The Worst Turn of Events: Calling 119 While Dying, Only to Recover Before They Arrive

This is a story about a 48-year-old man who became unable to walk due to long COVID, and how he
somehow managed to find laughter in the middle of a hard-mode life.
I hope this will be read by those who want to laugh a little and catch their breath, even in difficult situations.

One day, an hour after my wife went out, I ended up calling an ambulance.

In January 2022, I caught COVID and developed long COVID.
So, I took a leave of absence.
And then, my wife burned out.

Long COVID involves fatigue, weakness, dizziness... oh, it's hard to explain and difficult for others to understand. There are about 200 symptoms, and it's just plain tough.

My punk-spirited (not in appearance, but in heart) wife burned out from the sudden increase in burden, and she became physically and mentally exhausted. So, while I was recuperating at my parents' house, she was able to get her feelings and physical condition back in order. We returned to our apartment in two weeks.

Even though my wife was ready, the burden of daily life remained the same.
She had to handle everything: preparing meals for me, the former breadwinner who had become a useless freeloader who didn't go anywhere or do any housework, as well as the three daily walks for our hyper-sensitive dog Pinko (then 13 years old, female) and all the daily chores. She was running at full capacity.

So, during any time other than those tasks, I spent my days on the edge, just sleeping to conserve and recharge my energy.

Right now, our household is being run by my wife alone.

To be honest, it wasn't my fault that I caught COVID or that I developed long COVID. But I felt so sorry for my wife that, at one point, I asked if there was anything I could do to show my appreciation for her hard work.

She said, "When you get better, I want to go on a trip to Hokkaido. I'd love a trip where we drive around for about a week and stay at a different inn every night."

What, that sounds fun!
We went to Hokkaido together before we got married. My wife loves the vast nature and delicious food of Hokkaido. Alright, let's go to Hokkaido when I get better! A different inn every night... I'm getting excited! Let's definitely go!

Our household fights through each day, waiting impatiently for that reward trip.

Contrary to our hopes, even after a month or two, there was no change in my symptoms.
If I were getting even a little better, I could feel hope and keep my motivation up, but having no change is tough.

The wife who takes care of me is also just accumulating fatigue.

So, I suggested that my wife take a drive by herself to blow off some steam.
I wanted her to get some fresh air and have some free time. Since she had to walk Pinko in the evening, it would only be for a few hours, but I really wanted her to have some time to refresh herself.

My wife seemed happy to accept the suggestion.
As a travel lover, my wife also likes to make plans when she goes out. She has pins dropped all over Google Maps for places she wants to visit. Speaking of Google Maps, one of my wife's hobbies is finding large mansions from a god's-eye view and snooping around them. And since my wife also has the special skill of being prone to delusions, she must have come up with various plans for those few hours of free time. I wanted to ask her in detail where she was going, but I held back.

On the day my wife went out alone for the first time in a while, I sent her off by saying, "Go eat something delicious."

That's when the incident happened.

About an hour after my wife left, my stomach started to hurt.
Long COVID is an unknown disease. It's not rare for sudden, unexplained ailments to occur. I don't really know what it is, but I'll take some Seirogan just in case. Still, it's pretty painful. I tried going to the bathroom for now. That wasn't it. It wasn't that kind of problem. My body started shaking. It wouldn't stop at all. This might be a first. I have a feeling something bad is happening.

I hesitated to contact my wife while she was having her free time.
Even if she came back, it wouldn't make me better.
And I didn't even know if she was in a place where she could return quickly.

The pain became extraordinary. This might be a major emergency. Just in case something happens, I should share the information.

I call my wife. But she doesn't answer.
Send message
My stomach hurts, please come home early if you can.

My symptoms are worsening by the minute.

I call my wife. She doesn't answer.
Send message
Please contact me.

I'm starting to break out in a cold sweat, and the pain is increasing rapidly.

I call my wife. She doesn't answer.

My whole body is starting to go numb, and my vision is flickering.

I call my wife. She doesn't answer.
Send message
I want to call an ambulance.

Pinko can't be left alone for long periods, and she panics when strangers come over, so I'm in a situation where I can't call one even if I want to.

My consciousness is fading.

I call. No answer.
I call. No answer.
I call. No answer.

This is bad.
My fingers are cramping, my hand won't open, and my body is stiffening.
I can tell I'm turning pale.

Finally, I can't even hold my smartphone anymore.

I can't take it anymore. I manage to dial 119 with my fingertips.

Send message
I called an ambulance.
Please take care of Pinko.

It was my first time making an emergency call, and despite the pain, I desperately tried to explain the situation.
I wanted them to come as quickly as possible, so I skipped the complicated and confusing explanation about having long COVID symptoms—which they might not understand anyway—and managed to squeeze out the words while enduring the pain, trying to be as concise as possible.

