Ann Farabee

By Ann Farabee

After the overnight emergency room visit ended, we headed home with hope. I was starting to believe I may recover from COVID.

But days 9-10 took a surprising and unexpected turn that left me with the most powerful emotions of my journey.

Isolation would continue. Isolation means to be alone or apart from others. That pretty much summed it up. The days were hard. They lasted forever.

Day 9

I got home from the hospital and back to bed. A morning cup of coffee and a yogurt were delivered by family to my bedroom door at 9 a.m.  I was spending my morning with the expectation of improvement on the horizon, mostly due to having an antibiotic. I would just wait and see.

Then came the surprise. I took a sip of my coffee. I could not taste it. I ate a spoonful of  yogurt. I could not taste it. How yogurt and coffee both felt like cardboard in my mouth, I really could not understand. It scared me. What if my taste never came back? I knew if I had to live like this, I would never survive. Never have I experienced such a moment. It was shocking. It felt hopeless. Eating cardboard? Why even bother? I could feel the warmth of the coffee, but that was all. I sent it away.

Later, I tried water. Surely that would seem normal. Again — cardboard.

At that point, I was not willing to eat without tasting it, but did try to keep drinking a little water. Napping and watching TV took up most of my day, but as evening fell I began to realize that another symptom had shown up. My vision had become blurry. My eyes were watery. Losing my ability to taste and see hit me hard. Fear of not getting better began to control my thoughts — again.

Hopelessness was still there.

There was no end in sight.

I was starting to wonder if it would end.

Tears came easily on this night, as I prayed alone for my taste and my ability to see clearly to return. I thought about Charles, sleeping again on the floor in another room. He had been working so diligently to care for the family — all of us. It was then that I connected his favorite Bible verse with my very difficult day. Psalm 34:8 says, “Oh taste and see that the Lord is good. Blessed is the man who trusts in him.”

I gotta say — I wasn’t feeling it.

Day 10

Double digits. I had lived to see another day. Surely, this day would be the peak and my symptoms would begin to subside. They did. It was the peak for some of the earlier symptoms — no more fever, headache or cough, and breathing improved slightly. It was now mostly achy, fatigued, and the inability to taste and see. Those symptoms were horrible. I tried to feel encouraged, for we were only a few days away from the end of our quarantine, going out of our yard, our children getting back to school, grocery store trips, and church. And I was feeling somewhat better. Our lives would return to normal.

Then came the unexpected.

At 4 p.m., Charles walked in the bedroom, with his mask on as always, looked me in the eyes, and said, “I’m sick.”

We both knew.

Return to normal would have to wait.

By Ann Farabee

Day 8

6:45 p.m.

Perhaps there has never been a more defining evening in my life. COVID-19 seemed to be getting the upper hand. The waters felt deep and rough. I knew I needed to go to the ER, but checked in with the COVID line first, where it was recommended I go to an urgent care for a chest x-ray. They let them know we were on our way.

As I stepped out of the car, an employee quickly got to me, and said, “You really need to go to the ER, since we would probably have to send you there anyway and duplicate services.”

It stung a bit, for I had done what I was told.

I felt a little hopeless.

Maybe a tad unwanted.

But, I understood.

7:12 p.m.

Charles dropped me off at the ER entrance. A police officer met him, told him to go home, and that after they admitted me, I would call him.

I think it broke his heart.

He told me later that his first thought as he watched me walk in the hospital was, “I may never see her again.”

It seemed as if everything was moving in fast motion at first, as they tried to get me exactly where they needed for me to be. Apparently, where they felt I needed to be was waiting in a cold hallway in a plastic chair with a metal frame. At that point, everything switched to super slow motion. Waiting in that chair had to be the longest three hours and 43 minutes of my COVID journey.

After my vitals were checked, I was told I had to wait for a room with a door.

I guess I looked confused, for she repeated, “You have to wait for a room with a door.”

It took me a second, but I understood.

The door mattered. It would protect me. It would protect others.

I was freezing. I leaned my head against the wall and waited. I tried to find one second of comfort. It did not come.

I understood.

Everyone’s pandemic experience is different — whether sick, or working, or just living their lives. We must be patient, tolerant, respectful and supportive of each other as we handle the crisis. We are all in this together, albeit in different roles. But even going through something together can feel very alone.

Arms folded, legs outstretched, and head against the wall, I knew it had gotten dark outside by now, but the darkness I felt in this cold hallway was all I could think about.

I believe those hours in the ‘waiting room’ were when God began taking me from a place of pleading for healing — to a place of leaning on his promises for healing.

I reached down for my notepad in my purse where I had scribbled these words earlier that day: Don’t be afraid for the terror by night — the fears that come when all is quiet. Nor for the pestilence — the fatal epidemic disease — that walks in darkness when you least expect it. Nor for the destruction at noonday — the bold enemy assaults. Call on me. I will answer. I will be with you in trouble.

