'The odds were not in his favor': Texas man survives COVID-19 but pays a price

SAN ANTONIO — Albert Bañuelos could sense the darkness. In his delirium, he saw things he doesn’t like to talk about. He doesn’t want to remember. “I had to get out of there,” said Bañuelos, 43. “Your brain is on, but it’s playing a trick on you.” He contracted the delta variant of the coronavirus in early September and was admitted to Methodist Hospital Northeast in Live Oak. As he struggled to breathe, doctors placed him in a medically induced coma. Machines pumped medicine into his body. For 4½ days, Bañuelos breathed through a tube inserted into his trachea and attached to a mechanical ventilator. As the medical community warns of the omicron variant’s surge in the new year, Bañuelos and a host of other COVID-19 survivors face a long and arduous road to recovery. Doctors initially gave Bañuelos a 50/50 chance of surviving the virus, which has claimed 800,000 lives in the U.S. “It’s a scary thing,” Bañuelos said. “It’s real. I wouldn’t wish this on anybody. I just know everyone around me put up the biggest fight for me, with the prayers, family and my wife sticking by my side. It was difficult to go through that, but for the ones who have to go through it by themselves, it’s heartbreaking to think of that.” Dr. Rudolfo Garza, chief medical officer at Methodist Hospital Northeast, said Bañuelos was on a ventilator because his oxygen levels were low and there was damage to his lungs. “He was sick with COVID pneumonia,” said Garza, 52. “The fact he survived is great because the odds were not in his favor. Once a patient is on a ventilator with COVID, it’s about a 50 percent mortality rate.” Still, Bañuelos paid a price. He lost 45 pounds while hospitalized and is often too weak to do simple tasks without losing his breath. He now has to build up his atrophied muscles on a treadmill and is trying to increase oxygen intake to his lungs. His recall is foggy — blank spots have replaced treasured memories such as a child’s birth and the 2018 Super Bowl won by his favorite football team, the Philadelphia Eagles. Some days, Bañuelos grows frustrated at how much his life has changed. His printing business has been put on hold. Because he can’t work, his wife is the sole breadwinner. Garza said that before Christmas there were only 12 COVID patients at Methodist Northeast, not near as many patients as during the peak of the surge. At that time, Bañuelos was one of 85 COVID patients. “I’ve been a physician for 24 years, and I’ve never seen anything like this,” Garza said. “The closest thing I can equate it to would be the AIDS epidemic in the 1980s.” He said the average age of the people hospitalized by the original strain of the coronavirus was 60 years. With the delta variant, the average fell to 50 years. Garza said the medical staff saw many young people severely ill and dying from COVID, a sight that shook them all. 'He was going to get up' Bañuelos credits his recovery to the Northeast medical team, his wife, friends and strangers across South Texas. Each day he was in the hospital, his wife, Stephanie Bañuelos, 36, spoke to him as if he were awake. She’d tell him how the doctors and nurses were trying to save his life. She shared prayers from supporters from South Texas to El Paso. She sang him songs such as “Tell It Like It Is” by Aaron Neville — they danced to it at their wedding. “I had to make it known he was going to get up,” she said. “You’re going to get back up and out of here.” Stephanie held her husband’s hand in their Northeast Side home as she recalled the experience that upended their lives. In early September, the couple and their seven children all had the virus, verified by home COVID tests. The couple believe the variant spread when the mask ban was lifted at their 15-year-old son Jonathan’s school. They received help from an older son, Armando Lorenzo Calderon II, who came home from Louisiana State University to escape Hurricane Ida. Stephanie was fully vaccinated, but she contracted the coronavirus anyway. Bañuelos hadn’t received a shot. He was skeptical and wanted more information about vaccines. As his symptoms worsened, Stephanie drove her husband to the hospital, where he received a breathing treatment. Back home, they quarantined in different rooms. She slept on a mattress in the living room with the little ones. Her symptoms were not as bad as those of Bañuelos and his son, Albert Reignz Bañuelos, 18, who slept in the couple’s bedroom. Their conditions were the worst in the home. Bañuelos wanted to watch over Reignz and prayed for his son’s sickness to be put upon him. Then, on Sept. 6, Stephanie was startled awake when her son called her phone. “Something’s wrong with dad,” the son said. “He’s shaking and not making any sense.” Bañuelos was shivering. He mumbled that he was cold, although the room was as hot as