This week, we conclude our final Stories of COVID-19 series with two stories about the lasting impacts of the pandemic. Both of these stories ask: Where do we go from here?

Part 1: Months after Howard Lieberman contracts COVID-19 on a business trip in March 2020, he continues to suffer from symptoms of the virus.

Nationally known storyteller Howard Lieberman moved from Brooklyn to bucolic but shockingly Republican Stillwater MN in 1990. His jaded yet surprisingly tender performance style has made him a favorite on the national and, thanks to Zoom, global storytelling scene. Howard is a member of the Board of Directors of the National Storytelling Network.

Part 2: When Monica Hickson drops off her fiancé, who has been suffering from shortness of breath, at the hospital, she doesn’t know it’s the last time she’ll see him alive.

Monica Hickson is a trainer, higher education educator, an instructional designer, and a Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion facilitator with more than 20 years experience. She works for the University of Michigan as an instructional designer and DEI educator. She is a proud graduate of both Wayne State University as well as Central Michigan University where she obtained both a Bachelor’s Degree in Journalism and a Master’s Degree in Education. Monica loved to dance, listen to music, travel the Caribbean, and watch television until, that is, her fiancé died of Covid-19 in April...here is her story.

Story Transcripts

Story 1: Howard Lieberman

I don't know why or when I became Dr. Leiberman. I'm not really a doctor and I don't play one on TV, but ever since I was a young child people have referred to me as Dr. Leiberman and friends, relatives, neighbors, strangers sometimes at the coffee shop will say, “Howard, this is what I'm feeling. What's wrong with me?”

And rather than send them to a real licensed doctor, I tell them and I offer my advice. However, Dr. Leiberman isn't always right.

It's March 2019. I'm asked to go on one more business trip. COVID— scratch.

It's March 2020. I'm starting to hear about COVID, this new disease that's spreading and I don't know much about it. But being Dr. Leiberman I read up about it, so when people ask me I'll know what to say.

I was asked to go on one more business trip from Minneapolis to Kansas City to interview someone for a position. I don't remember what the position was. I thought I could drive. I thought I could fly. I thought I could say no because, you know what, there's a pandemic brewing. I said yes.

I decided to fly because, what is it? An hour and 20 minutes most from Minneapolis to Kansas City. I flew there. We had a meeting. It was the right person for what we were looking to do. It was a beautiful kind of urban hotel. It's one of those hotels that look really chic, not very comfortable but it's just very urban.

We touched elbows, we made jokes, we had dinner together, made jokes. The next morning, I overslept and decided to just throw on clothes, take an Uber and get to the airport.

I got to the airport and I was really, really hungry. I was starving. So I saw a Burger King. Now, I wouldn't normally get Burger King because I'm kind of a food freak, but the Kansas City Airport has these little pods and you can only have what's in your pod, more or less.

So I said, “Oh, hell.” They've got that almost-burger, or whatever they call it. They're not really a meat burger and I ordered one of those. A Whopper that's not really meat prepared by a woman who wasn't masked and who was looking a little sweaty, shall we say.

Then I walked over to the Starbucks, got a cold brew from a woman who was not masked and she didn't look all that healthy either, to be honest.

I ate about half the burger, drank all the coffee because coffee is more important than food, right? Got on the airplane, flew home and said easy-peasy. See? No big deal.

Until about six days later. I started to feel sick. Upper respiratory distress, a fever, something I never have. I hadn't had a fever as an adult, ever. Shortness of breath. Just a lot of issues. So my wife finally convinced me to go to urgent care.

To me, urgent care is to healthcare as Burger King is to food. If you have to, you have to, but just avoid it.

I went to urgent care. I started to describe my symptoms and I asked the physician's assistant could I be tested for COVID. And she said, in a not very nice way, “No. Who do you think you are?”

Now, if this is in New York, where I used to live, she would have said, “Fuck, no. Sit down and shut up.”

Well, my New York, my Brooklyn came out. I leapt up and got into her face and said, “Who the fuck are you? I need a COVID test.”

At that point my wife grabbed me by the back of the shirt, pulled me back and said, “Sit down. Let her handle it.”

I did. She tested me to find out whether I had a blood clot in my leg. Well, I didn't. And Dr. Leiberman knew he didn't but I let them go through these motions.

And then they said, “We want to send you to the local emergency room,” which, by the way, is right out there across the street from my bedroom.

I said, “Why?”

“They want to run a couple of more tests.”

“Okay,” I say.

I go to the emergency room at a hospital I hate. I said, “These are my symptoms. Can I please have a COVID test?”

And they, in their very Minnesota way said, “Oh, geez, no. You don't really qualify for that.” I started to get irate. My wife told me to shut up and sit down. I did. They ran tests. No, I wasn't having a heart attack, and, no, I did not have a blood clot. They sent me home.

