Around Wednesday two weeks ago, Michael started feeling poorly.
Just a cough at first. By the next morning, his chest was hurting. We figured it was related to his blood pressure issues--he is on three medications (amlodipine, valstartan, and hydrochlorothiazide) plus a water pill for his high blood pressure, but when we tested him it was actually in range for the first time since who knows when. Thursday evening, I was worried enough that I had him call the Covidhelp line here in Abilene. The answering service took a message and told us a doctor would call back first thing the next morning.
Friday, he woke up in rough shape. He was in a lot of pain, his throat felt like he was "swallowing around razor wire", he had shortness of breath, and his chest hurt quite badly. He wasn't running a fever, hovering right at about 99, but was nauseated and his muscles were sore. We called the covidhelp back and they said to come in to get tested for flu and strep. In a week, if he still wasn't feeling well they would run a test for coronavirus but in the meantime we could rule some things out. Not even an hour later, they called us back to tell us both those swabs were negative.
Friday was pretty difficult because he was supposed to be isolating away from us. Michael is...he can be a handful when he is sick (I say as his most devoted and loving wife). The biggest problem is that he argues and disagrees and says things like "so you think I should....?" about four hundred million times after I have given him my suggestion. I felt like we were having the same conversations over and over again and it was getting us nowhere, taking my already limited attention away from the kids.
Saturday morning when Michael got up, it was the worst day so far. His whole body hurt and ached, his voice was rife with pain and every sentence labored.
Being the naturally loving and nurturing wife that I am, I snapped at him to stop being my "biggest baby"--he was to do what I told him to do and when I told him to do it. He sulked and glared and very crossly consented. First order of business, I sent him off to shower while I made up the master bedroom. I folded the mattress pad cover in thirds at the head of the bed beneath the sheets so his head would be elevated, and I put five pillows on--four to prop him up comfortably, one to use to cushion his chest when he coughed. (This had worked for my incision site after my c-sections so I figured it couldn't hurt to try in this application.) I cleaned out and sanitized the humidifier and set it up going in the room, rubbed Vicks on his chest and feet, and put a bag of cough drops, nasal spray, and little cup full of his medications on the nightstand. Beside it, I put a bottle of water, a bottle of Gatorade, a warm tea with honey, and a croissant. For a couple of hours, he laid back there watching a pirate show he had been curious about and hydrating.
He was feeling more human about mid-morning so I brought him a bone broth to sip on and some crackers. Every action seemed to take so much out of him; he was so exhausted, but every time he tried to sleep, the violent coughing would jar him awake again. Any food I brought him, he would dutifully pick at but he wasn't eating a quarter of what Tula was eating.
Sunday I believe was the worst day. He hadn't slept in so long, everything hurt, and he had developed a migraine. I slipped some Nyquil in with his morning medications and after several hours he drifted off to sleep. Most of the weekend, he didn't have the energy to accomplish anything but toddle back and forth to the bathroom and dutifully drink the many beverages I kept within arms reach at any given moment.
A woman from my church, Lynette, sent me an email about mobile COVID testing being available the next day. I pressured Michael to submit an application; Monday, they called him down to get swabbed. He was still in horrible shape, but was up to driving down to the clinic by himself. He said it was the worst experience of his life--felt like they were swabbing his eyeballs from the inside of his nose. We got paperwork that said he would get results back in 24 to 96 hours.
The worst days of the illness were Saturday through Tuesday. He seems to be on an upswing now, even if he is still coughing, still feels like he can't get a deep breath, that his chest hurts. He's still hydrating and now sitting in the backyard getting fresh air and sunshine when I tell him to. I have even convinced him to eat a few vegetables (quite begrudgingly and with great gnashing of teeth, but consumed all the same) in the small meals he can manage.
People from our church have overwhelmed us with their kindness, checking in on him via calls and texts and emails, and bringing us meals, offering to run errands for us. It has seriously helped--on Sunday, I remember I asked Emerald to just go make breakfast for her siblings because I had my hands full taking care of Dad. I figured it was a simple enough responsibility: we have the breakfast shelf in the pantry that has dry cereal, instant oatmeal, stuff for toast; in the fridge, we had yogurt and fresh fruit. Surely she could put something together out of that.
