I got Corona.. (again). A little over a year ago, I nearly died…

Jesper Black

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A little over a year ago, I nearly died in a Spanish hospital by the sea.

It was the closest I’ve ever come to dying.

It was not a good time.

For 10 long days, I was as sick as I ever have been.

Suffering at home in a dark room alone, I was delirious, despondent, and desperate.

On day 7, finally a Spanish doctor called.

If I still had fever the next day, I was to go to the hospital, he told me.

The next day (day 8) my thermometer said 38,5 and so I went to the hospital.

There, the doctors took a few X-rays of my lungs to make sure I didn’t have pneumonia.

All good, was their resolute conclusion.

Their advice: go home, rest and recover.

And so I went home and rested, but I didn’t recover.. (insert ominous music)

On day 10, I was taken from my home by a bright yellow ambulance and was raced through the narrow old streets of Barcelona with flashing lights and blaring sirens to get me to the nearest Emergency Room.

There, I collapsed.

I was put in a wheel chair and given oxygen, and X-rays were taken of my lungs once more, just like two days before.

Unlike two days earlier though, things were not good.

From what I heard of the Spanish doctor behind his mask, I was diagnosed with pneumonia in both of my beautiful lungs.

I consulted my all-knowing friend Google to see how serious that was.

Apparently, pretty serious.

After receiving what felt like morphine for 3 hours, I was put back in the wheel chair and wheeled outside to a waiting ambulance.

Another manic blue lights & blaring sirens ride through the city brought me to the Hospital del Mar (hospital by the sea).

There, I spent 2 long days and 2 long nights in the E.R.

Six of us were crammed into a single room, all of suffering, and separated only by a few thin curtains.

It was complete madness.

Next to me, a toothless lady who secretly smoked in the bathroom screamed for the nurses, day and night.

Across the room was a 94-year-old man who was completely deaf and who I suspected just didn’t want to speak to the nurses.

A 70-year-old man with Alzheimer’s lay in the corner, and every hour, he would forget that he was in a hospital. He would wake up, change out of his hospital gown and into his own clothes, and attempt to escape, causing the toothless woman next to me to to start screaming for the nurses again: “Nurses! Nurses! He is doing it again! He is trying to escape! ”

If it wasn’t so sad it would be funny.

That morning, the 94-year old man in front of me had lost his wife to Covid. He himself was in such a bad shape that I imagined he was going to die the same day, if not the next. That’s how bad he was.

I was in pretty bad shape as well: I couldn’t walk the three meters to the bathroom without my oxygen tank on a little trolley following me on every step I took.

Run over by a truck. With a trailer. That’s how I felt.

On top of the bad pneumonia that made its way into my precious lungs, I developed a bacterial infection.

That is no bueno x3.

At least, after two days, I was admitted to the general ward.

Once I was there, I could finally rest and sleep a little.

Each day, the doctors called Lina to give her an update on my condition.

“The good news is that he is not getting any worse,” they would tell her. “The bad news though, is that he isn’t getting better either.”

It was a pretty scary episode for everyone involved.

Lina flew back to Barcelona as soon as she could. My mom and her partner jumped in the car and drove 1600 km straight from The Netherlands to my hospital by the sea.

Sadly, at the peak of the pandemic in Spain, visitors were not welcome.

And so I was sick and alone in a Spanish hospital.

To say that it sucked would the understatement of the year.

But I made it through, and after an extremely intense week I was released from the hospital.

On my way out, my welcoming party waited.

It was surreal to walk out of that place.

The hotel breakfast the next morning with Lina and my parents was the best breakfast I’ve ever had.

Best. Breakfast. Ever.

Back to the present time for what must have been the longest intro ever: last week I tested positive for Corona again.

It was a few days after my amazing Oktoberfest experience and honestly not really a major surprise.

Once again, I got very sick, and for three terrifying days I had vicious flashbacks to my horror story from only a year earlier.

Thankfully though, I quickly got better again and my flashbacks stayed what they were: just flashbacks.

Now, almost a week later, I am strong and healthy again.

Back in the game, as I told my colleagues at work.

I’ve never told my Corona story like I did today, and this is only a brief summary of the absolute madness that it entailed.

I am working on getting it all out of my head and onto the page. When I’m done, I will share it with you.

For now though, I am healthy again and I feel very grateful for that.

It is not until we are sick, that we become aware of how truly amazing it feels to be healthy and alive.

Think about that for a second today.

Sundays are the best days.

A little over a year ago, I nearly died in a Spanish hospital by the sea.It was the closest I’ve ever come to dying.It was not a good time.For 10 long days, I was as sick as I ever have been.Suffering at home in a dark room alone, I was delirious, despondent, and desperate.On day 7, finally a Spanish doctor called.how truly amazing it feels to be healthy and alive.