Just Peace

I’m sitting in a room full of people with Covid. There is occasional coughing and sad eyes all around me. You can feel the weight in the room. People are here getting antibody infusions to try and beat this monster. We all have a singular goal. One focus. Sure, the motivation is different for each of us. Some are worried about caring for their families; others need to get back to work; some fear for their lives. Me, I just want to heal quickly and get back to farming with my family. I want to stop wearing a mask inside my house. I want to be able to smell flowers and taste the fantastic meals my husband cooks. Steve calls this part of me that’s creeping out right now “morbid Kelly”. She existed way before Covid. She’s the one who is always thinking the worst. The one constantly trying to make sure that she is in a good place with everyone in case one of us dies tonight or tomorrow or next week or next month. There are times when she is more aware than others but since Covid came into existence, she has kicked into high gear. I’ve written and rewritten my will countless times. We have been vigilant. Well, I guess not as vigilant as we should have been. My fears are coming true. So, since I tested positive yesterday, morbid Kelly has been in full force. I’m making lists of things that must be done. I’m planning for the worst.
Here comes the nurse again. It takes an hour to get the treatment and then we have to sit for an hour to make sure that we don’t have some sort of terrible reaction. They have to check our temps, pulse, blood pressure every few minutes. The room is dreary and full of morbid Kelly’s. You can feel it all around. The nurses have a horrible job. Being around Covid patients all day long. And for the most part, they are still smiling. It has to be so hard to get up and go to work each day. I’m grateful. And I’m scared for them.
My Aunt Sandy was a “late in life” nurse. She didn’t start nursing until she was much older. She’s on my mind today. She would have been so great at this unit. She probably would have volunteered for it. She had a heart of gold and we lost her way too soon. I keep thinking that she is who I want to be my nurse today. Maybe she’s here with me and that’s what I’m feeling. I can hear her saying, “Kelly, you’re going to be just fine. Stay strong, sweet girl.” My guardian Angel Nurse, Aunt Sandy. I’m thankful for her today.
Normally when I write, I start with the “moral of the story” in mind. Today. Today. There’s no moral of the story. It’s just the story. I’m living right now in the midst of a pandemic. Trying to farm, be a mom and wife and open a new business. I’m trying to pay my bills and fight for mindshare with morbid Kelly. I’m trying to get to September 10th when I can sleep in bed with my husband again and have a meal with my daughter. I’m trying to heal my body and not let my mind go crazy while I wait. I’m praying hard that I didn’t cause anyone else to get sick. I’m so grateful for medicine and I’m mad that people are fighting about it. I’m tired. And I don’t know if it’s from Covid, the cold medicine or the 60 hour plus week I worked last week.
Here they come again. Checking my vitals. It doesn’t look like I’m going to die from this.
Morbid Kelly won’t win today. There is hope in this IV bag and I’m going to relish every bit of it. It’s so weird. For 18 months, I’ve been worried every time I was in public that I was going to catch the virus. Now as I sit here, already feeling so much better, surrounded by sick people, I have this overwhelming feeling of peace. Peace without fear. I told Mom about it and she said that it is the gift of the Holy Spirit with me right now. No fear. Just peace. She said to “Take a deep breath and breathe in life.” That’s what I’m going to do. And I’m going to thank God I’m alive another day.