Mike

Miraculously, after eight days on a ventilator and thirty days in the hospital, Mike was able to walk back into his home. 

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS: “Where am I?” That’s the first thing I thought when I awoke in the hospital.

The last thing I remembered was talking to the ambulance EMT, telling him I didn’t feel right and wanted to go to the ER for tests. Then, here I am in a hospital bed.

I asked the nurse who was checking my temperature, “Where am I?”

She replied that she didn’t know and left the room.

I was confused, groggy, wondering if I was dreaming. Later, three different nurses came to check on me, and I asked the same question, “Where am I?”

They gave me the same answer; they didn’t know.

Now I was really concerned. Had I been abducted? Was this a CIA plot? Finally, a fifth nurse came in, and I asked, “Where am I? The other nurses say they don’t know.”

The nurse laughed and told me I was at St. Elizabeth’s. The other nurses were all “travelers,” nurses brought in from different parts of the country to help the overloaded Boston hospitals. These nurses stayed in hotels and were taken each day to hospitals that needed their services, often unsure where they were.

It turns out that I’d been brought in eight days before, unconscious, and had been put on a ventilator. I was very sick and had about an 8% chance of surviving.

In the weeks before waking up in the hospital, I’d been caring for my mom, who had lung cancer. When her condition deteriorated, she’d been taken to the hospital and put in isolation as there were many Covid patients around her. Knowing I was not going to leave her alone, the hospital staff suited me up in PPE and let me sit by her side. I arranged for a priest to give her last rites, and she passed peacefully hours later.

The next day, the hospital called and said my mom had tested positive for Covid. I was nervous; I’d been in close contact with her. My wife and I got tested, but both of us were negative.

However, I began to feel sluggish. A good friend in the neighborhood had passed from Covid recently, and I thought, if it got him, it’s coming for me.

I decided to get more tests, called an ambulance, and told my wife I was going to the hospital and would be back in a few hours.

I remember getting into the ambulance saying, “I just don’t feel right, you know?” I awoke days later in the ICU.

My wife, Joyce, saved my life. She had Covid the same time I did, but a milder case. She was sick yet didn’t sleep for nine days, worrying and working on getting the help I needed as I lay in a coma. She was my tireless advocate and would not take “No” for an answer. She called everybody and arranged for me to get a plasma transfusion. The day after I received the plasma, I opened my eyes again. I think the plasma saved my life.

Now, I’m on my way back and pestering her again. I think she’s regretting it.

I looked at my phone and couldn’t believe all the messages, how many people had been praying for me. Joyce says the phone never stopped ringing with concerned folks calling. I was deeply touched by the influential people who checked in on me, even talking with my wife to comfort her. I’ve been a neighborhood organizer and supporter for many years, and it’s great to know that all the folks I’ve helped remembered me and cared.

I believe my mom is advocating for me up above. She had me in training for my own recovery as I helped her during her cancer struggle.

Rehab was a struggle, but you just take one step at a time. Learn to breathe again to get off oxygen. Build up strength walking so you can get to the bathroom. A rehab therapist found out that I loved golf, and one day she brought in a putter and a ball and had me putt into a cup, fetch the ball, and do it again. Right then, I knew I was going to make it.

On May 16, 2020, one month after I’d entered the hospital, I returned home, walking on my own to neighbors and friends cheering.

I had it easy; I was asleep. I woke up, and all the hard work was done. All I had to do was take it from there. I was fortunate; I beat the odds. Now, I’m walking around the block and playing golf again.

I’m so grateful to be alive and looking forward to going back to work serving the people of Boston.

This is a self-funded project and we need your support to keep going. Here are some ways you can help us share more stories:

1. Become a Patreon and support us monthly

2. Venmo us at @morganawingard

3. Volunteer — email us to find out more