Eddie Case is a previously healthy COVID-19 survivor and one of the first 200-identified COVID patients in Arizona. He has graciously offered to share a full account of his story so the public can get a glimpse of what battling COVID-19 is like for those who are lucky enough to make it through alive.
On Friday, March 20th, I started coughing at work, but it was a dry cough. I wasn’t too concerned about it; I figured it was probably bronchitis or the flu. I finished my workday and went home to rest.
The next day I felt drained, my head was pounding, and I started feeling feverish. On Sunday, I felt worse, so I went to urgent care. They considered testing me for COVID, but since I didn’t know anyone who had it and had not recently traveled outside the country, I didn’t meet the criteria. They tested me for the flu. It came back negative, but they said the reliability for that test was low, and they were confident it was just the flu. They instructed me to return if I started feeling worse, and they’d test me for COVID regardless.
Monday, I woke up and couldn’t get out of bed. I was burning up and had painful body aches and chills. I downed several Ibuprofen to help with the fever, and it helped slightly. My wife, who was also ill, started feeling better, but I kept feeling worse and worse.
Tuesday, my wife and I decided that I needed to go back to Urgent Care and get tested. I arrived, only to be told that there weren’t any tests to be had. They gave me a number to call to make an appointment for a test, but there were no appointments available until April 1st—eight days away.
I heard from my wife about an office in Scottsdale who had tests, so the next day, we drove out from Tempe to get tested. I filled out the paperwork, sat down with the doctor, recounted my history, and underwent a physical exam. My blood oximetry was normal at the time. Still, the doctor looked concerned and told me softly, “I’m sorry about this. You are clearly very sick, but the government won’t let me test you. We’ve seen 60 people already, and only 1 of them met the criteria for COVID testing.” Another dead end. My wife and I returned home, worried but hoping for the best.
On Thursday, my breathing became more labored and shallow. My fever had gone down, but at this point, it took more than 2400mg of Ibuprofen to control it. My wife tried to feed me in bed, but I couldn’t taste or smell the food. I would catch these waves of nausea, and at this point, my cough was so bad that I was vomiting. According to my wife, I had fitful bouts of sleep, mumbling things that didn’t make sense. Still, we didn’t go to the ER because of how expensive it would be, and we were not even sure I had COVID-19.
On Friday, it was more of the same symptoms, just worse. I attempted to get up to use the bathroom when I suddenly couldn’t catch my breath. I grabbed my throat and choked out to my wife, “I can’t breathe.” We headed straight to a standalone ER near our home. I remember stepping out of the house to go to the car, it was around noon, but somehow everything seemed dimmer instead of brighter. Sounds seemed so far away, and I suddenly felt very embarrassed. I hoped none of my neighbors were watching. My wife got me to the hospital, and everything happened quickly after that. My O2 saturation was 84% and dropping, they gave me a breathing treatment and admitted me. It was March 27th, exactly 7 days since I first felt any symptoms. It would be the last time I would see my wife for several weeks.
After that, though I’m not sure when, I was transferred to a hospital in East Mesa where they had beds available. I started hallucinating and thought I was drugged and was being abducted while the ambulance transported me. I stayed there for two nights before the decision was made to intubate me. I spoke to my wife beforehand. I was scared. I wasn’t ready to die. I told her how much I loved her and that was the last memory I had before I woke up weeks later with tubes all over me.
According to my wife, after I was sedated and intubated, they transferred me by ambulance to an ICU in Chandler. Apparently, I was combative, and the staff had to strap me to the bed. I was in the fight of my life in the days that followed. My O2 refused to move in the right direction on its own, my PEEP (positive end-expiratory pressure) settings were high, I was prone, and given hydroxychloroquine along with antibiotics and countless other medicines. The ICU team tried everything, because the information was changing almost daily. My wife called everyday, talked to the nurses, doctors and spoke to me through speaker phone for hours. She gave the nursing staff a playlist of my favorite jazz music, and they played it on a loop loud enough for me to hear, though I don’t remember any of that. Slowly, I began to improve and after 2 weeks they began to taper my sedation medication but kept me ventilated for another week. My memories picked up again at that point, but according to my wife, most of what I remember in those days were actually hallucinations. She is still helping me sort through what was real and what wasn’t. Since then, I’ve often caught myself thinking of those who are battling this illness alone. It was such a frightening experience for me, I cannot imagine how it must feel for them.
I wish someone would have asked me when I regained consciousness, “Do you know why you’re here?” Even after my tube came out, I still didn’t know why I was in the hospital. How did this happen? Was I in an accident?
Once I found my voice again, I summoned the courage to ask my wife. With a heavy heart, I whispered, “Alright, give it to me straight. What happened?”
“You have COVID.” She responded. I couldn’t believe it. I had so many gaps in my memory, I didn’t remember being sick.
They discharged me to a rehabilitation facility after keeping me for an additional week for observation. Though I lost 50lbs in the 3 weeks I was on the ventilator, my joints hurt constantly, and to this day, stiffen any time I sit or lay down to rest. My hip flexors and glute muscles had atrophied to such a degree that I thought I would never walk again. But I was determined to get home to my wife and gave everything I had to each of my mental and physical therapy sessions. Within a week, I was cleared to go home.
I entered the hospital on Friday, March 27th, and finally returned home on Friday, May 1st, exactly 6 weeks after my symptoms first began. Though I am much healed physically, I still have residual effects. According to my doctors, my body is still in fight-or-flight mode; I’ve developed social anxiety and seeing needles now sends me into a panic, not to mention my hair is falling out in clumps, a phenomena my doctors call “telogen effluvium.” I have vivid nightmares and flashbacks of my time in isolation. My therapist called it, “acute stress disorder” and explained that it is similar to PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder).
Make no mistake, I feel lucky beyond belief. I’ve been given a chance to start over at 43 years old. This is my opportunity to live the life I’ve always been too afraid to live. I want to be a dad. I want a new career, one that brings me joy and fulfillment. I don’t want to go back to who I was before. I’m ready to live.
Eddie and Anne Case
Eddie Case
Kristina Yancey is a member of The University of Arizona College of Medicine – Phoenix, Class of 2022. She graduated from The City University of New York-Staten Island in 2008 with a dual Bachelor of Science degree in Biochemistry & Chemistry, earned a master’s degree in Educational Leadership from Arizona State University in 2017 and completed a Graduate Certificate in Health Sciences through the Pathway Scholars Program at The University of Arizona College of Medicine – Phoenix in 2018. She enjoys research, community activism, singing Karaoke, dancing, and cracking up at her own jokes. But most of all, she enjoys spending quality time with her husband and daughter.
Email: kyancey@email.arizona.edu