Drowning in air

Last week I wrote about my experience of working in the COVID-19 unit. My experience is nothing compared to the experience of my patients.

One described the disease to me in simple terms – “It’s like drowning in air.”

I shopped at Costco today. Only one person in the store was unmasked but an appalling number wore their masks fashionably below the nose. Come on folks! I know you can breathe more easily with your nose free. Why do you think you’re supposed to cover your nose? (Hint: it’s not for your benefit.)

I stayed with another patient while she ate orange slices. (The anonymous pronouns for today are she and hers). Even through an N95 mask and face shield I could smell that orange. She savored each thin slice as though it would be her last. I wanted an orange so badly. She followed the orange with coffee and aspirated (choked on) the coffee. A minute (that seemed like hours) of coughing ensued. She cleared her lungs but it took minutes before she was breathing freely again, with acceptable oxygen saturation. By the way, those orange slices were her last. Three days later, she was dead.

The emergency field hospital in Milwaukee is now taking patients. It was not long ago that Wisconsin crossed the threshold of 1000 new patients per day and we thought that was outrageous. The daily new case average has now passed 4000. PS: It’s not just because we test more. For those with the IQ of the president (or those to whom he speaks) nobody gets the disease from testing. Testing is not a pain in the ass. It is how we identify the Typhoid Marys of our time – the people who are not sick but spread the disease.

Our new COVID-19 ICU opened today. It has been under construction for a couple of years, slated to open as an expansion to the neuro unit. As I reported last week, I expected that plan to be changed at the last minute, despite assurances even then that the plan remained in place to open next month as a neuro unit. Yesterday it was announced that it would be a COVID-19 unit and today it was announced that it would open as an ICU this afternoon. The first patients have been admitted. The old ICU is full.

The university’s new star quarterback, who had a breakout game last weekend and was named Big 10 Player of the Week, is now sidelined for 3 weeks after testing positive. Will people now take this seriously? I mean, come on, it has now affected football. While football is not worshiped quite as seriously here as in Texas, this could make a difference (though sadly, probably only if he gets really sick – otherwise it will be seen as overkill as well as sacrilege).

We lost another great musician this month. Jerry Jeff Walker is dead at 78. I haven’t worn cowboy boots since I was about ten, but when I first heard this song I wanted to hitchhike to Austin to buy a pair. If there is an afterlife, Jerry Jeff is still wearing his Charlie Dunn boots.

We also lost Spencer Davis this month – for those too young to remember, he’s the bandleader who brought us a teenage Steve (then Stevie) Winwood.

Winwood on piano and vocals, his brother Muff on bass, Spencer Davis on guitar, Pete York on drums.

September saw the death of Toots Hibbert, leader of Toots and the Maytals. While they had an album out four years earlier, they were introduced to the US in Jimmy Cliff’s 1972 film “The Harder They Come.” Toots died from COVID-19.

Also lost to us in September was Diana Rigg, The Avengers’ Emma Peel (no, not the Marvel comic book, but the British TV show). As Emma Peel, she was witty, tough, and drove a Lotus Elan. What was not to like? Later she was the host of PBS’ “Mystery”, with this intro drawn by Edward Gorey.

Sorry for all this death in one entry. I started a post about Toots and Diana in September. I realized others had more to say about them (and more eloquently) than I, so it sat in my “drafts” folder. Losing two more icons of my youth was more than I could take.

Death Ride 2020/rehab

In six months, I’m riding the Death Ride – 129 miles, 5 passes, 15,000 feet of climbing. Today it hurts to get in or out of bed. I can only get out of a chair if it has arms, tying my shoes is an adventure, and if I drop something on the floor it has to stay there. If I fell, I’d be there until someone came to pick me up.

Such is the wonder of the human body/mind, that such a thing can be possible – that I can hold those realities simultaneously.

https://ytcropper.com/cropped/Qq5e179c9b8fb1d

Post-op Day #0: Not much pain (yet), but peeing requires standing with a urinal for several minutes to squeeze out a few drops in hopes that I don’t have to return to the hospital for a catheter or see my bladder explode. Using NSAIDS (which I normally avoid because they don’t seem to help my pain or inflammation but do cause constipation – and constipation is not something you want when your abdomen is held together by plastic mesh and Superglue) and lots of ice.

Post-op Day #1: OK, now it hurts. Not so bad if I don’t move, but any change of position requires careful thought and lots of use of my arms. While it hurts to move, the longer I stay in one position, the worse it is when I do move. Catch-22.

Post-op Day #2: I walked all the way to the corner and back, then a block in a different direction later in the day. Things are looking up. No more oxycodone.

