I have Covid. Again.

Squishy took me to the ER on Friday night, and a Lyft driver brought me home around 4:00am on Saturday. I am now taking a quadruple dose of Prednisone (they need to figure out a way to make that taste better) for a total of five days, two of which have mercifully passed, and more Cefdinir for the bronchitis which has also returned. They can't determine from my medical records which variant of Covid I've had each time, but logic suggests that it was Omicron which zapped me earlier this month and which has circled back to try to get me again. Perhaps Omicron is the collection agency of coronaviruses?

At any rate, the meds are making me stronger, and wired, and tired. I went to bed after taking my inhaler and, I think, my regular evening meds at 10:00pm. I need to check that before I go back to sleep. I know that I took my Friday meds on Saturday night because I was in the ER when I should have taken them, and they were only letting me have a small amount of soft ice to convince Body that we were not dying of thirst. It would not be a good thing to skip my meds twice in one week, and two days apart. No anxiety meds + the possibility of roid rage is not something which I want to inflict upon my beloved bipolar bears.

I woke up at 1:30-ish, and my next meds are due in a little over an hour, at 6:00am. My feet are swollen because I've been sitting so long without a pair of compression stockings on. But I have loaded and run the dishwasher. (I'm not allowed to touch the clean stuff, except to grab what I need from the periphery, while I have cooties.) And I've washed two loads of laundry, although the second will go into the dryer when I'm up for meds and supplements because I don't currently have the spoons to pull and fold the first load that's in the dryer.

I am basically living on FB at present. Lots of love coming in from many of my friends, and I'm feeling it. I'm also sharing articles that I'm reading elsewhere online, with lengthy preambles. Because Prednisone. And I'm grazing pretty much all day when I'm awake, but it's mostly healthy leftovers from the past few days. I'll send off an Instacart order that's been edited and added to multiple times overnight, when the store's been open a few hours. A recent order was something of a debacle because I hit "send" before the shelves were fully stocked, and there was at least one disastrous substitution because the options were limited. Every item on today's list has explicit directions for acceptable substitutions or what to delete if the original request is unavailable. I can be taught, even when I'm on Prednisone.

Later, gators. ^cough cough^ also Oh Look Shiny.

When I wake up in the morning...

...my line of credit at the credit union will be all paid off.

I looked at my paper calendar yesterday was amused / alarmed / dismayed to be reminded how many doctor or dentist appointments I/we have between September. cramming everything in on my calendar to ensure that they're all done while I'm still on the company's insurance.

I slept well last night, in part because I drank a cup of warm milk before lying down. I drank some tonight and am hoping for a rematch.

That's all I have for y'all tonight.

I am here. (Points to X on physical/mental/emotional/spiritual map.)

 Physical

Ambient stress level has dropped significantly, leading to less tension in my neck, traps, shoulders, and lower back. Redness where the eczema has been, continues to fade. My skin is dry in patches and generally itchy down my spine, across my "saddle," below my collarbones, in the spot behind my left knee where the lesion was, and pretty much all over my hands, wrists, and lower arms. Several times today I have caught myself scratching, once to the point of tiny pinpricks of blood. I have scheduled a massage after work on Wednesday, which means that I will go to bed that night with happy skin and muscles.

The weird thing with my fingers on my left hand continues to pop up, generally when I'm in the parking lot at Braums, preparing to pick up milk, OJ, and buttermilk. Forefinger and thumb form a very tight "G" (in fingerspelling), with thumb occasionally sliding between forefinger and middle finger. Sometimes the contraction involves my whole hand. Sometimes it travels up my forearm, producing a deep ache rather than a stabbing pain. I can usually slip or wedge the four fingers of my right hand into any gap, sometimes one finger at a time, and begin to massage a semblance of reasonableness into my thumb, and from there, to the rest of the hand. The spasm is generally resolved within five minutes. I don't know if it's stress-related or has something to do with electrolytes. When I'm working to reopen my grip, I remind myself that there are people with severe arthritis whose hands are like this all the time.