In fact, she did: everyone was served a hot dog bun filled with butter, strawberry jam, and maple syrup.
I have to applaud the creativity because I could go into that kitchen every day for the rest of my life and I would never have come up with that concoction.
So it comes to how I am coping with all of this.
We mutually decided with our care worker that she would stay away awaiting the results of the test because we didn't want to unnecessarily expose her. She wanted to go back home to visit her parents anyway, so the timing worked out on that front. But it has meant that the burden of the household has fallen to me more.
Currently, I am in excessively good physical health and I am doing what I can to maintain my spiritual, mental, and emotional health as well.
At the beginning of the year, our church was doing this thing challenging congregants to spend more time with the Lord every day this year, by praying, scripture reading, acts of mercy, attending sabbath, and making time for Christian fellowship. They handed out these cards that say "A Path for Life" as reminders to follow in these spiritual disciplines. I have tried to participate in as much as I can--I have one card posted on the mirror in my bathroom and the other in my car where I will see it. Mostly I have been utilizing the Bible app which I had underappreciated until now--it really has some cool lesson plans and videos; I am a big fan of the Bible Project videos that teach you how to read the bible and goes in depth on each of the books. Starting in January, I began a whole Bible plan that will get you through reading the entire Bible in one year. This one appealed to me because it doesn't go in order, but combines related chapters from Old and New Testament books into daily segments. The problem I have run into is that I had been setting aside time twice a day to read: once at nap time and once at bedtime because it would ensure quiet for me to read and reflect, but now as soon as I start reading I get so dreadfully sleepy!
Mentally, I make sure I am reading--right now I am into poetry so I am reading the memoirs and poetry of Pablo Neruda, a truly fascinating character I had known so little about until recently. His poetry is moving and remarkable. The memoirs I had found at Dirt Cheap for $1.20; I just started reading it aloud to Oscar, my cat, because I am a crazy cat lady and he is a sweet old man that enjoys listening to me read. Anytime I start heading outside, he trots out behind me and sets up camp under my lavender tree so he can listen in peace to our story together.
Michael noticed how much I was enjoying the Neruda memoirs and bought me a book of his poetry, an incredibly thoughtful and touching gift. As a thank you, every night I read a poem aloud to him or record myself reading them so that he can watch them when he is feeling more up to it.
Because two books is not enough books to be reading at one time (or I guess technically four because I have my whole Bible plan that has me going through an OT and NT book at a time), I also have to have an e-book for when I can't sleep, so I am reading through Blake Pierce detective thriller books.
Emotionally, I do art--I found I like doing cartoony styles, but I also try hand-lettering and watercolors as well. Kind of casting a wide net and seeing what appeals to me. I crochet when I can, but that is more of a cold weather activity for me. I spend a ton of time in the sun, as much as I can. The backyard is my haven that is well shaded and temperate, quiet and safe. Back there I have my lavender tree and my chair to read in, drink my water and just breathe. Set up in my closet, I have my little "office" with flamingo string lights and the computer that my friend Jeff gave us so that I can write these blog posts, but I also work on any number of other projects and listen to my music back here.
Physically, I run whenever I can, eat as healthy as I ever did (even if I don't feel like eating at all), try and stay hydrated, get good rest, take my medicine regularly, things of that nature. I know from experience how easy it is to let my needs get shunted off onto the back burner--after a while you look up and you realize you are in really rough shape. Couple weeks ago, I had my first panic attack in a long time. It was quite severe and afterwards I felt so shattered, like a crystal bell fractured by an iron ball peen hammer. It was a hurt I could feel all the way in my back teeth, can still feel, but the shame of falling apart was so much worse. I couldn't stop telling Michael that I was sorry because I am better than this, right? Shouldn't I be better than this? For days afterwards, I felt so fragile, like anything could make me break again, which embarrassed me further.
No time to fall apart like that now. There is only one course of action: accept help when it is offered, and make sure I am prioritizing self-care. Michael and I are both quite aware of the risks of caregiver burnout, how irreparable it can become and how serious the consequences are.
We got lucky. I take care of him, and he takes care of me. That way, everyone is taken care of.
All in all, not a bad system.
--Andie
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