6 minute read
Tragorian Sconiers' Tomorrow
When Tomorrow Comes: Putting My Life Back Together After COVID-19
By Tragorian Sconiers
By all accounts and metrics, the year 2020 will leave an indelible mark on our collective consciousness. From the untimely death of basketball legend Kobe Bryant and his young daughter in January to discussions about literally canceling Christmas, we were clutched with a crisis of global significance: COVID-19. Not since the AIDS pandemic had we been taken by sheer surprise and been so wholly unprepared to respond.
Millions were affected by the pandemic, but none more so than the hundreds of thousands of people who lost their lives. Loved ones looked on helplessly as they said goodbye, often by video chat because they were not permitted to visit them in the hospital. Funeral and memorial services had to be held virtually. Even after the alarming rate of lives claimed by COVID-19, there were still deniers that the virus existed. Mask mandates, shutdowns, safe distancing, and vaccines became hotly debated topics. Unfortunately, those last examples became uniquely United States problems. Mask usage and vaccinations were all too often divided down political party lines. The entirety of 2020 saw us plunged into chaos, trying desperately to claw our way to what would be considered our “new normal.”
At the onset of the year, things were progressing well for me. Having moved back to my hometown of Orlando after a few years in Austin, Texas, I was working at a daycare and was about to move into a new home. I, too, kept apprised of the news about a virus making its way to our shores. In May, I got the keys and was very excited to move in. I booked a flight back to Texas in order to retrieve my belongings and start a new chapter in my life. That is exactly what happened, but it was not the chapter I envisioned.
A week before I was to board the plane, I developed a cough. The cough was innocuous enough at first but progressed rather quickly into a fever and body aches. Not wanting to travel in this condition, I went to the hospital to take a coronavirus test. I did not believe I had COVID; I just wanted to rule it out so I could get on the plane. Not to give away the ending, but… it was COVID. To illustrate how quickly my life changed after that, say I found out on a Sunday. By Thursday of the same week, I was in the hospital ICU in critical condition, unresponsive, fighting for my life.
The next few months became a deluge of medical interventions, loss, waning hope and increasing levels of despair. The first week of my hospitalization my heart stopped beating twice. A controversial decision was made to place me on a ventilator, and I remained on one for 20 days. A feeding and rectal tube soon followed, but the worst was yet to come. I had developed clots in my right leg, along with an aggressive infection. The doctors informed my mother that if they couldn’t stop the clots and get the infection under control, they would have to take my leg, but there was no guarantee that would save my life.
Alas, all attempts failed, and my mother had to make the decision to let them remove my right leg above the knee. The life-saving efforts inadvertently damaged my left leg and right hand. It would take a lion’s share of emotional equity to prevent me from buckling under the weight of what happened to me, and to be honest, I wasn’t sure if I had it to give.
I do not recall much of my hospitalization, at least in the beginning. I was unresponsive, in a drug-induced delirium, so although my condition was perilous, and I lived it, I don’t remember it. Sometimes I feel like I co-opt my own story from the people who lived it with me. By the Fall of the year, I made it to my mother’s house to convalesce, having one leg missing and the other in seriously dire straits. Having to focus on recovery and quality of life with an amputated leg is daunting enough, but it was compounded by the fact that I was worried about losing the other one.
While doing physical rehab and preparing for prosthetic fittings, I was going to hyperbaric chamber treatments and wound care in a proactive attempt to save the left leg. However, six months after I lost my right leg in the hospital, I lost the
left one. The idea of losing a limb is a lot to wrap your head around, but to be a double amputee in a matter of six months was a weight that became unbearable at times.
Amid this turmoil, an unexpected lifeline emerged: therapy. While I was in rehab, one of my patient advocates suggested therapy. The thought of therapy was never an adverse one to me; I just didn’t think I would need it. While my faith had always been a guiding light, there were some things that you do not see coming. You understand the macro: hard work, rehab, physical healing, but you discount the micro, those invisible blocks you stumble on. So, I made the decision to seek help, and at the time, I was less than effusive about therapy; I am downright evangelical about it now! Speaking to a professional reinforced the belief that I was okay, and it was fine at times to admit I wasn’t okay. Talking through my issues helps bolster my belief in Jesus Christ.
Emboldened by the freedom I now felt and a suggestion from my therapist, in March 2021, I decided to launch String of Destiny podcast, a biweekly show that focuses on telling stories and having conversations with people who have overcome something in their lives. My guests express what they want us to know, so listeners will be better equipped to conquer the personal challenges they face. The show is such a catharsis for me and helpful to others that I am ecstatic to continue to share it.
At the end of my shows, I allow my guests the opportunity to leave the audience with words of encouragement I affectionately call “Extend the String.” If I could be so bold, I would like to leave you with this: I lived a charmed life before COVID. Everything I thought I valued was taken away. I had to find the strength to press on despite not believing I could, but I did, and you can, too. You must first believe you can; the first battle is won in the mind. Then, you must continue, no matter how it looks. The next battle is won in the will. Celebrate victories whenever you can, and don’t be afraid to ask for help. We were not made to survive alone. As for me, I am mastering prosthetics, and God willing, I’ll get a new kidney by the end of the year. COVID-19 tore my house down, but I am rebuilding, brick by brick, stronger than ever.