Now that I'm back in the office most days, I'm starting to have to fight sleepiness again, even on days when I've had a decent amount of sleep. Today I had to log off at 11:45 and take an hour and a half of PTO, which I spent blissfully asleep. I was less drowsy in the afternoon but still far less productive than I would have liked. I was home today because of the massive rainstorms and regional flooding. I expect to be back in the office tomorrow. I don't know if this is long COVID or simply stress about trying to get as much done, on time, as possible before I'm out the door in two and a half weeks.

Mental

I'm easily distracted, and my focus on work tasks has been frequently and significantly interrupted by tasks related to my upcoming retirement. I needed information from my doctors' and dentist's offices regarding which Medicare Advantage plans they accept. Naturally, they have no providers in common. So when I talk to my HR people (from whom I've as yet heard no peep, but Wonderful Office Manager has until September 1 to turn in the paperwork which will get that rolling), I will go with a plan which will cover my doctors and rely on the payment plan available through my dentist to cover Middlest, Fourthborn, and me.

Note to self: follow the link the dental office sent me to get signed up for a second payment plan. The first one covers Fourthborn's second extraction, which happens Wednesday morning at a different facility.

As noted above, my ambient stress level feels significantly less than it's been. Middlest and Fourthborn might say otherwise.

Emotional

I think I'm doing reasonably well. Again, the bipolar bears might argue otherwise. Today I proactively scheduled two massages: a 90-minute one for the evening of my last day in the office, and a 60 minute one for this Wednesday, after Fourthborn's surgery and the end of my workday. It will be interesting to see how long it takes me to get to the spa from home, as opposed to from the office. After the second massage, I intend to pause my membership for a month or two, until I get used to how the lower income shakes out.

I put massages here, because while they definitely include comforting and blessing my physical body, for me it's more about stress management and release of any emotions that bubble up.

Spiritual

My spirituality is off the rails at the moment. My testimony is still unshaken. But putting what I believe and know into action has a hole in it the size of that Sequoia in California which has a road going through it. I haven't studied Come, Follow Me all year. There was the bronchitis in January which exhausted me. I haven't gone to Sunday School in two and a half years. The Zoom versions have been pretty much inaudible, and on those Sundays when I'm well enough, and awake enough, to attend church in person, by the end of sacrament meeting I am DONE in all four of these buckets.

I have a year or more of unread copies of the Liahona, largely because of my tendency to fall asleep when I cease moving, no matter how interested I might be in what I'm reading or hearing. (I also have a year or more of unread copies of the Atlantic, for the same reason.) I can manage short articles from various media outlets which are connected with the Church. And I'm part of two vibrant groups on Facebook, in which we share thoughts, feelings, ideas, spiritual experiences. Most edifying, and I love reading others' perspectives.

I guess it would be fair to say that I'm currently experiencing spiritual anorexia. Sometime in the past few weeks, I got what I still think was inspiration, to switch my Book of Mormon app to French, and to follow along as I listened. I rapidly realized that 1.0 speed was warp-speed too fast for my present level of following along. So I geared it back to 0.7. which is still a little fast for comfort, but I mostly keep up. However, I could no longer listen to Le Livre de Mormon on my morning drive, because the narrator elides the words far more than I've done for the 20 or so years in which I've been reading it. (Basically, I discovered "you're doing it wrong, honey.") And then there's the matter of driving while reading, which is a huge NOPE. So today, I switched it back to English, and then I giggled when the narrator sounded like HAL from 2001: A Space Odyssey, when he was dying. I fixed that.

And then I listened to chapters 6-10 of 1 Nephi while driving partway to work in a downpour. I called in to say I'd been late, and my coworker who was handling switchboard told me that a text had gone out telling us all to stay home because of the torrential rain and regional flooding. So now I will be checking my text messages before leaving the house, and after the retirement party I will be switching back to Le Livre de Mormon at 0.7 speed and reading along while sitting up in bed.

Later, gators.

The healing has begun.

