I think I have it

Lilacs on the fence

It took me awhile to find a picture to open this post, since I sure didn't want to put a picture of the coronavirus that we have seen everywhere, constantly. I found this picture of lilacs, taken a few years ago, and when I compared it with the same date this year, it shows how far behind our plants are. That's what happens when you have a very cold March, which we did. Right now the same scene looks like this:

Lilacs this year

However, it looks like we should have a bit warmer weather in the near future, which makes me very happy. I haven't felt much like getting out since I took that lovely walk on Thursday. I've been very tired and suffering from what I fear might be a case of the Covid. Last week I wrote about how my hubby started exhibiting signs, and although he still has the cough, he's feeling much better. However, I developed the cough and fatigue and have felt really under the weather, with little to no desire to do much else than sit in my easy chair and binge-watch a series or two.

My symptoms have been mild enough that I haven't felt the need to call the doctor, and I won't unless I start getting shortness of breath. Neither of us have had that worrisome symptom. A sore throat comes and goes, body aches are in the background but go away after a good night's sleep. I am not sure whether or not I've had a low-grade fever, because our thermometer is unreliable, and it's impossible to buy one anywhere. I've watched Chris Cuomo battle the virus on his show, and it makes me wonder if I really do have it. I'm nowhere near as sick as he has been. And I think I'm getting better as the days go by.

Part of the horror of this disease is the uncertainty we are all feeling. Our lives are on hold, everyone is hunkered down and just trying to get through this period intact. My lifeline, other than my dear partner (who felt well enough yesterday to shop for some groceries) is a connection with friends through the phone, FaceTime, and blogs. Seeing how others are coping has been a great help.

When I was in my thirties, my father had a severe heart attack and ended up in the hospital. He was in Texas, and I flew back home to see him during the three days he was in the hospital before he died. That was in the days before we even knew about advance directives, letting others know ahead of time what kind of care we want, in case we cannot speak for ourselves. After all of his children had seen him, the doctors decided to put him on a ventilator, since his lungs were filling with fluid because of his weakened heart. Had I known then what I know now, I would have tried to stop the procedure. It only made him live for a few more hours, and getting on a ventilator for any reason is no picnic.

I found this article on the New York Times, which I read through twice before deciding to put it here. I think you can get it, since they have opened up their pay wall to allow people to get all the information about the pandemic. It's entitled "What You Should Know Before You Need a Ventilator." It's written by a doctor who wishes she could have talked to these patients before they were put into an induced coma before going on the ventilator. You may know that I worked for the Whatcom Alliance for Health Advancement for four years, helping people to write their Advance Directives for what they wish to have happen, if they are unable to speak for themselves in their final days.

I have written one, twice now, and it's on file at the hospital. My family knows that I have decided not to have any heroic procedures if I should get very sick and can't speak for myself. That means no ventilator, don't resuscitate me, just let me go. I went through quite a bit of training to become a facilitator, and I learned a great deal from my clients over the years. I feel very fortunate to have lived such a long and varied life, and who knows how much more time I will have to enjoy on this planet? No one does, and many of our loved ones who are going through this period, watching the terrifying numbers of people dying of the virus, hoping that we will make it through, along with our loved ones.

The main thing to remember is that the vast majority of the people who contract the virus make it through unscathed. Eighty percent, to be exact. And of those who are sick enough to be hospitalized, only a small percentage of them end up on a ventilator. And only a very tiny percentage of those people ever recover. Read the article and think about it for yourself.

In the midst of all this, there are little moments of grace and hope. So many people have been so kind to one another. I keep reading about stories of kindness and allowing unbidden tears to flow. Today's editorial on the Times listed some of them, which I share here:

Behind each of those statistics are untold stories of compassion and sacrifice and heroism that may never be fully recorded. But we do know some: Dr. Mary Krebs, a middle-aged family physician in a farming community outside Dayton, who treated her patients via telemedicine from her own bed even as she battled fever, shortness of breath and a dry cough — telltale signs of coronavirus infection. The Dogfish Head brewery, which stopped making suds and is now turning out half-gallon growlers of hand sanitizer. Mario Salerno, a New York landlord, who said he would not collect rent from his 80 apartments this month, to alleviate stress on his financially struggling tenants. The 29 health care workers who flew from Atlanta to New York City last month as New York began to buckle under the weight of the pandemic. They posed for a photo that went viral, each holding aloft their fingers in the shape of a heart.

This morning, as I finish this post, I am hoping that when we meet again next week we will have been through the worst of the fire and can begin to find a life after Covid. But if not next week, then the one after. Next Sunday is Easter, and there will be no Easter egg hunts, no church services (in person, anyway), but we know that we will get through this, with a little help from our friends and God. And I hope to be able to relate my own journey through. Be well until then, dear readers.