Item
Monday night musings
Title (Dublin Core)
Monday night musings
Description (Dublin Core)
Thoughts of someone living in the COVID era
Date (Dublin Core)
Creator (Dublin Core)
Contributor (Dublin Core)
Type (Dublin Core)
Text
Controlled Vocabulary (Dublin Core)
Curator's Tags (Omeka Classic)
Date Submitted (Dublin Core)
04/06/2020
Date Modified (Dublin Core)
10/09/2020
10/06/2021
Date Created (Dublin Core)
04/06/2020
Text (Omeka Classic)
All of the following is completely factual to the best of my knowledge. However, I ask that you respect my desire to remain anonymous and not attempt to associate these facts with any particular family.
Spring came early this year. My mother, who already doesn't appreciate living in a hot climate, keeps complaining that it's getting hot too early. She says "It's never this hot in March!" I don't remember, I tell her. Maybe she's right. She says she has a clearer memory of all the years we've lived here than I do.
Well, since all the years we've lived here are the years since I was born, I have to concur.
I have a heart procedure scheduled for the beginning of March. It's a routine procedure, they told me--a catheter ablation, for a heart arrhythmia--basically my heart doesn't keep good time. My heart doctor says it's a problem. I trust him. He's very conscientious and honest, two important traits for a doctor. I should know since I've been to so many. I'm a little nervous as they wheel me into the operating room, all kinds of stickers and sensors stuck all over me (I was still finding them and pulling them off myself days after the procedure). I wonder if all the technicians and doctors and who knows who else working in the operating room are surprised at how young I am. They don't say so if they are. I'm looking for my heart doctor's face among the handful of strange faces, but I don't see him. I guess he doesn't come in until they have me completely set up for the procedure. Still, I wish I could see one familiar face. The guy who wheels me in makes a joke. That makes me feel a little better.
I wake up with a mild ache in my chest and the sound of a miraculously steady heart rate beeping through the machines.
I make a follow up appointment for two weeks later. Meanwhile, I rest at home, taking a few days off work. I'm tired but my heart seems better. After another few days, though, I get a call from a number I don't recognize. On a whim, I answer the phone. It's my doctor on the other end - which feels like a small miracle, since that voice only exists to me behind a number of forms and questions and assistants and waiting rooms and credit cards. He asks me how I'm feeling and explains that they have to cancel my follow-up appointment because of the virus.
It's a good thing I'm feeling okay, I guess.
I think I was probably one of the last elective procedures they must have done.
On to the next problem, as always. My stomach acid hasn't seem to want to stay inside of my stomach lately. I've always taken medicine for that, too--but when it suddenly gets about ten times worse, it tends to arrest my attention. I suspect that a reaction to another medication may be the culprit, but I have no proof. I wonder if it will be possible to get an appointment with either a stomach doctor or any of the doctors who have prescribed my other medications. Likely not, I suppose. I double and quadruple my acid suppressing medication and severely curtail my diet. I'm eating about six different foods total right now, and losing weight steadily, although thankfully I had a bit to spare. Still, I wonder how long I can last. And I'm still in pain.
Work is taking a spring break (I work in education) but pretty soon it's clear that we won't be coming back in the same form. We set up online meetings (using Zoom) between teachers and administrators, trying to figure out how to immediately move everything online. I think about my kids - that is, my students. I don't have any children of my own, but my students are always "my kids". I wonder how they are feeling right now. I wonder if they're scared. These kids are not your average students; they're smart, and kind, and optimistic, mostly. Sometimes I feel like they're smarter than I am. They had to grow up in a different world - and now it's even more different. What will this pandemic tell them about how the world is? About their own futures?
My sister lives in China. She says everyone there is kind of angry that the rest of the world didn't take this seriously enough. In her town, as soon as they knew the virus was spreading significantly, everybody stayed indoors for weeks on end. They didn't need the government to tell them to do anything. It was their duty to society.
It strikes me more forcefully now that China is one of the oldest civilizations on the planet. What were we doing when China was creating its first great inventions? Tribal warfare, probably. I don't know much history, but I think Roman civilization and Christianity are what made Europe (and, by extension, my ancestors) into any sort of society. On the other hand, China made theirs from scratch.
We aren't so special.
Two of my friends test positive for the coronavirus. Well, they're more my dad's friends, really. But they came over to our house quite recently. So the reality is, any of us could have been exposed. It's quite possible that I have it at this very moment. I'm not particularly worried for my own sake. I've already resigned myself to the fact that my life might be quite short, or quite unpleasant. The trick is really to find the beauty even in the midst of the unpleasantness. I feel bad for my friends, though. They're at home. One has a fever and the other just feels really weak. We hope and pray that their bodies will be strong enough to fight off the disease.
I don't want to pass this disease on to anyone if I can help it.