For the past couple of years, I have been dealing with eczema. Primarily along my left arm, but some on my right arm, some along my right jaw, and a small patch on my forehead. The repeated doses of steroids have each done their bit to help clear things up.

There have been no bits of peeling skin on my right earlobe for maybe a month and a half. It is soft and supple.

The itching and peeling on my arms has been gone for awhile as well.

And this morning I noticed that the worst patch, on my left arm, is fading fast. The skin is crepey, because I've yet to re-hydrate after waking up. It had been a vivid red-to-purple from where I'd scratched and scratched and scratched. It was visible in the pictures from Lark's wedding last year. Firstborn was able to cover the bits on my face with makeup. But the space from my left cuff to my hand was all too visible.

Those of you who deal with eczema will laugh in recognition. My stress level has dropped so much since last week that it is no longer provoking my skin to scream for help. I may well be my normal little old lady pink in time for our modest office celebration in three and a half weeks!

Wonderful office manager sent the announcement email to my coworkers on Sunday night. I was off yesterday to take the bipolar bears to their monthly appointments and pick up their meds. I had hoped to work from home later in the day, but those two or so hours out and about wiped me out. I went to bed and slept for several hours. I noticed when I emailed my OM that I would not be WFH, that my inbox was jammed with messages from my coworkers.

I made the announcement on Facebook last night, and that has blown up as well. It's a lovely "problem" to have.

Later today, Fourthborn has her second pre-surgical consultation for a wisdom tooth which will soon be evicted. Her disability hearing is next month. We are hoping for the best.

We also got word yesterday that Middlest's disability hearing is set for early November. The court had been mysteriously and aggravatingly silent on that for months.

Retiring, but not shy

The announcement will go out on Facebook after it goes to the office sometime this week.

I've prayed off and on, for the past several years, to know when it was time to hang up my spurs. The answer came midweek. I was having a spectacularly frustrating day, verging upon a meltdown, because of some tasks that I'd inadvertently neglected that resulted in a terrifying round of emails and IMs from my office manager and our managing attorney.

I've mentioned here the cascade of physical symptoms I've been experiencing over the past couple of years, which resulted in my office manager graciously finding a way for me to continue working and keeping us medicated and fed, not necessarily in that order. Anemia requiring iron infusions. The distressing tendency to fall asleep while sitting bolt upright, but thankfully not while behind the wheel. Behind the wheel, I was consistently blessed to feel it coming on and to enact countermeasures until I was safely off the road.

I've had two lengthy tangos with bronchitis this year, both of which required multiple rounds of antibiotics and/or steroids. The most recent episode took up much of July and was followed almost immediately by my trip to the ER, overnight stay, and Covid diagnosis. I had successfully dodged the pandemic for nearly two and a half years. I finished the last dose of those meds on Friday but am still using my inhaler every four hours as prescribed.

My energy level and focus, as you might imagine, are fluctuating wildly. Twice last week, while working from home, I had to log off and take a nap. I'll be typing along, checking off boxes and updating files, and then I'll hit a wall.

(Good news is that, probably because of all the steroids I've been on, for several weeks I haven't tipped over sideways in bed while reading, playing games, or watching TV.)

And in the midst of that near-meltdown a few days ago, I suddenly had the answer (mixed with a healthy side order of panic) to those intermittent prayers. Time for the next part of my life to begin. My official retirement date is October 1, and I am now peaceful and calm about that. Phrases from my patriarchal blessing have been wafting over my mind recently. We will be OK financially.

My last day in the office will be Friday, September 9, and at first I was excited to have a retirement event with friends and family invited. But after a thoughtful exchange with Middlest, I realized that I didn't want to be the vector of a super-spreader experience. Covid is rampant in this county. (Witness my own personal gotcha.) So we will have a small, private family party after the fact. The in-house celebration will be limited to whomever happens to be in the office that day.

After the dust settles, there will be a family executive meeting in which we lay the groundwork for providing that my money does not run out before my days do. But that's a whole 'nuther blog post.

