Covid Reality


 

I went to bed Saturday night with a mild fever and abdominal pain. First thought: Covid. I’ve been so incredibly careful. Masked in public, hand sanitizer if I touched anything. So how did it happen? Stomach pain made sleeping hard. I coughed a few times and my trepidation increased. I planned to get a Covid test in the morning. After a couple medical calls, I was directed to our local emergency room. Due to Covid restrictions, I was screened outside. When the health care worker asked what was wrong, I said mild fever and abdominal pain. Her eyes narrowed over the top of her mask, “You realize those are Covid symptoms?” 

 

This post is not about me. This is about them—the amazing health care workers on the frontlines. I was hustled into a room and within minutes I was being evaluated. Everyone had to don full personal protection gear. N-95 masks beneath the hospital masks,  face shields, and paper gowns over their hospital scrubs. They removed the paper gowns into a separate bin as they exited my room. They were taking no chances.

 

Whatever tests that could be done in that room were done there, with the technicians wearing full body protection. These health care workers have dedicated themselves to help heal. Yet, they’re up against Covid. 

 

My emergency room nurse was overworked and visibly weary at the cavalier attitude she sees about Covid. “I walked my dog last night, and several of my neighbors were barbecuing with friends out back. They were laughing and carrying on like we aren’t in the middle of a pandemic.” She went on to tell me about an elderly Covid patient she treated. Family members had thrown him a birthday party, and two people had asymptotic Covid. “He celebrated his final birthday. I can’t imagine how the family feels now.”

 


The lab tech that drew vials of my blood said that in 1918 people didn’t take the pandemic seriously either. The ER doctor and I communicated with our eyes and mask-muffled words .

 

Then my Covid test. It was the quick-results one....which meant the hard one in the back of the nasal cavity. My CT scan had revealed I was dealing with an angry appendix, but no operation could be performed until the Covid test came back. If I had Covid they would need to create an isolation surgical suite and wear more protection.

 

Within minutes of my negative Covid test, I was rolled into surgery to remove my appendix—a smallish section at the end of the intestine. Before I conked out my surgeon said I wouldn’t miss it. His eyes crinkled, so I could tell he was smiling.

 



Now, I’m recovering from something totally unexpected. But on behalf of the medical community, I am now pledging to be abundantly serious about Covid—which is here in our rural woodlands that's nestled next to the sea. Hopefully you will never get Covid. I will be doing whatever I can do to prevent exposure. After being this sick, health is a treasure. If you can take measures to prevent Covid, please do.

 

I never knew what our health care workers went through with a suspected Covid case.  It’s intense. Their medical training equipped them for pandemics. Now they are living it out. Yet, America has lost healthcare workers to Covid. Having seen these medical teams at work, I can imagine how this must affect their close knit community. 

 

The biggest thank you I can give to my hospital care team is to do my part to stop the spread. In our rural health district, we can’t afford this pandemic, but isn’t that true everywhere?

Popular posts from this blog

Counting the Cost

Image
Something big is missing in this photo. Let me explain. Here in my hometown, the Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe prepared a parcel of land for a new hotel. Plenty of planning and architectural designs were evaluated. A gemstone of a hotel would be built across from the waterfront—a beautiful, restful place welcoming travelers. A true four-star facility.   They cleared the aging brick structures that had been fading away between Front Street and Railroad Avenue. Then the pandemic hit, shortages of labor and supplies, add in the costly inflation that followed. Everything stopped.   But this is what I admire about the Elwha Tribe: they have counted the cost. They didn’t want to move forward and take on tremendous debt. They would rather move slowly and be financially ready, rather than begin building and then letting it sit unfinished.   Counting the cost is something I should have done earlier in life when I didn’t know what high interest rates would do to our farming cost...
Read more

Summertime Music

Image
During the summer months, in an outside seating area, a delightfully painted piano sits with a sign that says, “Play me”.   It was just before 8 pm as I walked past the piano. My bus would be arriving soon, and I still have another ten minutes to walk before reaching my bus stop. But no one is around. It’s a beautiful warm evening. I pulled out the piano bench and sat down. The sun was behind me, and the piano keys reflected its glow. I had no music in front of me, only the songs within me. Notes drifted into the air.  In those brief moments, the magic of music and summer came together. Isn’t that how it is? Summertime music has a way of lingering in our minds and lasting a lifetime. As I stood and grabbed my things, I heard distant clapping—I guess I wasn’t alone, after all.
Read more

Planting Good Seeds

Image
Harvest will always depend on what we plant and how well we care for our crop.    Looking over my seed packets, I notice they’re different than the ones I planted before. One package is called Word seeds. The directions say that each of my words is a seed, so it cautions me to think before I speak. Harsh words don’t produce sweet, nourishing fruit. These seeds will require thoughtful care in the garden. I see some Volunteer seeds. Those extra hours I tend to fritter away are going to be planted in a useful project.   It looks like time isn’t wasted in this garden plot. Next are some Love seeds—the directions are interesting: get up each day and love others. No specifics are given—just do something for someone every day. The seed package shows pictures of smiling faces. I smile back. As I’m ready to head to the garden with my seeds, a package falls to the ground. I open it. Inside are the tiniest seeds I’ve ever seen—but the directions s...
Read more