My sister is sending me messages now, so I will just say this. If anything, this disease has reminded me what I already knew so well: that life is unpredictable. That plans fail. That you get stuck with the short end of the stick a lot of the time. That people aren't always reliable. More than ever before, I feel that my life won't necessarily be a long one. But at the same time, all of those things only serve to make me more thankful for this very moment. This moment, and this moment only, is a chance to live and be kind and appreciate the beauty around us.
Don't miss it.
Spring came early this year. My mother, who already doesn't appreciate living in a hot climate, keeps complaining that it's getting hot too early. She says "It's never this hot in March!" I don't remember, I tell her. Maybe she's right. She says she has a clearer memory of all the years we've lived here than I do.
Well, since all the years we've lived here are the years since I was born, I have to concur.
I have a heart procedure scheduled for the beginning of March. It's a routine procedure, they told me--a catheter ablation, for a heart arrhythmia--basically my heart doesn't keep good time. My heart doctor says it's a problem. I trust him. He's very conscientious and honest, two important traits for a doctor. I should know since I've been to so many. I'm a little nervous as they wheel me into the operating room, all kinds of stickers and sensors stuck all over me (I was still finding them and pulling them off myself days after the procedure). I wonder if all the technicians and doctors and who knows who else working in the operating room are surprised at how young I am. They don't say so if they are. I'm looking for my heart doctor's face among the handful of strange faces, but I don't see him. I guess he doesn't come in until they have me completely set up for the procedure. Still, I wish I could see one familiar face. The guy who wheels me in makes a joke. That makes me feel a little better.
I wake up with a mild ache in my chest and the sound of a miraculously steady heart rate beeping through the machines.
I make a follow up appointment for two weeks later. Meanwhile, I rest at home, taking a few days off work. I'm tired but my heart seems better. After another few days, though, I get a call from a number I don't recognize. On a whim, I answer the phone. It's my doctor on the other end - which feels like a small miracle, since that voice only exists to me behind a number of forms and questions and assistants and waiting rooms and credit cards. He asks me how I'm feeling and explains that they have to cancel my follow-up appointment because of the virus.
It's a good thing I'm feeling okay, I guess.
I think I was probably one of the last elective procedures they must have done.
On to the next problem, as always. My stomach acid hasn't seem to want to stay inside of my stomach lately. I've always taken medicine for that, too--but when it suddenly gets about ten times worse, it tends to arrest my attention. I suspect that a reaction to another medication may be the culprit, but I have no proof. I wonder if it will be possible to get an appointment with either a stomach doctor or any of the doctors who have prescribed my other medications. Likely not, I suppose. I double and quadruple my acid suppressing medication and severely curtail my diet. I'm eating about six different foods total right now, and losing weight steadily, although thankfully I had a bit to spare. Still, I wonder how long I can last. And I'm still in pain.
Work is taking a spring break (I work in education) but pretty soon it's clear that we won't be coming back in the same form. We set up online meetings (using Zoom) between teachers and administrators, trying to figure out how to immediately move everything online. I think about my kids - that is, my students. I don't have any children of my own, but my students are always "my kids". I wonder how they are feeling right now. I wonder if they're scared. These kids are not your average students; they're smart, and kind, and optimistic, mostly. Sometimes I feel like they're smarter than I am. They had to grow up in a different world - and now it's even more different. What will this pandemic tell them about how the world is? About their own futures?
My sister lives in China. She says everyone there is kind of angry that the rest of the world didn't take this seriously enough. In her town, as soon as they knew the virus was spreading significantly, everybody stayed indoors for weeks on end. They didn't need the government to tell them to do anything. It was their duty to society.
It strikes me more forcefully now that China is one of the oldest civilizations on the planet. What were we doing when China was creating its first great inventions? Tribal warfare, probably. I don't know much history, but I think Roman civilization and Christianity are what made Europe (and, by extension, my ancestors) into any sort of society. On the other hand, China made theirs from scratch.
We aren't so special.
Two of my friends test positive for the coronavirus. Well, they're more my dad's friends, really. But they came over to our house quite recently. So the reality is, any of us could have been exposed. It's quite possible that I have it at this very moment. I'm not particularly worried for my own sake. I've already resigned myself to the fact that my life might be quite short, or quite unpleasant. The trick is really to find the beauty even in the midst of the unpleasantness. I feel bad for my friends, though. They're at home. One has a fever and the other just feels really weak. We hope and pray that their bodies will be strong enough to fight off the disease.
I don't want to pass this disease on to anyone if I can help it.
My sister is sending me messages now, so I will just say this. If anything, this disease has reminded me what I already knew so well: that life is unpredictable. That plans fail. That you get stuck with the short end of the stick a lot of the time. That people aren't always reliable. More than ever before, I feel that my life won't necessarily be a long one. But at the same time, all of those things only serve to make me more thankful for this very moment. This moment, and this moment only, is a chance to live and be kind and appreciate the beauty around us.
Don't miss it.
Accrual Method (Dublin Core)
1200