Good Sabbath, all y'all.

Fridge and pantry archaeology

Chez nous, we have among us an astonishing number of condiments and seasonings. We could probably use a double-fridge or smaller industrial fridge (assuming there is room, which there probably is not) to keep everything neatly corralled, segregated by type, and used or disposed of in a timely fashion. There is simply not enough space in the door of the fridge. Items in the back of the fridge get lost, sometimes for months. That's the back story. Here's the post.

What I wanted for dinner is a pint of Ben & Jerry's. What I made for dinner was a smoothie from bits and bobs in the pantry and fridge. As I inspected the use-by dates, the list of ingredients grew smaller and smaller. I have sent a carton and a half of Greek yogurt through the garbage disposal, one dated for June of last year and the other (unopened) from November. I'm definitely willing to consume food past its use-by date, within reason. This just seemed on the unreasonable side of the line. A couple of tablespoons of coconut oil, gently warmed in the microwave to encourage it to bond with the other ingredients and not with the sides of the Vitamix. A tablespoon of chia seeds. I am hoping for extra "body" but no slime. A quarter-cup of almond slices, to go with the almond milk that was also, sadly, past its prime. A generous splash of orange juice to join the bottled pineapple chunks with their juice. Half of an extremely overripe banana, which turned everything a lovely shade of grey. I think that's it. Between the gathering and the reading of labels and the running of the garbage disposal (twice) and the running of the Vitamix, it probably took me the better part of half an hour to accomplish a task which under ordinary circumstances would have required five, maybe ten.

At any rate, the smoothie is tucked to one side of a counter, hopefully out of the way of Middlest's upcoming food prep. And I am fixin' to take the last of the refrigerated black truffle Alfredo pasta out of the microwave and chow down.

I worked today. Not quite as impressive as yesterday's accomplishments, but I think productive, given that I logged out mid-day and slept for nearly three hours. (Last night was not a good one for sleep quality or quantity, but the nap was immensely helpful.)

That's what-all is floating around top-of-mind today. Later, gators.

Eating. All. The. Things.

So: I'm a bit over one week past diagnosis, and this was my first day back at my work-from-home desk. By the grace of Heaven, I killed it today. It will take me the rest of the week, again by the grace of Heaven, to get something like caught up, but if tomorrow is like today I'll make good strides toward that.

I've finished my Prednisone. I could feel a bit of roid rage coming on Sunday afternoon, so I sent myself to my room. When I was less agitated, I went out to the kitchen and baked a pan of brownies. The bipolar bears had their share. I divvied mine in thirds, so as to impersonate a sensible diabetic. They were wonderful.

The munchies came on yesterday. I ended up making myself a four-egg-yolk omelette with cheese for a late dinner, because I wanted some serious protein, and because the eggs had been in the fridge so long that they were thinking of becoming petrified. I stirred a little buttermilk in to improve the texture. It was wonderful.

Today I was miraculously alert until about an hour before time to log off. I never once felt drowsy, just bone-weary. Throughout the day I ate: simple cheese quesadillas, nuked in the microwave. A fat mug full of the almond-based granola with a splash of milk. A small glass of juice. Once the Costco order arrived on our porch, two slices of Dave's Killer Bread slathered with guacamole, plus a fat handful of sweet cherries. A little later, small bowl of cottage cheese and half a dozen triple ginger cookies. Before that, a larger bowl of the chicken black truffle Alfredo pasta gloop that I made on Sunday night. There's one serving of that left in the fridge, and another three or four servings in the freezer for next week. And an alarm on my phone to remind me to thaw and eat it before it becomes freezer-burned.

After work, I noodled around on my phone for awhile, reading one article or another, and then I pulled on my galaxy leggings, purloined the water shoes that I gave Fourthborn some time back, and drove to Panera to get dinner for me and to In N Out (conveniently next door to Panera) to get shakes for the three of us. Over the course of three and a half hours, I managed to eat my sandwich (wonderful); drink my shake (wonderful), eat my portion of baguette, warmed in the microwave and slathered with butter (wonderful), and inhale my salad (you guessed it, wonderful).