The words from Psalm 91 reminded me I should be feeling more hopeful than I was.

I was hearing God’s voice, but I was not believing God’s word for my victory.

10:55 p.m. Bianca walked up. I will never forget her name. She took me to the room that had been prepared just for me. It had a door. I never once glanced back at that plastic chair in the metal frame.

What had felt like a hospital visit up to this point now began to feel more like a spiritual visitation.

I wish I could express it in words, so that you could feel it with me.

For the first time in my COVID journey, I gave up. Yes, I gave myself up completely. I let them take care of me. They called me by my name. They covered me with a heated blanket, helped me into a bed with the whitest sheets and most comfortable mattress ever. The lights in the room were bright, white and warm. They took away the darkness that had tried to settle in my heart. It felt as if I was in a different place than I had ever been before. I remember thinking that it felt like heaven.

Day 9

12 a.m.

They comforted me. Comfort was followed by compassion.

Compassion was followed by complete and competent care.

Bloodwork. X-rays. EKG. CT scan.

Potential blood clots and bacterial pneumonia in the setting of my COVID diagnosis.

A plan put in place for recovery at home — that would give me hope and a future.

2:46 a.m. I was discharged to go home. It seemed so strange. No wheelchair. No assistance. My ER angels closed the door behind them. They left the room. It was time for me to go.

I felt weak as I reached out to open the door. It looked heavy, and I expected it to be. But — when I grabbed the handle — the door was not heavy at all. It was light.

As I walked out, I noticed the cubicles surrounding the other parts of the ER. They had plastic curtains — and no door.

I was so glad I had been taken to the room with the door.

It was worth the wait.

The door. It had felt so light.

2 Corinthians 4:17 says, “For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, works for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.”

The door. It had been so important.

Jesus said in John 10:9, “I am the door. If any man enters in, he will be saved. He will go in — and out — and will find pasture.”

Without a doubt, Jesus had been the door they had continually referred to that long night. And the wonderful people who took care of me in the ‘room with the door’ were angels in human form sent straight from heaven. Thank you!

2:56 a.m. I called Charles to come get me.

I guess he would be seeing me again, after all.

Join me next week, as I continue sharing my COVID journey.

Contact me at annfarabee@gmail.com.

By Ann Farabee

A journey can be defined as a long and difficult process of change that you travel through. To travel through means you go in on one side and come out on the other side.

I was on a journey.

I was in a process of change.

I was determined to travel through — and come out on the other side — of COVID.

From the very beginning of my journey, it was as if an enemy was attacking my body, trying to take away who I was by keeping my focus on my sickness.

The timeline:

Day 1 — Temp 99.0. Headache. Achy. Breathing problems.

Day 2 — Completely normal.

Day 3 — Temp 100.5. Headache. Achy. Weak. Breathing problems.

Day 4 — COVID test taken. Twelve hours later, results: POSITIVE.

My first words as I saw the results, “Oh no.”

Day 5 — A 10-day isolation order and a family quarantine order of 14 days began. Our grandchildren could not go to school. Charles and my son made sure all precautions were taken for our family, so they would not get the virus. But, my son got the virus on this day, but was well four days later.

With the restrictions, people we knew realized that getting needed items — food, groceries, medical, household, personal — would be difficult. God sent angels in human form to minister to our family during this time. We accepted it.

Day 6. There were daily calls, emails, or texts from the Get Well Loop, health alliance, or doctor’s office. Otherwise, I would have spent those long hours worrying if I needed a question answered. I was able to rest at home, had resources to do so at that point, and the ability to stay connected with medical professionals. They were my lifeline.

Day 7. The symptoms that had already arrived still remained — and new ones continued to join them — a rash, a cough, sore throat, and I know it may sound weird — but vivid dreams.

Day 8. Medically, every avenue possible at this time had been set in place for me to get well while isolated at home, and using what I had been told to use: Robitussin, Mucinex, alternate acetaminophen and ibuprofen, along with two types of inhalers that I had begun a month earlier, due to breathing problems.

Oh how my heart longed for getting well while at home. But it was getting to be too much on me — and on my family.

The emotional, spiritual and mental all began to join in with the physical. I was starting to feel as if I was losing myself to my sickness. I was no longer watching TV while lying in my bed. I had stopped reading and paid little attention to my phone.

Blurry vision and watery eyes had joined the other symptoms and were making everything more difficult — and more scary.

It seemed as if the only prayer I could pray was, “Lord, heal me.”

Late that evening, Charles peeked around the door of our bedroom to check on me, thinking I may be asleep. As always, he was wearing his mask, but all I could see when we made eye contact were the tears in his eyes. It broke my heart.

I took a deep breath.

I closed my eyes.

