So hello to all you wonderful readers. I think I may have reached double digits in readership by now. 🙂 I hope you are all well and safe. I’ve become so bored by being quarantined that I’ve resorted to writing. It requires less energy than ripping apart the black hole formally known as my office to find my wayward Kindle reader. I know it’s in there somewhere, but I’m too fatigued to tackle the problem just yet.
I haven’t managed to get tested, but I’m pretty sure that I somehow contracted the Covid 19 virus. Starting about 5 weeks ago I woke up feeling a bit punk with a mild sore throat. Couldn’t really put a finger on it, but I just felt extremely crappy and odd. After a few days of wondering if I just had seasonally allergies, things progressed to a cough, fever and EXTREME shortness of breath. So bad that when I practically crawled to the potty from bed, I had to sit there a while to catch my breath before staggering back to bed. My entire universe contracted to just getting that next breath. Instead of one day at a time, it was one breath at a time.
At day 4 the cough progressed to being so violent that I lost control of my bladder several times. How undignified!!! Didn’t have a thermometer, but I was having fever, chills and sweating so severe that I had to change pajamas several times a night. At some point I was too exhausted to cope and find jammies, left the wet ones in a heap on the bathroom floor and just went back to bed naked. (unusual because I have never liked sleeping in the buff.) I also hallucinate when having fever. Ever since childhood, I see toy soldiers like in the Nutcrackers Ballet marching around on the ceiling when fever is there. Strange but everyone has a few oddities in their life.
Week 2 and digestive problems showed up, mainly explosive diarrhea. Sorry for the “to much information” portion of my tale, but there were times that I thought I was going to launch myself into a low earth orbit and wave at the people on the International Space Station as I zoomed by with a commode strapped to my ass. Also a rather bizarre and complete loss of appetite compounded by having no sense of taste or smell manifested. I wasn’t nauseated, but could only manage to choke down a few bites at most of solid food and subsisted for over a week mainly on Ginger Ale and beef and chicken bone broth that I fortunately had on hand.
So for 3 weeks I had severe coughing, fever, digestive issues, extreme shortness of breath, no appetite and extreme fatigue. I went through so many bottles of cough syrup, NyQuil/DayQuil combo packs, and Tylenol that I gave up keeping track. To be brutally honest there were a few times that I began to wonder if I was one of the ones that wasn’t going to make it. The fact that my husband, Mother, Son, and other family and friends would be upset if I didn’t was the only thing that kept me fighting.
So anyway going on week 5 now I’m on the mend. The physical issues have subsided, but now that they are gone I am beginning to realize how much whatever flu or virus had effected my brain function. Coherent thought was exhausting and sometimes down right impossible. I will be extremely happy when my brain kicks back into gear and I can think again.
Regarding doctors, I have a virtual visit scheduled with mine today. Her office is not receiving patients at their physical locations. I had to get the Zoom app and install it. Fortunately I’m computer savvy so it wasn’t a problem. I do feel sorry people who can’t do this. I had a over the phone consult with my Psychiatrist last week. Actually it was pretty cool. I wish that I could continue with the phone visits and not have to drag myself to her office and sit there and squirm while she taps away on computer and scrutinizes me. (I have bipolar disorder, lucky me)
So to all you lovely people. Stay safe, stay social distanced, love your family and friends and even strangers…. keep in touch. Please call or text people who live alone especially. They may desparately need help but are to embarrassed, to delirious to ask, or even realize they need help. Just dropping off some juice, sodas, cans of soup and broth, bottled water, medicine, toilet paper and Kleenex, etc, on their doorstep is an act of kindness more valuable than gold.
Love to all, take care and talk to you soon.
The five stages – denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance – are a part of the framework that makes up our learning to live with the one we lost. They are tools to help us frame and identify what we may be feeling. But they are not stops on some linear timeline in grief. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross
All the death gurus I’ve read or heard quoted claim there are stages of grief. I have to say that at the moment I’m in the white hot lava mountain of rage otherwise known as anger.
It’ kind of hard to deal with because at the moment I’m angry with my family and everyone else I’ve even known who puts themselves in harm’s way to the sorrow and fear of their loved ones and friends.
I’m angry with my grandson for choosing to live a sad and dangerous life; choices that left his 26 year old beaten, drugged up, frozen dead body on the ground in a train station in Boston. Those of us left behind to mourn him are left holding the bag. I’m pissed off because it seems like he got off easy. He doesn’t have to face each day knowing that he’s gone forever. He’s not left with a life time of “what ifs.”
I’m angry at those members of my family who still abuse drugs and alcohol and live on the razors edge of death in a myriad of ways because of their actions. Who will I have to bury next?
I’m angry at family and friends who suffer from an assortment of mental illness and refuse to seek or maintain treatment. I’ve been told by a number of them that well “I’m not hurting anyone but myself.” Excuse me but that is total unadulterated bullshit. Hello but you are torturing those who love you.
Having substance abusing, and or mentally ill friends and relatives is like having a stalker. The situation grinds on relentlessly for years and then decades. Your heart jumps into your throat every time the phone rings. “What is it THIS time?” Are they in the hospital? Are they in jail? Are they missing…again. Are they dead?
It’s a slow kind of torture that never ends. You can’t do anything about it. Maybe having an actual stalker would be easier to deal with. You can report them to the police. You can take out a restraining order. You can go incognito. If all else fails, you can move to another city or country to get away from it.
But you can’t get away from substance abuse or untreated mental illness. You can hope, you can pray, you can go into denial and refuse to answer the phone, but you can never get away from it.
To anyone who thinks that their self destructive behavior is their business and not anyone else’s….I would like to brain you with an iron frying pan and then lock you in a closet for a year or three. You ARE hurting the people who love you.
The reality is you will grieve forever. You will not ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again, but you will never be the same. Nor should you be, nor would you want to. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross and John Kessler.
As long I have to reinvent myself after a piece of my heart got cut out, I’m thinking about doing something I always wanted to do – go Goth. Don’t waste your time asking yourself if I’ve lost my mind. That ship has sailed.
Now I’m saying this a little tongue in cheek. But think about it. I can wear black all the time now because I have a perfectly good excuse. I can read Edgar Allen Poe in the middle of the night and then listen to Joy Division, Sisters of Mercy, the Cult, Rasputina and Siouxsie and the Banshees on my IPOD all day.
I can contemplate death without working up an effort because it’s always there, right at the front and center of my brain. Not my death necessarily. I of course know that I will die someday, but harbor no plans to bring about my own premature demise. Life is much too precious and brief to throw away.
I’m already rocking silver hair and the dark circles around my eyes. All I have to do is slap on some black eyeliner and dark lipstick and I’m half way there. I have tons of black clothes already, because well…I’ve always loved black clothes. I even own a black corset.
The loss is Christopher, my grandson, keeps sneaking up at me at the most inopportune moment. Last night Mr. Husband and I were watching the Patriots vs Ravens football game. I suddenly burst into tears because the thought that Christopher is a Patriots fan flitted across my mind. I thought only men cried when watching football? My poor husband tried to comfort me and said “I’m sure where ever he is he’s watching the game.” The Patriots won. YAY
So if I’m going to be in mourning for the foreseeable future, I may as well have some fun with it. Sounds a bit kooky, I know. But I never claimed to be a “normal” person.