The Insidious Coronavirus Turns Personal

For months the Coronavirus outbreak has been viewed by yours truly as data.  Statistics.  It was a detached reality.  Now it is personal.  My remarkable 93-year-old mother-in-law Dorothy Anderson succumbed to the insidious virus last week.  It was a sad ending to her extraordinary life.

Mom, as I affectionately called her because she always treated me as her son, resided in a nursing home in Seguin. Despite precautionary measures, a worker at the long term facility tested positive for the virus two-and-one-half weeks ago.  Since that incident, four residents have been hospitalized.

This scenario has been too often repeated in the nation's nursing homes.  According to data, at least 42% of all Coronavirus victims been been residents in long term care facilities.  More needs to be done to protect the vulnerable among us.  No more excuses from governments or nursing homes.

Mom's iron determination was tested when she was quarantined to her room in March.  She could no longer use her walker to saunter to the dining room for meals or stroll the halls.  Her existence was confined a tiny room with a small bed and a recliner.

No longer could family visit her.  Her meals were eaten alone in her room.  She lost interest in reading. Although she had a television, her hearing had deteriorated to the point where she gave up listening. Oppressive silence was Mom's constant companion.

It was a cruel, lonely way to spend what turned out to be her last days.  As the months wore on, our usually alert Mom seemed confused and unable to carry on long conversations by telephone.  Her spirit sagged and you could hear the desperation in her voice to be spared further incarceration.

Her 93rd birthday in April was a dispiriting occasion instead of a joyful celebration shared with hugs and kisses.  Nurses wheeled her to a picture-frame window near the lobby of the nursing home where a clump of family members had gathered.   Mom initially looked haggard, dazed.

Family held signs, balloons and sang "Happy Birthday" to her as she listened on the mobile phone she clutched in her hand.  She smiled, waved and seemed to be cheered up.  But it was not a proper birthday party, such as her 90th where the entire family embraced her with love and affection.

More than a few tears were shed after the family dispersed.  We realized what incredible suffering Mom was forced to endure.  Yes, isolation was scientifically and medically necessary, especially for Mom who had a pre-existing heart valve issue that made her more susceptible to the virus.

Yet for her and the other residents it was more like prison than simple seclusion.  Her world had shrunk to the unbearable.  It extracted a terrible toll on her mental and physical well being. We could all see it and it was excruciating to watch.  No one should be forced to involuntarily endure this.

Her final hours were more heartbreaking.  Last Thursday, Dianna visited Mom along with a few family members.  They waved to Mom as she slumped in her wheelchair in front of the nursing home's picture-window.  Dianna instinctively knew there was something visibly wrong.

Later Mom was whisked by ambulance to the Seguin hospital, complaining of shortness of breath.  Hours droned by before she was given a COVID test.  It came back positive.  She was placed in an isolated ward and given respiratory aid.  Her breathing was labored.  The end was drawing near.

Friday afternoon the hospital graciously agreed to push Mom's bed next to a hospital window so we could say our goodbyes.  Tears flowed as we viewed Mom surrounded by dedicated health care workers.  One nurse held Mom's hand, stroking it gently, sweetly.

We wanted to be the ones clutching her hand  and comforting her.  Giving her a hug.  Assuring her she was loved and would soon be in the arms of her merciful God.  All we could do is talk through the window of the hospital, praying, hoping she could hear us.  She nodded faintly a few times.

As family somberly drifted away, Dianna and I took turns standing vigil at the small window.  Mom's last breath was thankfully peaceful after she had been sedated.  It was the most distressing end because we knew she would have liked nothing better than to be surrounded by her family.

This is a mournful tale but I make no apologies.  Americans need to understand this evil virus has been worse for the elderly, especially those over 80.  Like Mom, many spend their final months, locked away for their own protection, only to still contract the virus.  That is unconscionable.

Workers and patients at the facility had been tested for the virus.  But the tests are not conducted daily.  Workers, especially, should be required to submit to daily testing.  Quarantine is no guarantee anyone's safety because staff deliver meals, check patient vitals and perform close contact duties.

Until this happened to Mom, neither Dianna nor I knew anyone personally with the virus.  Since less than 1 percent of the population has been infected, most of you are probably in the same situation.  We felt removed from this wicked virus, but we nonetheless follow the guidelines faithfully.

Next time you view a headline announcing COVID deaths, remember each one of those numbers is a real person.  Each is more than a statistic.  And family members are devastated by their passing.  They too are victims of COVID.  Not just those whose lives are claimed by the virus.

Finally, another lesson of Mom's experience is that it is human nature to search for a scapegoat.  Who is to blame for her sudden death?  The nursing home? The local government? The state? Washington? This virus is foreign born, transported to our country by unwitting carriers.  No one wanted it.

What matters is that we demand more be done to protect the 2.1 million Americans in long term care  facilities.  Our voices should also advocate for more humane treatment of those forced to be locked in their rooms.  Facilities must find more ways to spare residents a sense of imprisonment.

Anger and blame, no matter how understandable, will not change what happened to Dorothy Anderson or the hundreds of thousands of elderly held captive until they are taken from us.  The search for answers can only be found in faith and prayer.

Mom's life should not be defined by this demon virus.  She had a dynamic presence and was the personification of Texas grit.  She conquered breast cancer, a heart attack, a near fatal automobile accident, two knee surgeries, two devastating floods and cared for her Alzheimer's-stricken husband.

She and her husband John were pioneers in the pecan business, wholesaling and retailing the nuts. They managed multiple orchards, harvesting and shelling pecans too.  Mom operated a tractor, laid irrigation pipe, packaged pecans, worked as hard as any farm hand.

She served as the state representative for the Texas Pecan Growers Association, a rare post for a woman. She volunteered  to be on the city of Seguin's "Welcome Wagon" team, taking newcomers gift baskets and greeting them with a smile and kind words in her unique way.

Her joy and pride was birthing her five children into the world.  She fiercely defended and protected each one.  Raised them to be strong and independent.  Her life revolved around family, especially grandkids in later years. This is how I want Mom to be remembered.  God Bless you Mom.