Post-op Day #3: Scrotal edema is the new change for today. Purple may be my favorite color, but not there. My second ice pack from the hospital has started to leak. Cut my Tylenol dose in half, still lots of ice.

Post-op Day #4: Time to get dressed in real clothes to go to a funeral. First some compression shorts for the edema. Now some pants. Unfortunately, I had to loosen my pajama pants last night, so I’m not sure about getting pants on. They go on but are about 3 inches from fastening. Just my luck, I bought some new pants this fall that are too big in the waist but otherwise comfortable – how is it that waist size, measured in inches, can be 2+ inches different in pants from the same company? I think they want men who are getting old and fat to be able to pretend that isn’t so and they can still wear the same size. At any rate, I have real clothes on today, not sweats. Another small victory. I just sneezed for the first time this week. That was not a victory. Laughing hurts, but it has redeeming value that coughing lacks.

The funeral was for Carl Durocher. My brother once said, quoting a co-worker, “There are only 50 people in Madison. The rest are an illusion.” Carl was one of those 50 people. I first met him 45-50 years ago. Our paths crossed over the years but I can’t claim he was my friend. They crossed again when I was a student and he ran an organization called “Computers to Help People”. (If I’m not mistaken, it was in the same building that housed the Whole Earth Co-op [and, briefly, the Yellow Jersey Bicycle Co-op] in the 60s.) He was at the forefront on computer accessibility issues. He chaired the city’s Transit and Parking Committee. I last saw him at a choral concert conducted by my son. At his visitation I saw our US Senator, Tammy Baldwin, who used to live a few blocks away.

Carl Durocher – Photo credit: Steve Apps, WI State Journal

Post-op Day #5: My bike sits on a trainer in my daughter’s bedroom. It is mocking me. Even if I could swing my leg over the top tube, I wouldn’t be able to turn the cranks. Even if I could turn the cranks, I wouldn’t be able to clip out. The only comfortable position pre-op was on a bike, bent over the handlebar. In a painful irony, now I can’t even sit up straight to eat at a table. I have to hold the plate in my hand because I can’t reach the table, needing to recline partially at all times. The day’s goal is to get up and down stairs with a reciprocal gait all day (not leading with my left foot every time I step up).

Week 2: It has been a week since surgery. I met my goal for the stairs. I’ve met two friends for coffee. I can walk farther each day – walking is now less painful than pre-op (sometimes). I actually passed someone on a sidewalk today. Lest that go to my head, several others passed me in the next block. The idea of getting on a bike is still absurd.

One of my rules in acute care is: “If it hurts, don’t do it.” One of my rules for post-acute rehab is: “Everything in moderation, including moderation. If you don’t occasionally bump up against your limits, you don’t know what they are.” Last night I went to see Dwight Yoakam. Had I not bought the ticket months ago, I’m not sure I’d have felt ready to venture out in the world 10 days post-op, sitting in those low theatre seats with limited legroom.

I struggled through the opening act, trying to get comfortable. When Dwight launched into “Streets of Bakersfield” the pain went away. He was dressed in his usual tight jeans, denim jacket, and cowboy hat. He’s old now (nearly as old as I) but he still has his signature dance move and it still made the women scream – some of them young enough to be his children. His band was decked out in sequined suits, led by a guy whose name I can’t find, but he played keyboards, fiddle, mandolin, accordion, and pedal steel guitar – sometimes more than one in the same song. His guitarist and guitar tech had a dance of their own, swapping instruments without missing a beat. The songs came in chunks of five or so at a time without pause. He covered tunes by Elvis, Jerry Jeff Walker, Merle Haggard, Chuck Berry, and others, as well as his own catalog from the past 30 years. He never was one to shy away from cover tunes.

I’m glad I went, but I’m still not ready to get on a bike.

The lake has frozen!

Lake Mendota officially froze on January 12. Since January 2000 it has frozen later than this 4 times. Prior to that (from 1852-1999) it froze later than that 3 times – once in each 50 year period. National Geographic has called Lake Mendota “the most-studied lake in the world”.

This is posting two years after the debut of the blog. At the time I only knew it would last until we reached the Atlantic Ocean on the coast-to-coast tour; but I’d paid WordPress for a year so kept writing. Now I can say it’ll stick around through the Death Ride, or as long as I have something to say and you want to read it.

Your correspondent has aged a lot in those two year – truth be told, most of that happened since an injury in May of 2019 and even more of it after the surgery to fix the damage done. I’ll be younger again in a month. In January 2018, I was doing a lot of core work including strengthening and stretching; stretching now is trying to stand up straight and sit at the table like it’s not a Seder. I can pick something up from the floor if I’m real careful. Core strength? Ha! When I cough or sneeze, I hold on to keep from splitting open.

Next time you hear from me, I’ll be riding…