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No tree sparkling with holiday joy. No candlelight Christmas Eve service to remind me of the true meaning of Christmas. No grandchildren tearing open fancy wrapped gifts before enjoying the traditional turkey dinner. And no travelling to visit family members who are homebound to make sure they weren't alone on this Christmas Day.
But there was love… an abundance of love from everywhere … that gave me strength, determination and hope that I could beat this coronavirus that was wrecking my body like no other illness has ever done.
It wasn't easy and there were times when I cried reading in The Express of COVID deaths of local folks… some dear friends of mine who died from this horrible disease that has invaded the world.
I must admit I let my guard down a couple of times and wondered aloud if I might become one of those statistics. Those thoughts quickly passed and I found myself concentrating on my husband's words of encouragement that I would indeed recover.
It was hard to remain positive as days turned into nights, weeks passed and I wasn't getting any better. The nausea, Diarrhea, aches and pains continued. I couldn't eat or drink, couldn't sleep or get comfortable. My back ached no matter where I was. I moved from the recliner to the couch to bed, with no relief.
I couldn't understand how and where I contracted the disease. I knew all the rules and followed them religiously, wearing a mask and staying away from people, washing hands and cleaning door knobs and counter tops in my home. I guess I'll never know.
It all started on Sunday afternoon Dec. 13, as I was baking Christmas cookies.
One minute I was fine and the next minute I found myself lying on the bathroom floor. I was hot and dizzy and got to the bathroom just in time… if you know what I mean. I managed to get to the nearby bedroom, closed my eyes and just laid there until the dizziness passed. My first thought was I had the stomach flu. It wouldn't last long, I told myself.
Boy, who was I kidding?
I called off work the next day and told Bob Rolley I had the stomach flu. He told me to stay home and get a COVID test.
I began to search for a test site immediately and later in the day arrived at Med Express in Williamsport. The parking lot was full and the wait for a test was more than three hours, so I left there and went to the state's drive-through testing site at Castanea Fire Company grounds.
The line was short, but the wait for the results was very long.
That was a Monday morning and I didn't get any results all week. I called the number they gave me every day and left my number for a call-back, with no success.
Still not feeling any better by Friday, I made a trip to the Urgent Care Center in McElhattan. Since I had no fever and all my symptoms appeared flu-like, staff there thought as I did that it might be an intestinal virus that would pass soon. Drink lots of liquids and eat bland food was the order of the day.
On Sunday morning, still without test results and still suffering, I was back to Med Express, hoping the line wouldn't be so long this time. There were 25 people ahead of me, but I was determined to stay all day if necessary to get a test. After sitting in the parking lot for about two hours waiting for my turn, my phone rang. It was AMI, the state agency who provided the tests at Castanea. They had my results. "Negative," was the caller's message. I was overjoyed to hear the word and convinced that I indeed had "just the stomach flu," and not COVID.
Although still a little under the weather, I called Bob and told him I tested negative and would be back to work Monday morning. I made it through Monday but by Tuesday, my symptoms had worsened again and I left work.
My body was telling me that this wasn't just the flu… that the flu wouldn't last this long and I had to see a doctor. I was scared to death that something terrible was wrong. So, I was off to the emergency room at Jersey Shore Geisinger Hospital.
They gave me the works -- drew blood, chest x-ray and another COVID test.
About two hours later, the doctor pulled back a curtain in the room and announced, "You have COVID. Your test was positive." She said all the other tests were normal.
I was devastated. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I had followed all the rules and wasn't around anyone with the virus, at least that I knew of. But who knows. As one of the nurses said, "It's everywhere."
Sobbing, I called my husband and proclaimed, "I have COVID." The same message quickly went out to Bob and my family members.
Before leaving the hospital, the nurses were consoling, telling me that I was in much better shape than many who they'd seen. They said they had five diagnosed that morning and I, like them, was not sick enough to be admitted to the hospital. I had no fever, no chest pains, shortness of breath or congestion. I had the "GI version" of COVID, they said.
It was Dec. 22… three days before Christmas. I had already been sick for more than a week. I hadn't been shopping, wrapping, decorating or planning that special Christmas Eve celebration for my boys and grandchildren.
I thought they would be so disappointed.
But they weren't.
When Donnie told them the traditional Christmas party at the Muthler home would be late this year because grammy was sick, they never even questioned the decision to postpone the event.
Instead, they, like so many others, were understanding, sympathetic and loving.
Lots of phone calls from friends and family, sending get well wishes and offering to do anything they could to help.
The nurses from Geisinger called every day to keep tabs on me and offered advice on what might make me feel better.
When I told one of them I hadn't been able to eat or drink, her response was one of genuine kindness and caring.
"Oh honey, you have to try. Drink as much water as you can and try to eat something…. something bland," she said suggesting applesauce, toast, saltine crackers with peanut butter.
None of it tasted good to me, but I was determined to get better. I bet I drank an entire case of bottled water in the next two days. I kept telling myself that I was going to wake up one morning and the nausea, aches and pains would be gone. That didn't happen quickly.
Meanwhile, a big pot of homemade chicken noodle soup was delivered through the front door, as was a ham, bag of rolls and cake just perfect for Christmas dinner. I wouldn't be eating any, but it was a blessing for Donnie and Scotty, who also quarantine.
There were more special deliveries of food and even a couple of Christmas gifts.
"We thought you needed some presents for Christmas," my daughter-in-law Erin said when she carried a colorful bag of presents into the house on Christmas Day. And they certainly lifted my spirits as I opened them.
And then there was that little white box that Donnie tossed onto my bed on Christmas Eve. "Got something for you," he said, peeking through a crack in the doorway.
For an instant all the pain and worry went away as I saw the beautiful ring … one in celebration of our 25th wedding anniversary that had been at the repair shop getting the diamonds remounted. I put it on my finger immediately and smiled broadly. "I love it. It's perfect," I said, holding up my hand to see the sparkle of the dozen diamonds on the gold band.
As the days passed my condition seemed to improve a little, but I was still not convinced I was getting much better. It was now over two weeks and I had convinced myself that I was suffering from something other than COVID.
So, back to the emergency room I went.
"Why are you here today," was the first question from the nurse, who coincidentally was the same one I had seen on my first trip to the hospital.
I became teary and muttered, "I'm just not getting better. Something else must be wrong."
It wasn't long before the doctor arrived and I told him the same thing. He ordered the same battery of tests. Still no fever, blood work was fine, chest x-ray looked good.
The doctor spent some time with me, explaining how differently this virus affects different people. He said it was not unusual at all that I had not gotten better yet, that some people have symptoms for weeks and even months. He gave me a prescription for nausea and another to calm my stomach and reassured me that it was COVID and nothing more. I left calmer than when I arrived.
The next day, after a good night's sleep, I woke up feeling much better.
I gave my husband a big hug and told him I was on my way.
"I know I'm getting better," I said with a big smile.
It was about time. It had now been more than three weeks since my first symptoms and I was in seventh heaven.
I missed my job, my family. A couple more days in quarantine, lack of any symptoms and a negative test result and I have resumed my normal life. And it's great to be back.
Yes, COVID came on Christmas this year.
But even that horrible disease couldn't cancel the most precious holiday of the year for me.
Rather, it reinforced the true meaning of Christmas -- not presents under a tree, but gifts of love, kindness, giving of self to bring joy to others.
Now that's what Christmas is all about.
And I will never forget it.