Days went by. I got sicker and sicker and sicker, and being Dr. Leiberman I went online and I had every symptom of COVID, including a loss of smell and loss of taste. Next, the phrase ‘COVID symptoms’ in a medical book, you could have seen my picture.

About a month later I'm still sick. I call the Mayo Clinic, ‘the’ Mayo Clinic. Those people. They said, “Well, sure. Why don't you get a COVID test?”

So I got in the car and drove an hour and a half to a mail facility to get tested. My test came back inconclusive.

I called the Mayo line and they said, “It was inconclusive,” and I said, “What does that mean?” I said, “You can use technical jargon. I know more than the average civilian.”

They said, “Well, you probably waited too long to get tested. The virus is hiding somewhere maybe in your lungs and the test was a waste of your time.” And that was that.

The symptoms got worse. They eventually began to taper off after about a month-and-a-half, and then of course began what's known as long haul. You feel good for a week. You get up. You start walking around. You start doing the things you like to do. The next thing you know, bam. You're back in bed. That went on and off and on and off for about nine months.

I finally went down to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester and met with the head of the executive physical department, which is a fancy way of saying I saw a doctor. He said, “Well, you definitely have had a virus, very similar to or exactly the COVID virus. But it's been so long, Howard. We can't really tell. We think you've just wasted too much time trying to figure this out yourself. You're not a doctor.”

And I tried to protest. I tried to say, “Look, what can I do? I tried to get help.”

Well, that went on and on and on and, eventually, it began to recede. I began to feel normal. I began to do normal things. And then I would get sick and I'd go back to bed. And it would be on and on like that forever. I mean, today, I feel like crap today. Maybe I've got a migraine. I don't know.

Then, okay, I didn't die. I didn't die and maybe that's a good thing. There are people who wish I had died but I don't really like them anyway. So they said, well, I should probably get vaccinated.

I called around to see if I could get vaccinated and this time, this time I was smart. I started with the Mayo Clinic first, and they said no. I said, “What do you mean no?” I said, “I'm over 70. I've got all these underlying conditions and I'm neurotic and everything else.”

And they said, “No. We have to first take care of healthcare workers, people in senior homes or people who are even older than you. We’ll be in touch with you eventually.”

And all around me people were getting vaccines. We had a lottery here in Minnesota. 230,000 people for 8,000 shots. Not good odds. My wife and I both put our names in. She was chosen, I was not.

Dr. Leiberman said, “Go. I'll handle this my own way.”

Eventually, I woke up one morning at 6:00 a.m. I called a Walmart store an hour and ten minutes south of my house. And they said, “We have a shot for you tomorrow morning at 9:00 a.m. if you can make it. If not, we don't have another opening for three months.”

I went. I didn't feel good that morning, but I went. Because people have been asking, “Dr. Leiberman, should I get this vaccine? Is it going to put bots in my body? Is it going to allow the government to track me? Will it cause me to have birth defects?”

I said, “You're not pregnant and you're a man. No, it won't cause any birth defects whatsoever.” So I had to go take the vaccine.

Trying to find a vaccine was more difficult than trying to get tested for COVID. There just weren't options. I still haven't heard from the Mayo Clinic yet.

I got my first vaccine. I got my second vaccine. In fact, I got my second vaccine on April 1st, April Fool’s Day. By that evening, I was sick as a dog, and that continued and that continued and that continued. I felt sicker than when I had COVID, and that's dissipated now.

So now people say, “Howard, what should I do? I hear all these bad things about the vaccine.”

Even though I'm not really a doctor, and do not play one on TV, I have no medical training whatsoever. I have a law degree. I have a graduate degree in economics, but I don't really know anything about medicine or healthcare. I feel obligated to tell people, “Get a vaccine. We'll never ever. We'll never ever, ever get over this if we don't get almost everyone vaccinated.”

Now, I'm a specialist. I'm a specialist in COVID. I'm a specialist in what the disease feels like. I'm a specialist in what long haul feels like. Long haul feels like you're never going to recover. You wake up and suddenly you can't breathe. You wake up and you're a little dizzy. You wake up and you feel a sense of despair.

And when you talk to real doctors, not me, but real doctors, about long haul, they look at you like they look at women who talk about chronic fatigue syndrome. Like it's all in your head. Just get over it. But you know, I don't care what those doctors say. Dr. Leiberman knows that COVID, COVID long haul and reactions to the vaccination are very real.

So I guess I'd like to leave you with this thought. If you're confused about COVID, if you're confused about the vaccine, you can call Dr. Leiberman. I don't care about what kind of health insurance you have. I'll give you my learned advice every time.

Story 2: Monica Hickson

December 31st 2019. Five, four, three, two, one, Happy New Year! The beginning of a new year. The beginning of a new decade. 2020 had finally begun.

My son and my fiancé were standing in the living room as we watched the ball drop for a new year. We had just built the home two years prior. So we were staring into the television screen in front of the fireplace where we all held either a piece of chocolate or a cup of eggnog. We were optimistic and hopeful.

