Hey kids, actual Josh here!

So, I don’t know if you heard, but I recently had the COVID. Had it so bad that I was hospitalized for about eight days, on supplemental oxygen the entire time. For those of you that like to skip to the last page, I have been discharged and am recovering at home, but I wanted to give you one final update with the highlights (or lowlights) of what this past few weeks have been like:

• As previously stated, Laura wasn’t feeling well and got tested just to be safe. After her test came back positive, I immediately got myself tested. Tested on Tuesday, negative on the Wednesday morning, but that evening my temperature spiked to 102. For the next ten days, that’s where my fever would remain, topping off at 104. The second COVID test happened, and we all know how that one turned out.
• The morning of Thanksgiving was my first trip to the ER. Laura had purchased a pulse oximeter and didn’t like my oxygen levels, so a trip to urgent care landed me in the ER. At that point, my oxygen levels weren’t concerning the doctor, and I was told that if they continued to trend downwards to come back. 
• My levels continued to trend downwards. My appetite vanished. And I was experiencing shortness of breath merely walking around the apartment. All the while my fever continued to spike. Alternating Tylenol and Advil, there wasn’t a time when I wasn’t shivering, sweating and or even able to lay comfortably to fall asleep.
• Laura called the nurse line after my oxygen levels continued to plummet. I could barely move without sparking a coughing jag that felt like I was about to turn inside out. We went back to the ER. Laura obviously couldn’t come in, and by the time I managed to get myself to the front desk, I could barely choke out my name.
• This second time in the ER I had three nurses taking care of me almost immediately. I was placed on oxygen, but still wasn’t getting enough. After the first two “levels” of oxygen, I was placed on BiPAP machine, which is best described as a face-hugger alien that continually screamed into my mouth in an attempt to regulate my breathing. I should also point out that at this point, my anxiety was working overtime and I essentially forgot how to breathe, so my heartrate was racing. The face-hugger was the last step before having to be placed on a ventilator, which thankfully never happened. 
• Once I was in the room, my left arm was the IV arm that was loaded up with multiple IVs for various medicines, including Redemisvr and a drug trial I qualified for. Administration of these medicines lasted anywhere from 4 to 6 hours per day. My right arm is where they drew blood for my daily labs. Twice a day, I needed to get a shot in my belly to prevent blood clotting. Every morning, they gave me steroids, and as such, had to check my blood sugar levels three times a day by pricking my finger. 
• I was soon taken off the face-hugger oxygen mask, but still not out of the woods oxygen-wise. I was on 60 liters of oxygen, and that had to shrink down to zero before I could go anywhere.
• The nursing staff was incredible, extremely friendly and a huge encouragement to keep me going. One of the first nurses I had that first Sunday was a huge Vikings fan, decked out in her purple garb for the game. She was very sweet, and encouraging of my numbers and progress early-on. She kept insisting I was getting better, going to beat this and would she lie to me? I said “No, you wouldn’t lie, but you’re a Vikings fan. You’ll pretty much believe anything until the actual game happens." (It’s okay, she laughed. And at the end of her shift, she came to say bye to me because she wouldn’t be back for two weeks, and I’d be long gone by then)
• Another nurse, Char, was very sweet and very encouraging, and she’s the one that told Laura that I took direction well. The second she said that, I heard every set of eyes of every director I’ve ever worked with roll all the way to back of their head and fall out. 
• When you’re sick, the bar of what is impressive behavior is lowered back down to that of a small child, or well-behaved dog. I was complimented on being able to sit upright in a chair, or make my way to the bathroom without assistance. It may seem small, but now that I think about it, I REALLY was impressive sitting in that chair, watching eight episodes of Friends on TBS cause I left the remote on the bed. 
• My entertainment options were basic cable, so I ended up watching whatever was passable at any given hour of the day. One night the Baywatch movie was on FX. My night nurse came in and said “Hey -- this is a good movie.” I briefly considered changing nurses and possibly hospitals. 
• I never lost my sense of taste or smell. Of course, that could have also been the hospital food. 
• As stated above, I was on 60 liters of oxygen and that had to be weaned down to zero. At first, it went fast, twenty or so liters per day, but the last five liters took a bit longer, and that’s when the stir-crazy started to set-in. Due to COVID protocols, I was in my own room, completely isolated. I’d have a flurry of nurses and doctors in the morning, but there were hours upon hours of just laying there by myself. I watched Devil Wears Prada twice. (The secret to that movie is I think the director pulled every actor aside and told them they were the biggest a-hole in the movie, and then the entire movie was just one big ‘Who’s the Biggest A-hole’ contest, and everybody won.)
• During all this, my incredible wife arranged this Caring Bridge and every update you’ve seen thus far. I’ve been overwhelmed and humbled by the outpouring from all of you. Friends I see and work with daily, friends I haven’t seen in years, hell -- even the staff from certain bars. You all made this idiot feel very loved, and that I was actually “kicking Covid’s ass” by simply lying there. 

When the time finally came for me to be discharged, I had a few requests:

1. I wanted McDonalds first thing. Like, on the way home. 

2. I had Laura buy a case of Corona so I could stage a picture of me drinking a Corona, symbolizing my victory over Coronavirus. I was directly scolded by several people that that wasn’t the fluids I should be drinking. Rest assured, it was just the one beer, and it was for comedy, which supersedes health protocols at times. 

I’m still pretty run-down, and recovery probably won’t go as fast as I’d like, but I’m home. Laura made me steak last night and the dogs won’t leave my side when I’m resting. 

Laura and I both want to thank everybody for the love and support we’ve received this week, both in your comments and help with the GoFundMe. Every comment, text, or “like” on a social media post was a hug in a time when nobody can actually hug anybody. 

And with that, we’re going to put an end to this crazy damn chapter of this crazy damn week or this crazy damn year. Update through this website will stop, but I’ll still be on social media annoying you with my jokes and annoyance that Baby Yoda’s name ended up being “Grogurt” or whatever the crap. 

I’ve still got quite a ways to go, and I have to get there, because it’s only 12 more months until the next Die Hard show. I have to be ready to throw myself off the stage nightly again. 

Thank you. Love you. I have to take a nap on my side now.