a sauna. He said he couldn’t breathe. Stephanie drove him to a clinic on FM 78, where doctors gave him oxygen and called an ambulance to transport him to Northeast. The next morning, he was moved to the intensive care unit. Garza said Bañuelos was treated with high-dose steroids and met the criteria to receive the antiviral drug remdesivir, shown to reduce the length of illness. Bañuelos also received an infusion of tocilizumab, a form of monoclonal antibody. The drugs were administered to reduce inflammation and suppress the immune system. After three days, a pulmonologist pulled Stephanie aside and said it was time to put her husband on a ventilator. She gave Bañuelos the news that he would be intubated — if they waited too long, his body would weaken and it would be too late to save him. Medical staff arrived with computers, monitors and machines. Stephanie’s legs weakened, and Bañuelos saw the stress on her face. “It’s going to be good, babe,” he told her. Each day, she dressed head to toe in personal protective equipment: a plastic gown, two pairs of blue gloves, a mask and a visor. She added her prayers to those of well-wishers. She slept overnight in a chair during his stay. Watching her husband struggle was the hardest thing. It almost was a relief when they intubated him, and she saw his face relax and his body breathing. On the second day, Stephanie woke up to one of the medical team members they called “shining lights.” They knew him only as “Nurse Daniel.” He leaned close to Bañuelos and described the medications he was about to administer. Bañuelos shocked them when he nodded. He opened his eyes and squeezed his wife’s hand. He thought he’d been asleep for hours, but it was days. Bañuelos drifted in and out of consciousness. When awake, he asked if there was anything connected under the bed. His wife said no. He said he’d heard humming there from a woman who was weaving something feathery. She’d wave to him, and he’d feel no fear. “I went through my dark side and my angel side with everyone sending their love and prayers,” Bañuelos said. “I’ve never witnessed anything in my life like that. She was doing something for my soul — the only time I felt at peace.” Garza said delirium is “pretty common in a hospitalized patient,” adding: “It’s hard for families to see their loved one go through that.” Every night, Stephanie said, there was a code blue — signaling a medical emergency — somewhere in the unit. Awakened by the commotion, she would see the nurses’ shadows as they ran past the drawn blinds in the window to resuscitate a patient. “It would break my heart,” she said, “because their family member didn’t make it. I would pray for them.” On breaks, she’d sit outside on a bench and see families sharing memories of a loved one — often a sign someone had died. Bañuelos said that when doctors removed the tube, it was the worst thing he’d felt in his life. He craved water, but everything he drank stung his throat. Finally, ice chips provided some relief. 'I’m alive' Life changed again after Bañuelos left the hospital. During a week’s stay at a rehabilitation facility, he was in COVID isolation and couldn’t leave his room for days. His legs were skinny and weak. Bañuelos took a few steps to the bathroom, 6 feet away, and his legs buckled. A nurse had to help him across the room. When he came home, his children all helped with his recovery, especially Jonathan and Reignz, who works a 10 p.m.-to-6 a.m. shift to help Bañuelos. Reignz makes sure his dad eats. He drives his siblings to school and takes Bañuelos to medical appointments. “It was really rough,” Reignz said. “I had to maintain a positive attitude for the younger children and my mother, who was coming home and not hearing the best news. Now, it’s getting my dad back to where he was. It’s a very sensitive subject, but I feel people need to hear this side of the story. It greatly affected me and my family, and we’re still recovering from it.” Now, Bañuelos takes small strides on the treadmill in his bedroom until his breath starts to wane. He sleeps with an oxygen mask and takes a portable oxygen tank with him during the day. Garza said said Bañuelos’ story is unique because he survived and defied the odds. “I would encourage vaccination,” Garza said. “I’m not saying we didn’t see vaccinated folks die from COVID, but it was few and far between. What we saw the most of was unvaccinated folks suffering and dying from COVID.” Because of his weakened condition, Bañuelos must wait to get his shot. After his harrowing experience, he said, he understands that getting the vaccine is a step everyone can take to conquer the virus. “I’ve made my choice,” Bañuelos said. “I’m going to go get it. I’m alive.” vtdavis@express-news.net

'The odds were not in his favor': Texas man survives COVID-19 but pays a price

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