The siren is getting closer. Though, it's coming from a large hospital just a four or five-minute walk from my house. I felt bad that they were so close.

Huh?

Wait a minute.

...

No way.

The pain is subsiding.
As if the rough waves that were crashing over me were all a lie.

Why did I do this? I called an ambulance.
I've seen news reports about people who call them on a whim and cause trouble. Especially during a time when medical resources are already stretched thin.

Oh no. I don't feel any pain at all anymore.
I can stand up just fine. Are they going to be incredibly angry with me?
Just a moment ago, I was on the sofa, clutching a cushion to my stomach, groaning, trembling in fear as my body stiffened, drenched in cold sweat, and looking like it was the end of the world.

Is there any proof that I was actually suffering?
Will they believe me if I show them the slightly damp cushion?

The intercom for my apartment rings from the building entrance.

“Emergency services! Is this the residence of Mr. XX?”
“...Yes, it is. Please, come in.”

I can answer normally. I'm sure the paramedics didn't think I was the patient.

I wait by the open front door. The sight of the paramedics rushing down the narrow hallway approaches my home.

Their expressions, focused on not wasting a single second, cause me a different kind of pain in my stomach.

“Where is the patient!?”
Before they can even ask,
“It's me.”
I say, with a completely calm expression now that the pain has vanished. Strike first, win first.

“...Oh, can you move?”
they ask me, as I stand there perfectly upright.

“I'll go grab a jacket.”
Now completely composed, I realized I was wearing a yellowed, frayed Hanes T-shirt I'd had for five or six years and shorts, and I thought that even for a hospital, this outfit was embarrassing. I made sure to grab my wallet and phone, and reappeared in front of the paramedics wearing a jacket, as if I were just heading to a convenience store. During all this, Pinko was calm for some reason, not even barking. I left her a long-lasting treat and told her I'd be right back.

I told the paramedics the truth.
“Um, things have really calmed down...”
I'm sure they have; they can see that for themselves.

Still, I want to go to the hospital. I was in such intense pain earlier. That wave might come back. The paramedics are prepared for that, so they gesture for me to get on the stretcher.

“Can you get on?”
“Yes, I can.”

It wasn't a wheeled stretcher, but a folding one made of just cloth and poles. I lay down on it myself and was carried out. Going down the stairs. Swaying back and forth. It's a little scary. The fact that I feel scared must mean I'm in a normal state and not suffering. If it were a real emergency, I wouldn't have the capacity to feel that way.

While being carried,
“I'm sorry about this,”
I couldn't help but blurt out, but the paramedic didn't react. Did they ignore me, or did they just not hear me?

A few onlookers had gathered at the apartment entrance. They were outsiders, curious about who from which room was being carried out, what happened, and why. Fortunately, I didn't know any of them.

I made sure to look pained only while passing by them.
Are you satisfied now?
Or was it a disappointment?

This is bad... my twisted personality came out at a time like this.

My first time in an ambulance; the inside looks just like it does on TV. We arrived at the hospital in about two minutes. The paramedic explained the situation to the doctor at the emergency center.

They seemed to judge that it wasn't an emergency, so I was moved to a stretcher and taken to a single-person space partitioned by curtains. Since it's an emergency center, it's busy all around. Voices of intense exchanges are flying back and forth. The patient in the next partitioned space is having quite a heated argument with a nurse. Judging by the voice, I'd guess he's an old man near 80, but he sounds very energetic, shouting things like, 'I'm telling you it hurts, damn it!' Maybe they are categorized... perhaps this single-person curtain space I'm in is the 'not urgent, so please just stay somewhere out of the way' category.

In the end, they drew blood and concluded it was likely caused by an electrolyte deficiency. Electrolyte deficiency?! Even though I was in so much pain I almost lost my mind? I suspected this doctor, who looked like a resident, was just giving me a random diagnosis, but after an IV drip, the electrolytes were replenished and I calmed down. I'm such a troublemaker.

Meanwhile... my wife noticed her smartphone.
She had been driving the whole time, so it seems she noticed late.

She was shocked by the massive number of missed calls and terrified by the messages with minimal characters.
She made a hurried U-turn.

I heard later that she came home crying.

Well, of course she did.
All that came across from the smartphone was a sense of impending death, and she couldn't reach me (I couldn't answer because I was at the hospital).

Instead of a relaxing drive, I made her go on a drive where she had to keep holding her breath.

The one who took the most damage from this incident wasn't me.
I recovered with an IV, but my wife didn't recover for a while.
But our daily lives continue on without stopping.

It's not my 'Daisakkai' (period of bad luck) yet.
By the way, I haven't checked my wife's Daisakkai yet.

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Thank you for reading until the end.
If you'd like, please check out these articles too.

▼ Click here if you found this story interesting

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▼ Click here for the COVID-19 sequelae series
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