inside the Belly of the Beast
As best I can figure, I had a stroke on July 26 of this year. I started to bump into immovable objects and tumbling to the ground. I naively thought it was simple vertigo, but two days of clumsiness from hell convinced me to call 911. The paramedics took my blood pressure which was astronomical and they took me to Cedars Sinai hospital where I spent a week before being moved to a rehabilitation hospital.
On admittance to each faciity, I was tested for Covid and once inside, i was treated as a stroke patient.
About two weeks into my stay at the rehab hospital I got tested for covid again. The following day a nurse came into my room and said, "I have some bad news. You have covid. We will be moving you to another floor tonight."
JUST before midnight a platoon of personnel swarmed into my room and frantically loaded up my belongings and rolled my bed to the quarantine floor. From then until my discharge from the rehab hospital a week or so later, i was given exactly zero treatment for covid. My rehab continued inside my room with what I later learned from one of the therapists were volunteers as no one was required to get near me. They all wore what looked like haz-mat suits over their scrubs. Upon leaving my room, each person took off their outer garment and stuffed it into the garbage can.
I had no gripe about these measures to keep my alleged infection from spreading. But i did get pissed off upon watching a Pfizer commercial on the TV set in my room that said, "If you test positive for covid, don't wait." It went on to push the Pfizer pill for early treatment. On one of the rare and very brief visits from an MD, I mentioned the commercial, and asked what treatment I would be getting. He said, "You have no symptoms other than diarhea and I've ordered a stool sample test. There's a variant of covid that attacks the digestive system." That was news to my nurse when I mentioned it to her. Eventually the "hat" receptacle was put into my toilet and the sample went somewhere. And a day or so later another "hat" showed up and was taken away once it caught another sample. I never heard another word about the stool samples until I got another crack at the MD a few days later. By then all I wanted was OUT. I asked him, in my experienced lawyer voice, "What if anything did you learn from the stool samples?" He kind of rolled his eyes and said, "Nothing."
What that meant is open to multiple interpretations. In context the topic of our conversation was when I would be allowed to go home." He vaguely implied that my quarantine period of ten days might be conducted at home.
The lawyer in me was thinking about this obvious narrative: they give me covid in their hospital and then use that as an excuse for locking me in their jail to gouge the insurance coverage. I also began to think I would die in the hospital from hospital infections like my case of the shits which was real unlike my "case" of covid which has still never induced any symptom at all.
Suddenly on a Monday morning, I got a cellphone call from my wife who had just gotten a call from my "Case Manager" in the hospital telling her to come and get me. Once she got there we got a hurried briefing from a nurse on my aftercare regime that took maybe ten minutes.
To the extent my positive covid test reflected anything in reality, since they tested me negative on the way in, the only way I could have caught it was from the hospital environment. Their only priority from that point on was isolation.
I want to add that all the therapists, nurses and lower ranking workers were great -- conscientious and supportive, nobody other than the MD tried to shame me for beibg un-vaxxed. The rehabilitation therapy and education was excellent and I continue to improve in my condition due to the exercises and techniques they taught me. OTOH, the institution itself was a nightmare.
More detailed account to follow once my typing improves. As of now I'm using hunt and peck, rather han Gregg typing.