This was the year my fiancé was turning 60. My son was graduating from high school and he was turning 18. And I had a big 50th birthday and a family trip with over 30 people involved, one of our first.

It was a magical time. January was cold, as it always usually is in Michigan, so many things were happening. In February, we decided to go car shopping for my son for his very first car. David, my fiancé, always wanted the best for my son and he said that he deserved it because he was a straight A student. David spoiled my son. David loved my son in his own way. Sometimes he was a little harsh but he always made him feel special. David always said I was too hard on him.

You see, David was a sweet and gentle man, such a gentle soul. He once said he wanted to be one of the nicest, kindest persons in the world. I always referred to David as a gentle soul or gentle giant since he was 5’ 10” and roughly 225 pounds. He smiled all the time and with the little mysterious boyish grin. He was always mystical in his way of speaking.

David and I not only wanted to support the kids and our family but my son as well. In early March, we all attended my 17-year-old cousin's basketball game. He was always there to root for the kids. I was always the proud mom. Of course I didn't have the mom genes but I was always a proud mom nevertheless.

In March 17th, David had a little tickle in his throat and I assumed it was due to allergies. He later said he had a little sore throat. Nothing to worry about. And then he developed a cough later on. By the end of the week, I thought it would be best if we went to urgent care because I wasn't really sure if it was allergies or something else. At this time, there was a novel virus going around so I wanted to make sure that he did not have it.

So on a Saturday, I decided to drop him off. I wanted to pull up at the door and he said, “No, I can walk.” I'm like, “I could walk as well,” so I parked. I noticed other people sitting in their parked cars and I was kind of curious why they were still in their cars.

We jumped out, went in and I was immediately told that, after, I can just go right back to the car and wait on David, so I did.

About 25 minutes or so later, he came out and he said enthusiastically, “Well, I don't have the flu.”

So I looked at him and I said, “High five. That means you have COVID. And you're going to be one of the first survivors of COVID and live to talk about it.”

And he looked at me with a glare in his eye and he said, “If I survive.”

I didn't think anything of it because he always used to joke and have this pity party with me all the time.

We drove to Target. I said, “I can drop you off, if you like?”

He's like, “No, I'm going to ride to Target with you,” so I figured he was optimistic and in good health and good shape, even though he still had a temperature.

In the next couple of days or so the temperature rose to 104 degrees and I decided that he needed to go back to the doctor's office. So that Thursday I said, “You know what? You have to promise me that you're going to go.”

He said, “If I don't feel better, I will go tomorrow,” as he struggled for air. His breathing had really shortened, dissipated, hard. It's hard for him to gasp any air.

And I said, “I can call emergency,” as he laughed and struggled to say, “No, I'll be okay,” but he wasn't.

That next morning, he did as he promised. He did wake up. I was sleeping by this time in the guest bedroom because I did not want to catch his illness. He woke me up with a cough. I went into our bedroom and into the restroom where he was standing trying to shave as he was coughing and gasping for air. I finally took him to the doctor after about 20 minutes of getting prepared to leave.

At this point there were tents set up outside of the hospital and all I can do is pull up to the curb. And when I pulled up to the curb, two nurses came with a wheelchair and I just whispered, “Coronavirus.” They immediately got him into the wheelchair not before he fell up against my car, and I was worried.

He finally got into the wheelchair and they whisked him off. All I could see was the back of his hair. The salt and pepper hair that he had laid gently upon his neck. He was gone within a second.

And the nurse, I remember her saying, “This is where you say goodbye.” And we both kind of gasped like, “No. See you later.” Those would be the last words I ever uttered to David.

During the course of the summer, I attempted to go back to work after about three weeks, which I think was a bad idea. Throughout the summer there was a lot going on, not just with COVID and over thousands of people dying, but also a lot of issues such as poverty, social justice, police brutality. And me as an African-American woman having to endure that and the loss of my loved one really took a toll on my mental health.

So in August, I went to the doctor and I happened to mention to my doctor, “I'm having a little difficulty trying to focus. I don't know what's wrong with me. I cry every day but I understand. Because of course I lost someone, so that's natural, right?

She later diagnosed me with depression and PTSD. “What? You're kidding! No way!” I wasn't in a war. I wasn't in a traumatic situation. What are you talking about? There's no way I could have PTSD.

I trusted her up until that point and then I thought about it. Every time someone mentions the word ‘COVID’, ‘coronavirus’, ‘masks’, I would cringe at the sounds. I would cringe when I saw people in the grocery store with gloves on and masks and looking so pathetic. And I too felt it. All I could do was run back home to my safety.

But was it safe? As soon as I walked in the door all I could see was David, even though he was not there.

2020 was supposed to be the best year of my life. It ended up being the worst year of my life. Goodbye 2020. Please don't ever come again.