Viral: A True Story of Epidemic Flu, Fear and Faith

By A.A.E. Murphy

Award-winning educator, environmentalist and world traveler A.A.E. Murphy details the catastrophic consequences of both her and her husbands H1N1 (swine) flu in this brutally honest story. Readers ride out trials of illness, death, faith, family, love, caretaking, and rehabilitation from cover to cover through Murphys artful prose. Health is wealth; find out how Murphy navigates through colossal loss, and what lessons can be gained from suffering in Viral: A True Story of Epidemic Flu, Fear and Faith.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Mar 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504353441

A.A.E. Murphy

Murphy was born and raised in New England, USA to a German immigrant mother and a second generation Irish father. Compelled to animal, child, political and environmental activism, she discovered the private joy and power of wordsmithing in her early years, before computers and digital media. She holds a BS in Special Education MS in Education. Earning awards for Writing, Art, Photography and Grant Writing, she brought her gifts to a teaching career spanning over twenty years in a variety of venues including public, private and alternative, teaching students in grades Pre-Kindergarten through twelve, community college and senior centers. Never forgetting her roots, her love for travel, world culture, transformative dialogue and cetaceans (whales, dolphins and porpoises), she has traveled to and lived in faraway places. She shares her country home in the city with husband Joe and peaceful cohabitation with rescued animals including a retired racing greyhound, cats and ducks.

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Copyright © 2016 A.A.E. Murphy.

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The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-5043-5343-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-5345-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-5344-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016904757

Balboa Press rev. date: 03/29/2016

Contents

Introduction

Dedication

Chapter 1 Endure to the end

Chapter 2 Island Hopping

Chapter 3 Breath and Prayer

Chapter 4 If Wishes Were Fishes: Get Whale Soon

Chapter 5 Progress

Chapter 6 Angels, and Mothering

Chapter 7 Prepare for Change

Chapter 8 ARDS and a Blue Moon

Chapter 9 Contention vs Fear vs Faith

Chapter 10 Deaths, Victims, Hearts and Comas

Chapter 11 Flus, Vaccines and Rabbits - Oh My!

Chapter 12 The Spectrum of Piety

Chapter 13 Perception, and What Sustained Me

Chapter 14 Alternatives - Surrender to Fear - Rejoice In the Choice -- Ho` Oponopono

Chapter 15 Empathy, Mercy & Grace

About the Author

VIRAL Questions

Endnotes

Introduction

Before we became sick, I was a novice about such things as history, religion, health, human services or medicine. Learning about medical terminology and bodily processes was forced upon me by listening to and observing doctors, specialists and other medical professionals- including a family half-full of nurses - during my husband Joe's ordeal. I also learned to detest encouragement: Be strong. Stay strong. You're so strong.

It has been a monumental challenge to put into words things which cannot be described. Words fall short when I attempt to explain the abrupt change to our lives and the slow transformation from health to illness to recovery to acceptance of permanently changed lives. As an example, the Hawaiian term aloha has several meanings depending upon the circumstance and the person using it; it can mean hello as a greeting, goodbye, a way of thinking (The Way of Aloha, Living with Aloha), it can mean peace, a way of life, an attitude, love, and much more. Likewise, the term faith has a multitude of meanings. Describing my faith in a higher power has been a challenge, yet faith was an integral part of my survival throughout the past two years. My intention is to portray the power and magnitude of my faith as you read about the events that have shaped my life, and my reactions to them. I don't feel I have to justify my faith, but I'm compelled to share what worked for me through an excruciating period.

I do not wear my heart on my sleeve. It is grueling for me to ask for help, to complain about or share my troubles, or to speak about what I truly think or feel when I'm suffering. I often present as protective, glib, flippant or tight-lipped. This book is the antithesis. Contained herein are my most guarded, intimate thoughts and feelings about the catastrophe that occurred when Joe and I became ill.

During Joe's illness and rehabilitation, I was also sick, yet I spent nearly every day, with few exceptions, at Joe's bedside advocating for him, watching every gauge, movement, machine, nurse, nurse's aide, even the rise and fall of his hospital gown as the ventilator breathed for him. When I arrived home at the end of a day, I was beyond exhaustion, with barely enough energy to take care of the pets, bathe myself, and eat before bed. There was no time or strength for email or phone calls explaining Joe's progress du jour, a cycle which continued for many months. As an alternative, I chronicled my thoughts via daily social media updates, finding it easier to summarize them as they occurred at Joe's bedside than to speak or write about them at the end of every grueling day. I've included selections of these posts as they appeared on my social media page.

