the first
time through a closed window on
the ground level of the facility. They
looked so beautiful. We spoke via
our cell phones and they brought
me lovely flowers, chocolate, candy
and magazines to read because I
couldn’t concentrate on a book.
I was so proud when I showed
them that I could stand up from
the wheelchair and so were they.
My older daughter who lives in
another state was prevented from
visiting me because of COVID-19
restrictions but we kept in touch
regularly by phone and I felt warm
and loved in the jacket she sent me.
The P/T and O/T who worked
with me daily soon had me walking
long stretches of hallway even
though afterwards it took about 15
minutes to get my breathing back to
a reasonable state. We shared lots
of stories and personal matters and
it was nice to have people who talked
with me about everyday things
including family, politics, events
and television. I looked forward
to their weekday visits.
Dr. F, who was assigned to my
case at the rehab, saw me almost
daily albeit for a short time. He kept
in touch with my pulmonologist
and he did prescribe appropriate
meds for me including a diuretic
for my now very swollen legs. I
practically lived in the bathroom
to pee for a week and at the same
time I lost over ten pounds of fluid
in addition to the more than 15
pounds I had already lost since I
became sick. By the time my legs
got thin, Dr. F and I had developed
a nice relationship which ended
with an air-hug when I left. He said
he was proud of me and that we
made a good team.
Meantime, I got to talking with
Laura, the gal who was in the
adjoining room and with whom I
shared a bathroom. In short order
we realized we had much in common
and now I have a new good
friend. Both of us are now out of
the rehab center and in our own
homes and we have lots to talk
about.
My back, which at its best is not
so good, caused me a lot of pain
most of the time. I now believe
it was from the very poor-quality
plastic mattresses in the hospital
and rehab on which I spent most
of my time. When I got back to my
daughter’s home and slept on my
grandson’s wonderful mattress,
voila!—the back pain disappeared.
Preparations for my departure
from the rehab were made for
Monday, September 14, to go
to my daughter’s home for an
open-ended time period. An aide
was hired to help me each weekday
and my daughter and grandchildren
were with me all the time. It
was a requirement for me that the
aide had to drive to take me to my
doctors and other appointments.
My son arranged for me to have
all the oxygen I needed at home:
two concentrators, three vertical
cylinders for emergencies and the
most important, a small portable
unit were all waiting for me the
day I left rehab. I use all of them
on a daily basis and hope that one
day soon I will no longer need the
oxygen.
Goodbye to the many nurses and
aides who hugged me, wished me
good luck and encouraged me to
be careful. They told me that other
COVID-19 patients just laid in bed
for months and didn’t improve.
They said that I improved by myself
by my own determination. I felt
that was true. I guess I did “fight.”
“Have a life,” my favorite nurse told
me as I left.
The pandemic continued to
be everywhere and prohibited
getting together with those dear
to me. My family made sure we
could celebrate the Holy Days
together. They got used to seeing
me with the oxygen nasal cannulas
and the machines running all the
time. Even the dog got used to it.
Medicare sent quality nurses, P/Ts
and O/Ts to my daughter’s home
to work with me. Good food was
everywhere and I started to gain
back some of the 25 pounds I lost.
Soon I began my series of checkups
with my own doctors, albeit
with masks, a walker and oxygen.
It was like visiting friends. “You
are a miracle,” they said. And I do
believe I am.
When I came back to my apartment
a month later it was like
moving day. So many things to
bring home that it took three cars
and four people. I had summer and
fall clothing, oxygen machines,
food, magazines, books, financial
records, medical records and the
notes I had jotted down to form
the basis for this story. And all
the records and receipts that my
daughter took care of for me during
all these months. Also notes on my
conversations with the long-termcare
insurance company which I
had been paying premiums to for
26 years. When would they begin
to pay me? Not yet!
And a few days later, my husband,
who himself had spent
months in a different hospital and
rehab after his surgery, left his
daughter’s home and returned to
our apartment in Queens. During
all the summer months we were
apart, we spoke on the phone
and arranged to briefly see each
other three times. He now had a
rod in his spine, lost considerable
weight and requires a walker to get
A Story of Remarkable Resilience
Last month, North Shore Towers’ resident
Paula Held shared the first part of her harrowing
ordeal with COVID-19. When we left off in her
story, Paula had just been transferred from the
ICU to a regular room at the hospital. A CT scan
had thankfully confirmed that she didn’t have
any blood clots in her lungs, but nevertheless,
she still had a long road ahead to recovery. Read
on to see the conclusion of her inspiring story.
~ Editor
I DIDN’T DIE… (Part 2)
8 NORTH SHORE TOWERS COURIER ¢ February 2021