Okay, Lord, I hear you.

I am not getting well.

I need to go to the ER.

We went.

COVID-19 was our enemy.

JESUS-2020 would be our deliverer.

Next week, I will be continuing to share my COVID-19 story. Thank you for reading or viewing it. If you have questions or comments, I would love to hear from you at annfarabee@gmail.com or annfarabee.com

By Ann Farabee

It was 8 a.m. The 20-minute drive felt like an eternity. I knew I was way too sick to be driving alone. But, I did not want to spread this illness to my family.

I had zero doubt that it was COVID. As I drove up for the test, I was so afraid for the nurse who administered it. I know she was protected — but still. She was my hero that day.

The drive home. Back in bed. Away from my family. Awaiting results.

COVID was a stranger to me at that time — I knew no one who had it. I had social distanced. My family had stayed home as much as possible. I had worn my mask faithfully everywhere, and I was thankful that others did, too.

But with the masks on, I sure missed seeing smiles. Eye contact was even disappearing. Some days the world seemed a little cold. Other days it felt loving and unified — as we were all going through the pandemic. In some ways, it felt like being apart together.

At 8 p.m., I checked the healthcare website for my results.
They were there.

Molecular pathology:
COVID-19 ORF1
Positive (Abnormal)

COVID-19 E-gene
Positive (Abnormal)

The words Positive (Abnormal) were hauntingly written in red.

It was shocking. COVID-19 was supposed to be something that I watched on the news — not something I had.

At that moment, my faith was very weak.
My first thoughts as I stared at the words — I’m going to die.

An uncontrollable stranger had invaded my body.
I did not know how to get rid of it.

What if my family gets it?
This was not just about me.
It was also about them — ages 13, 16, 35 and 72.
I need help. We need help.

It was dark — in more ways than one. Isolated in my room, I begged, “God, I feel like you still have a work for me to do. Please let me stay here to do it.”

How was I going to fight this? I would not — I could not — let it overtake my body.

Exhausted and sick, sleep finally came. But in the middle of the night I awoke to these words from Exodus 14:14 being put in my spirit, “You don’t have to fight. I will fight for you. You just need to be at peace.”

The word of God clearly spoken to me in the middle of one of my darkest nights.

Fighting is good, but God fighting for me is better.

My COVID journey had begun.

Over the next few weeks, I will be sharing my COVID journey.

Contact me with questions, comments, or prayer requests at annfarabee@gmail.com .

By Ann Farabee

My goal: Deep clean a room each day until my house was perfectly clean.

Yes, I had learned the term “deep clean” and really wanted to find an occasion to use it.

Day 1. Room 1. As my project progressed, I noted that one room takes entirely too long!

Day 2. Room 2. Realizing my motivation had begun to dwindle, I gave myself a pep talk, “Time to go to the next room!” Then, a little more excitedly, “Time to go to the next room!” Yes, I talk to myself.

As I was beginning to work, I saw a rainbow on the floor in front of me that had been created by the light coming through the beveled glass in the entrance doorway.

After looking at it for a second, I headed into the next room.

God was obviously already at work, for there was a rainbow on that floor, too. It was even more magnificent than the first one! The colors were so vivid! And…there was no beveled glass in sight to create it.

As I worked, God began to speak to my heart through the rainbows.

“In my Father’s house are many rooms. In my Father’s house are many rooms,” were the words that kept being whispered into my spirit.

I looked back and could still see both rainbows, even though they were in different rooms.

Seeing the two rainbows had made me feel like I was looking at a bridge providing a beautiful connecting link between earth and heaven.

Amazed, I just shook my head.

The rainbows.

I had been in one room.

God had sent a rainbow.

It had been so beautiful.

I had stepped into the next room.

There had been a rainbow there, too.

It was even more beautiful.

I knew the connection God was making in my heart.

In every room — in every part of our lives — God is with us.

Our time in our room on earth is beautiful.

It is filled with God’s beauty.

It is filled with God’s spirit.

It is filled with rainbows to remind us that His promises are true.

Genesis 9:13 tells us that God set the bow in the clouds. Can you envision that? God Himself setting the rainbow in the clouds just for us — to remind us that His Promises are true! That’s what I call a rainbow moment!

Then, one day, when it is time to leave our earthly home for our heavenly home, it will be like stepping into the next room.

The next room will be even more magnificent than the earthly room we are now living in, for it will be filled with colors that go beyond the spectrum of colors that we now know — for we will be with the light of the world — our Lord and savior, Jesus Christ!

No, my cleaning project was not completed. The first room and the next room were enough.

This was not my first rainbow moment, but it was a good one.

What’s your rainbow moment?

I would love to hear about it.

Contact me at annfarabee@gmail.com or annfarabee.com

Ann Farabee is a teacher, writer and speaker.