Joe and I converted from lifelong Catholicism to another Christian faith in 2006. I ask that you forgive my Scriptural interpretations from the Bible, the Quran and other holy books. Despite, or due to challenges and doubt, my faith in God has grown exponentially. I can't imagine how I would have conducted myself without it. I know what I know as a result of what I have lived through. I know what I feel from the Spirit.

Through it all, I may have appeared composed and strong most of the time. I wasn't. I was numb, and in the privacy of my head and my home I allowed doubt, anger, remorse, regret and resentment to creep in, but not long enough for them to take up residence.

I'm filled with gratitude for family and friends who offered to review, revise, edit and critique much of this book.

But wilt thou know, O vain man, that faith without works is dead? For as the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without works is dead also. ~ James 2: 20, 26

1 Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. 2 And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. 3 And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.

~1 Corinthians, 13: 1-3

Questions about why we got sick and survived, combined with faith in a higher power and the obligation of higher purpose directed my work. I'm sure I experienced twinges of survivor guilt; learning about the casualties of the pandemic H1N1 in 2009 and the epidemic of H1N1 in 2014 intensified my pursuit to document our challenges so that others could learn from them. The more I learned, the more galvanized was my desire to share what I knew about the flu, vaccines, faith and about how I handled difficult choices under extreme duress and illness. As a believer, I am compelled to translate my faith into action, so as not to be as sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal. This book is the result.

Joe is living proof of miracles. Call it what you will; I credit my faith, and the faith of those who supported us, faith in God, Higher Power, Source, Great Spirit, Allah, Supreme Being, El Shaddai, YHWH, Elohim, Jehovah, Universe, Lord, Bhagavan, or Almighty as the source of my strength on this journey.

My intent is that you will find something contained in these pages that provides hope, inspiration, consolation, purpose, love and joy amid misfortune and doubt. If you are faithful, I hope this book is invigorating. If you are not a believer, I hope you'll be prompted to revisit the possibility of a higher power.

Although names, locations and occupations have been changed, this is our true story of epidemic flu, fear and faith, and a testimony to the divine inside us all.

Dedication

For NJS and FKS

That you will come to know perfect love, be inspired and humbled by creation, and hold on to hope, always.

With all that is in my heart for you, Omi

Wherefore, whoso believeth in God might have with surety hope for a better world,

yea, even a place at the right hand of God,

which hope cometh of faith, maketh an anchor to the souls of men,

which would make them sure and steadfast, always abounding in good works,

being led to glorify God.

And now I, Moroni, would speak somewhat concerning these things;

I would show unto the world that faith is things which are hoped for and not seen;

wherefore dispute not because ye see not,

for ye see no witness until after the trial of your faith.

~The Book of Ether, Chapter 12 Verses 4 &6

Chapter 1

Endure to the end

Faith is the province of the defeated one who still clings to hope

as a nice idea faintly remembered. ~ J.I. Abbot

After the Code Blue was called, hospital staff paddled Joe's heart back into rhythm. I received a phone call from one of his doctors: Aoibhyann, your husband coded. You need to come to the hospital.

My husband Joe and I were diagnosed with H1N1 flu and pneumonia and admitted to the hospital January 27, 2014. He suffered a cascade of catastrophic consequences including peritonitis, diverticulitis, sepsis, burst colon, Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome (ARDS). He was in the ICU for 33 days, comatose. He was placed on a ventilator because his lungs shut down due to ARDS, and administered a paralytic so that his lungs would allow the ventilator to breathe for him. (We humans are involuntary breathers, unlike cetaceans - whales, dolphins and porpoises- who must choose to breathe). Due to lack of oxygen, persistent high fever and H1N1 flu that mutated to H2N2, Joe suffered organ failure, total body fluid overload and cardiac arrest.

His abdomen was sliced open from sternum to groin during exploratory surgery; a portion of his burst colon was removed. The poisonous excrement from the colon permeated his abdomen and traveled to his lungs. He was septic, unable to breathe, and viral. Three people died from just H1N1 in that hospital in the month of February.

Joe's ARDS gradually cleared, his organs and brain woke up, and he came out of the coma. He was discharged from the ICU to a rehab hospital ill-prepared to handle his level of needed care; he had critical illness polyneuropathy- a sort of paralysis due to muscle atrophy. He also had a tracheostomy, colostomy, and stomach feeding tube. He had to relearn to use every muscle in his body, from his face to his toes.

In the first rehab hospital, Joe's catheter was removed while it was still inflated, and he endured a punctured bladder. He was rushed to a second emergency room with hematuria, nearly bleeding to death, suffering the agony of a swollen bladder and urge to pass blood clots through his urethra. Later he would tell me it felt as if he was trying to pass a box of cereal in his urine.

With all that we endured, it might be understandable if I became jaded, angry, resentful or bitter, but I didn't (for very long). I am a faithful person, but not one whose beliefs polarize, exclude or marginalize people, rather, I am one who believes that love, prayer, forgiveness and hope are the answers to every question, solutions to every problem and healing salve for every hurt.