The bill came from the radiologist at the hospital. $10.76. I am so thankful for good insurance. Had a good post-hospital virtual visit with my PCP yesterday. Have I mentioned that I got my labs back from my regular checkup, and my cholesterol was normal in all ranges for the first time in maybe ten years? Even my HDL, which has always been slightly-to-significantly low. Maybe it's all the steroids that I've been on since the first of July? Does that have any effect on cholesterol? I know that it does a number on blood glucose levels.

We have a consult booked for next week for a second oral surgery for Fourthborn. I am hoping they have a payment plan and I can break it up into two or three chunks this time without my credit rating taking a hit. Good news / bad news on the Middlest front: he needs two crowns replaced, but in speaking with the staff at our dentist's office today, they will be signing up with a company that will handle their payment plan, allegedly without affecting one's credit, and I'll find out more about that in the next couple of days and book Middlest's appointments. I just did not want to gut my 401K to pay for all of this. My financial anxiety, which spiked yesterday morning when I got the tab for the bipolar bears' cleaning and then the treatment plan for Middlest, is still there, but quieter, like when you've turned the burner off but the pot's still tossing up the odd bubble or two.

The dishwasher is humming. It's almost time for the Atlantic crossword to drop. Pretty sure that I won't be staying up to play Wordle when it drops at midnight.

I'm grateful for the friends who have been praying for me. I'm sure that that's why I'm recovering as quickly as I seem to be. I'm trying to listen to my body. I'm thankful that my sense of smell and taste have been unaffected. I'm downright amazed at the resilience of this aging body.

Night, y'all.

In which your intrepid heroine has yet another adventure.

Betook myself to the ER last night because my lungs were mocking my inhaler. The bipolar bears were asleep (and anyway, neither of them can drive). I messaged them once I was settled in a room at the ER. (It was weird when the nice triage-man announces that he was heading to room X with a 70 year old woman, and I realized that that woman is me.)

X-ray, EKG, CT of lungs to rule out pneumonia and other bad stuff. Hospital-strength Covid test to follow up on the negative one I took at home before leaving the house. Two IV tubes in my non-dominant arm. Steroid into one of the IV tubes, anti-coagulant magic into my belly, various tubes of blood drawn throughout the evening, oxygen flowing in through a cannula (leave the gun; take the cannula).

About 3am, transfer to my own room with a real commode; shortly thereafter a CPAP. Got three hours of deep, uninterrupted sleep before my bladder woke me and the tech had to come unhook me from the CPAP.  Then the nurse came in to check my glucose and something else.

This morning into this afternoon, more stabs for glucose level, two shots of insulin several hours apart, echocardiogram to definitively rule out blood clots, second visit from wonderful ER doctor, wherein he countermands the ER's "nothing by mouth" order (although I'd been able to wheedle small amounts of ice chips). A meal, finally, in the early afternoon. And the most marvelous collection of kind, competent human beings I've met in one place in a very long time (almost like going to church, it was, without the music or the prayers).

Communicating via Discord with my bipolar bears and Squishy. Communicating via Marco Polo with the non-resident blessings. (Squishy brought a charger for my cell phone to the ER last night and waited in their waiting room until 11, in case I needed anything.)

Restraining myself from an announcement on FB until I had a diagnosis and was safely home, which I am, with a couple of new Rx's due for pickup in the next hour or two, and I already feel a thousand percent better than when I walked into the ER last night.

After 2.5 years and full vaccinations + booster, Covid has finally caught up with me. This explains why my inhaler wasn't all that helpful (I forgot to mention the two nebulizer treatments I had today). It also explains the multitude of six hour naps that have occurred over the past two or three weeks.

Upshot? I feel loved and cherished and oh-so-blessed. Heavenly Father knows who I am and where I've been for the past 24 hours or so. He sent me where I needed to be, and he got me home safely.