Last Gasp

They woke up, laying on their stomach.

Groggy.

Feeling out of sorts.

Their head throbbing with a grinding headache.

Keeping their eyes closed against the brightness around them, they shifted position.

They tried to roll over, and groaned. Everything was sore, aching. Their ribs complained at the movement, their neck started to spasm, their back and hips tightened up.

Their legs tangled in the sheets as they tried again to turn over, flopping back on the bed. Exhausted from the movement, and short of breath.

They must have pushed too hard on that last ride. Maybe they would take a sauna before heading out again.

They remembered watching the sun going down over the lake, the bats swooping up the twilight’s insects. Enjoying the cooling breeze as it played through the pine trees along the shoreline.

Their eyes opened.

Slowly.

Blinking.

They felt gritty.

Their lids felt heavy.

They squinted against the bright, trying to see.

The room around them.

It was…strange.

Turning their head, they looked out a window.

Pale blue sky, white clouds racing across the tracks left by passing planes.

But the window…

They didn’t recognize it. It wasn’t their bedroom window. It wasn’t the window next to the recliner where they sometimes slept away an afternoon.

They pushed themselves up in the bed. Why were there rails on the bed? What were all these buttons?

A knock sounded. Three quick, sharp raps.

They turned their head towards…the door?

Hidden behind a curtain hanging from chains set in a channel on the ceiling, a door opened. Shoes appeared under the edge of the curtain. A hand reached the edge, gripped, and pulled the curtain to the side. A figure in a monochromatic uniform wrapped in a pale, yellow gown stepped near the bed. A medical mask obscuring their face behind a clear shield.

They greeted them. Told them their name, who they were, why they were in the strange room. A thin black stethoscope appeared and was pressed to various places on their chest. The covers were pulled back, and fingers pressed into their wrists and calves, wrapping under to cup their ankles.

They tried to focus. Their mind felt clouded, sluggish, almost hungover. But they didn’t drink. Not anymore. So why…

“I’m glad to see you’re awake.”

“Am I?”

A concerned look crossed the newcomers face, fleeting, noticeable even behind a mask.

“Are you what?”

“Awake.”

“Yes. You’re awake. Can you tell me what you remember? Where you think we are, right now?”

I…a hospital? It must be, right?”

Was that their voice? Croaking out like a pack a day smoker?

“I think…wasn’t I…I was on vacation. Just a quick trip, Labor Day,

right? Last gasp of summer. I went for a ride to the shore. Stopped by the cabin for a rest.”

Talking was hard.

They couldn’t seem to catch their breath.

“Do you remember what happened? Why you’re here?”

“I…no..? I remember feeling a little off, just tired, maybe winded. I went to lay down for a bit.” They paused to take a few breaths, the air burning its way into their lungs with every movement of their chest.

“Was it my heart? Did I have a heart attack?”

That made sense to them. Their chest felt heavy. Their throat felt sore. There was a weird aching at the side of their neck, and it felt like something was caught at the back of their throat.

A few breaths passed before they could speak again.

“My dad died of a heart attack. And my granddad.”

“Is that it? Man, my family’s never gonna let me live this down. They’ve been after me for years to eat better, and start exercising.”

“I’m sorry, but No. It wasn’t a heart attack. You contracted a virus. When you came in, you were already unconscious. Your lungs were inflamed. It has damaged your lungs, and your kidneys. You were intubated. You were on a ventilator, and on dialysis. That’s what the tubes by your neck are for. We had to put a feeding tube in, that's the tube you feel in your throat."

“A virus? Like the flu? But I always take the flu shot. And isn’t it too early? Damaged. You said it damaged my lungs? I was on a vent? Dialysis?! I’ve never gotten that sick, not from the flu, not from anything!”

“It wasn’t the flu. You tested positive for Covid-19, the Coronavirus.”

“What’s that? Wait. That’s that crazy Chinese virus crap the talking blow-hards on the idiot box have been yapping about all year?”

“Yes. We think you contracted the Coronavirus, or Covid, sometime on your vacation. You’re lucky your family found you when they did. A few hours later, we might not have been able to save you.”

“No. That can’t be right. Where are they? Are they still here? Did they go home already?”

“Your family isn’t here. We aren’t allowing any visitors into the hospital anymore. It’s too dangerous, especially on this ward.”

‘No visitors? What’s going on. I need to talk to my family. I need to know what’s going on. I want to see them. NOW!”

That last shout triggered a coughing fit, it burned through their lungs, and ripped out their throat, leaving them winded. Gasping.

Reaching behind their bed, a clear plastic oxygen mask was slipped over their face, a cooling flow easing the burn.

“Try to relax. I’ll set up a video call with them for you. We’ve been trying to do that at least once a day with patients. It helps you stay motivated, and helps your family see how much you’re improving.”

“Improving. What do you mean, improving?”

They hear a sigh, a quick puff of air fogging the clear shield.

“Let’s go back a bit. Can you tell me the date?”

“I…well, its… I… I guess not, no.”

“You mentioned a vacation, earlier.” Like they were giving cues to a performer on stage who forgot their lines.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a couple days after Labor Day. Or it was, I guess.”

“Do you remember how long you’ve been here? Or anything since you were brought in?”

“I… no… why? Should I?”

“You have some memory loss. Some of it’s from the meds we had to use to keep you sedated while your lungs healed. But we think part of it is from the virus. It’s been causing a lot of problems that way, as well.”

“Memory loss. Like I’m forgetting things? I know I can’t quite figure out what day it is, but that doesn’t mean I’m losing my memory, does it?”

“You’ve been here while. A lot has happened. I’m going to go set up that video chat with your family. We can go over it all again, together. They’ll be glad to see your awake today.”

Turning around masked, gowned figure reached for the curtain again.

They turned their head back towards the window. The sky had started to cloud up, the light fluffy clouds piling up and forming a darkening grey mass.

“Wait, before you go. How long have I been here?”

“You’ve been in the ICU. You were moved to this unit yesterday to be monitored. This is the first time you’ve been awake for more than a few moments at a time.”

“Monitored?”

“The staff here can’t spend a lot of time in the rooms here. We watch our patients via video, so we can see if they’re in distress or need help. That’s how I knew you were awake, finally,” Extending an arm to point at a small camera in the corner of the room.

“I’ll be back in just a minute. If you need anything, press the nurse call button, the red one, on the rail or on your remote here.”

“What is today?”

The answer came as the yellow gown and the gloves they hadn’t noticed before were removed, the sink turned on, and hands carefully washed.

“It’s December 7th. You have been in the hospital for two months.” The curtain was pulled closed and the door quickly opened and shut again.

Attempting to understand, they turned their head away as the door closed. They turned back to the window.

Hoping to see blue skies returning with chasing clouds. One last gasp of summer and sunshine.

The sky had turned steel grey, dark and heavy. White flakes were falling, blowing and swirling in eddies, settling lightly on the sill.