Throughout this ordeal, I asked family, friends and others through social media, email and crowdfunding to pray for Joe. I knelt in prayer daily and asked God what His will was for me--what did He want me to do? How did He want me to handle this? What did He want me to say? I asked that He would be on my heart, in my eyes, in my words when I spoke, and when I wrote.

All the while, people from around the world were praying for Joe, and for me. People who didn't normally pray were praying. People who had given up praying and going to church were praying once again. Six of Joe's college football buddies and I held hands around Joe's bedside and recited the Lord's Prayer:

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed by thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, and deliver us from evil. Amen.

People on social media mentioned God and prayer and miracles. That in itself was a miracle to me--social media being used for prayer and the mention of God. I sought out prayer warriors, and they answered, in droves.

On the night Joe had cardiac arrest, I knelt in sorrowful prayer, pleading to God to tell me what to do, asking for strength to accept His will. I was overcome with calm. I felt the profound understanding of loss, and a portion of the agony that our heavenly Father must have felt as His innocent son Jesus was tortured and forced to die a criminal's death on a cross. I knew, without words, that God and His son Jesus understood my grief and pain, and I understood the true meaning of Christ's atonement.

The following day, I said goodbye to my beloved husband, whispering in his ear that it was okay to let go, that I didn't blame him for wanting to commune with angels. And I knew I would see him again. I began to prepare myself for his death, and was at peace.

Chapter 2

Island Hopping

February 5, 2012 Joe and I are standing on a jetty at Alehu Landing on Hapuna Bay just outside the airport on the east side of the Hawaiian island we called home, watching a mother and baby Humpback whale frolic in the ocean swells. We were photographing the anomaly and observing/documenting the whales' behavior. An escort appears, and joins the pair. We are in awe. We are wondering if mother and calf are demonstrating site fidelity -- a regular return to the same site -- similar to the whales of Stellwagen Bank off the coast of Massachusetts. Joe's cellphone rings. It is my son Patrick, telling us that his wife is in labor with our first grandson. We chat for a bit, exchange love and best wishes and then return to watching the whales. No more than a few hours later, mother whale, baby and escort line up and exit the bay, moving southward along the coast, past the airport, and remaining offshore in an area near the harbor.

Many stories and one month later, Joe and I are watching Alehu Landing and the island shrink and disappear out of the airplane window. Joe is sobbing like a sorrowful child, his huge shoulders heaving up and down. Leaving is bittersweet for me; I'm sad, but thrilled to be returning to the east coast to meet baby and be with family again. We had moved to Hawai`i in 2008. Three years there, and one in the United Arab Emirates, was a long time to be gone. We missed many family events and celebrations living in exotic locations, places that many people can only dream of visiting. There is a price to pay to live in paradisiacal post cards and screensavers. We paid dearly.

The previous year (2011) we were in a car accident which left us both injured and our shiny new car a total loss. We weren't able to buy a new one, and refused to buy an island car as they had the reputation of being unreliable. Good friends Lidia, Big Ed, and Michaela loaned us their cars, tremendous blessings. But life in Hawai`i was never the same.

Fortunately, Joe was granted a transfer as an airport security agent back to New England. The only position available that was closest to family was an island thirty miles offshore of the mainland. He wanted to work at the airport closest to our home, but there were no openings at the time.

Island life was again sublime. We rented a few rooms in a house located one mile from the airport -- within walking distance. Joe and I both worked there, and often enjoyed lunches together. Patrick, his wife and baby, and their friends visited us there, and our hearts leapt. Patrick's comment: It's easier and quicker to get to the west coast than it is to come here. He was right. The island can only be accessed by ferry, boat or plane. Well worth the trouble and time.

If you have to leave Hawai`i, another island is a sweet place to end up. Once one of the wealthiest places in America, this island was built on the profits of the whale oil industry. Far from affluent or living in luxury, Joe and I would have been considered working class here, serving the public in the travel industry. The airport is the second busiest airport in the state. We worked long and hard through the summer of 2012, but we also enjoyed our time off, walking our Hawai`i-born kittens through the extensive rental house property, beaching, biking, swimming, photographing, touring the island and feeling that we had arrived home.

By June, I became ill. What first began as stiffness in my left hand pointer finger developed into a full-blown fever accompanied by sore throat, body aches, fatigue and violent, shaking chills. Thinking I might have the flu (working with the public at the busy airport?) I called out sick for the day, took some flu medication and tried to rest. Chills, sweats and fever worsened overnight. I nearly drenched the bed. Day two: Joe was preparing to go to work and I was sitting at the kitchen table, shaking and sweating with a terrible headache. I told him I needed to get to the hospital. I knew something wasn't right; I had never had this combination of symptoms before or with such severity.

