The coronavirus kept Molly Dawson from begging her colleagues not to intubate her.
So as she struggled to breathe, she showed them a message on her phone instead.
"Please no tube" it read.
Molly, a 25-year-old intensive care unit nurse, knew exactly what that tube meant.
As the COVID-19 pandemic has raged on, the word "intubate" and the machine that's used with it, "ventilator," have become household terms as the death toll from the coronavirus surges past 150,000 in our country.
Those aren't just words and ideas to Molly. They're part of her job every day as an ICU nurse at TriStar Greenview Regional Hospital in Bowling Green.
And she knew that tube was invasive and utterly terrifying to live through.
If she agreed, her co-workers would catheterize her, strip her naked, bathe her and roll her on her stomach. They'd have to paralyze her so that she could safely lay in a position that would reduce the fluid on her lungs.
Molly, a fiercely independent young nurse, understood putting that tube down her throat would in turn take away any ability she had to advocate for herself.
But that's what had to happen for her to survive.
It was only with the assurance of a fellow nurse who doubled as a dear friend that she consented out of the do not resuscitate order she had been so convicted about before she contracted the virus.
Then her eyes shut, and her world went dark.
Previously: From bedside to bedridden, this Kentucky ICU nurse is fighting for her life from coronavirus
When she finally came to, she thought maybe a day had gone by, but then she felt the mattress and the sheets beneath her and knew she wasn't on the same bed where she'd lost consciousness.
After four harsh days of hallucinations — a terror-filled dream that she was laying on top of a dead body and another vivid delusion where she'd lived to be an old woman with 90 years worth of memories behind her — she'd learn she'd been transported to a sister hospital in Nashville and that she missed out on more than two weeks of her life.
When I first introduced you to Molly in late June, she was unconscious and in critical condition at TriStar Centennial. She'd already battled a harsh fever and shortness of breath at home alone for several days and underwent two false-negative tests. The young nurse checked herself into the emergency room at her own hospital in Bowling Green, and when that third test came back positive for the coronavirus, she felt a sense of relief.
Even if the pandemic had finally gotten her, her medical instincts about her symptoms had been spot on.
Paralyzed, intubated and unconscious she slept through a Go-Fund-Me campaign that raised more than $12,000 to cover her medical expenses, and she'd been featured on the Today Show. The young nurse's story had spread rapidly, and people as far away as Morocco were actively praying for her. Her mother, Patty Dawson of Versailles, was stationed at a hotel across the street from the hospital, and because of the pandemic, couldn't be at her daughter's side.
As I talked with Patty back in June, I learned about a young woman who was dedicated to caring for others. She'd been frustrated with the access to protective gear and the ever-changing protocols connected to the novel coronavirus.
Outside of work, the young nurse essentially isolated herself in the weeks leading up to her illness. Treating COVID-19 patients put her at risk for infecting other people, and that wasn't something she was willing to do. She was smart and brave, and even though her asthma made her high risk, that wasn't going to keep her from doing her job and saving lives during this moment in history.
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When I finally got to speak with Molly this week, I heard every quality her mother described radiate through the phone.
Caring. Dedicated. Fiercely independent.
She'd survived the most deadly part of the virus, but not what she considered the most difficult aspect of it.
"I was living out my worst nightmare in real time," she told me. "I was fully dependent on everyone else."
Forty-six days had passed since Molly was admitted to her own ICU, and when we spoke on Monday, she'd been home with her family in Versailles for nearly three weeks.
She sustained some nerve damage when she battled the virus. It's unclear whether that's from the paralysis or if that's just another dark, long-term side effect of COVID-19 itself, but either way, it drastically limits her ability to take care of herself.
In the past few weeks, she's had to relearn how to walk. The first time she stood up, it took three people to help support her. Now that she's home, she's trying to regain full use of her hands. She can't wash her own hair, cook for herself or drive. Small motions like opening a bottle of shampoo, picking up a pan or turning a steering wheel are no longer instinctual. Any task that requires gripping involves more dexterity than she can summon.
"My mind is fully there and my body is not," she told me. "My mind is trying to tell my body what to do, and my body won’t listen."
Molly studied sign language in college, and she's an advocate for the deaf community. Now in addition to her physical therapy and occupational therapy, she practices the letters of the sign language alphabet as a way to stretch out her hands. Her fingers just don't work they way they once did, though, and she's concerned about what that might mean for her career in the long run.
Even if her fine motor skills return, she knows how nimble and careful her hands must be as a nurse.
"I can’t be going slower because my hand hurts because that could be the difference between life and death," she told me.
And that's important because it's not just a job to her. It's a calling.
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It's hard to know how long it may take for her to get back to work, but even with the virus raging on, there's no doubt in her mind that's where she wants to be. It's just as important for her to help people through the worst day of their lives, as it is to help people die a peaceful death.
When I asked her what she loved about her job and why after all this she was eager to get back to the ICU floor, she told me a story about a woman she cared for a few months before the pandemic started.
The patient had been struggling for a few days, and her children had talked with Molly as they made the tough decision to do what would make their mom comfortable, instead of what would keep her alive.
The patient had been telling Molly for days that all she wanted was a scoop of ice cream, and with that hard family decision, the nurse was finally able to bring her some.
"This is the best ice cream, this is a best-tasting thing I’ve had in my life," Molly remembered the woman saying.
It was a moment of pure bliss, and it was one of the last things that happened before the patient lost consciousness and eventually passed.
"That will probably be their last memory with their mom and I got to make it not be terrible," she told me.
And so every day now, Molly works her hand muscles and builds up her own strength. She'll need them back at the ICU whether she's administering medicine or picking up a scoop of ice cream for that one last moment of bliss.
Because as we talked, it was clear to me her heart was still very much in the ICU even if her struggling fingers were not.
And even after living out her own nightmare, her focus is still very much on easing the pain of everyone else in the middle of this pandemic.
Features columnist Maggie Menderski writes about what makes Louisville, Southern Indiana and Kentucky unique, wonderful, and occasionally, a little weird. If you've got something in your family, your town or even your closet that fits that description — she wants to hear from you. Say hello at mmenderski@courier-journal.com or 502-582-7137. Follow along on Instagram and Twitter @MaggieMenderski. Support strong local journalism by subscribing today: courier-journal.com/maggiem.
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46 days later, this young Kentucky ICU nurse is still battling side effects of COVID-19 - Courier Journal
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