At my father’s funeral in March of 2016, I didn’t know what to do with my hands. It seemed wrong to take photos, but I had the camera. I was afraid to touch anyone, for fear I would break down. I just kind of wandered. Wandering still.
My boyfriend made arrangements for two pulse oximeters to be delivered to the house. For those of you without my experience, a pulse/ox is a device that measures pulse rate and blood oxygen saturation levels. It’s that thing they put on your finger at the doctor’s office.
It’s the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received: one for me and one for my mother.
We did have a bit of excitement today. It seems that one of the pulse oxes (oxen?) doesn’t work so well. Mom’s reading came in at a 90% oxygen level and I got kind of excited. I called her doc’s office and once again he didn’t call back. I’m learning to loathe him. Finally, I called 911 and they sent EMS out to take her vitals. She’s fine — other than being sick with what is probably COVID_19.
Other than that I’ve had two naps and 12 meals. Stress makes me eat. This too shall pass.
(Connie hits “buy now” on the 40-pack of ToastChee peanut butter crackers at the Amazon.)
So, I am positive for COVID-19. My mother, whom I am sure is the person who infected me, came back negative. We tested together. Same technician. Same time. We have the same symptoms although she came down with hers two days earlier. One of us got a false result.
We’ve been told to assume we’re both positive.
So. Fun with bodies.
Both of us have symptoms of an annoying cold: not particularly bad, but just enough to be inconvenient. We don’t have fevers, trouble breathing or chest pain. Nor have we lost our sense of smell or taste.
I have spent all day trying to get results and then trying to contact Primary Care Physicians — hers and mine. It’s a good thing I don’t feel bad. It’s been pretty annoying. When one is told they have the plague, one expects to get the attention of medical personnel.
I’m sitting here thinking of all the things I should do to prepare for the possibility that I might get really sick. You know, like pack a hospital bag. Make sure I’m stocked up on pet food. Etc. I’m a tad overwhelmed by it all.
I have a strong feeling that this is going to be a mild case and I will convalesce at home. Of course, yesterday I had a strong feeling that this was a tempest in a teapot.
Of greater concern is my mom — she is right smack in the middle of the high risk category for a bad case. I’ll be watching her closely.
I really didn’t need this right now. Nope.
Some time ago, I wrote the infamous Why I Blame My Mother For My Shoe Fixation post.
Having an Easter outfit with new shoes was pretty routine. I’ve carried it into my later years even though I don’t attend church.
There will be no Easter outfit or Easter shoes this year. Or an Easter dinner though I am playing around with the idea of making scalloped potatoes on Sunday.
I did order my mom an Easter basket which they kindly delivered yesterday. She was tickled, but still and all it just doesn’t feel like Easter.
I’m growing weary of this quarantine, but I am still suffering it happily. The alternative is death and destruction and in this time of Easter, we are to focus on life. So maybe I’ll plan the Out of Quarantine Outfit and new shoes