At the tiny hospital, I was tested for Lyme disease, and found positive for Erlichiosis, a tick-borne bacterial infection originating from a bite by the Lone Star tick. I was prescribed a twenty-one day course of the antibiotic doxycycline and told to make a follow-up appointment with the island's renowned Lyme disease expert and doctor-of-all-trades. I took the pills, rested, and returned to work a few days later.

Island life resumed into normalcy through the autumn of 2012.

2012-2013

Joe persistently sought the transfer to our home airport, but there were no openings. Although life was pleasant, we wanted to move back to home to be nearer to our grandson, and to return to the original home which we had rented out during our years away. As luck would have it, in October, Joe's supervisor informed him of a need for a security officer at a mainland airport. The move would bring us closer to our goal of returning home, and seemed like the right opportunity at the right time. We vacated our rental, filling a passenger van with our boxes, bags and luggage. During the move-out frenzy, Max the male kitten bolted sometime while we were making trips up and down the stairs. We had to leave the island without him, returning the following day by plane -- a perk of working for an airline -- to retrieve him.

Joe moved in with my sister Therese, a nurse, who lived forty minutes from Joe's new airport, and I moved into our old home. Joe made the daily eighty mile commute to work four days a week and then drove home on his days off for nearly two years. The pace of life for Joe was taxing. Ten hour workdays, long drives to and from work and to home every week wore on him. He developed double bags and black circles under his eyes. Always trying to find humor, I teased him, telling him he was lucky he worked for the airport because he carried his own bags. The one hundred and seventy mile trip from work to home brought Joe across a heavily traveled turnpike. The area traffic is often congested and plagued by historically bad weather, and there is a ten mile stretch without exits, offering nowhere to go and nothing to do but endure the painfully slow ride and impatient drivers.

Joe would arrive home most Saturday nights about 11PM, crash into bed, awake early for church on Sunday, try to rest on Sunday afternoons, put on his best face for date night on Monday, and then pack up and head out early Tuesday to return to work. There was little time for us to do much of anything significant, and he was often so fatigued on Mondays that our lives fell into a beige, tired routine. Tuesday schedule: I'd help him carry his bags to the car, lean into the open window, kiss him goodbye, and tell him I loved him and remind him that this too shall pass, then watch him drive away, both of us waving.

He often cried before he left. I steeled myself. We had so many other worries. We were barely making ends meet financially, living paycheck to paycheck. Our church and my Dad helped us financially and spiritually. Joe sought out financial assistance from the town other charitable organizations. We were always astounded that a full time worker was living at poverty level. I had done some research and learned that in approximately twenty-four US states, a full-time job at minimum wage barely affords rent. So many of us living in financial slavery.

In Joe's absence, I had taken on all the responsibilities of home, including yard work: mowing the lawn in the summer, raking the leaves in the fall, snow shoveling in the winter, caring for the plants outdoors and then digging the tender ones up and bringing them in for the winter. Cat care, duck care. I sorted and paid the bills -- a task at which I had historically failed. Living in exotic locations like Hawai`i and the Middle East had taken a huge financial toll on us. I tried to find the joy in small things. By necessity, I had grown a thick skin. True, I was closer to grandson and family, able to begin teaching again and living in our home, but I was alone. And lonely. Joe had the companionship of my sister, but they both worked similar hours and rarely saw each other. The winter of 2013 was brutal. Typical four-hour drives between the home and work grew into six hours or longer, in blinding snow and slick ice.

The commute from Therese's house to the airport was not a day at the beach either. In September, October and November, Joe started his 5:00 AM shift after riding in on his touring motorcycle through dark of night, fog, rain and cold. December was too cold and snowy to ride the bike safely, so Joe borrowed a friend's Explorer until he purchased a brand new Honda Fit in January, 2013. Joe worked on Super Bowl Sunday after switching days with another security officer so he could attend grandson's first birthday party the prior Saturday. Sadly, the party was canceled because of a fierce snowstorm throughout New England, so Joe had Saturday off, but had to work on Sunday. He opted to stay at Therese's that weekend instead of driving home.

Super Bowl Sunday brought more snow and freezing rain, so Joe set out at 2:30 AM, two hours earlier than usual. Security guards are held to strict attendance and punctuality standards, and Joe wanted to maintain his meticulous record. Driving was treacherous that morning. Traveling thirty miles per hour on the deserted route, he was making decent time and feeling confident that he would arrive in time for the 5 AM shift. At the top of a small sloping hill seven miles from the airport, Joe encountered a patch of snow-covered ice. The Fit started to slip. An experienced driver, he knew not