Imbolc                                                                      Valentine Moon

Well, no matter what else happens I can say I made it to 72. Valentine’s Day on Shadow Mountain. Black Mountain obscured by low lying clouds, but still visible. A thin dusting of snow on the solar panels and the driveway. 32 degrees.

The pneumonia continues. Rattling in the chest, coughing, back to night sweats, shortness of breath, some fever. Not how I imagined my birthday, but there you are. I go to see Tabitha, Dr. Gidday’s p.a. today. Hopefully I’ll learn some more. Kate’s ct is today, too. I scheduled my appointment close to hers so I can take her to the imaging center at Porter Adventist, then scoot over to Dr. Gidday’s office for my 11:30.

I’ve been sick 15 days now. Figured out the last time I was this sick was not Austria, but when we lived on Edgcumbe Drive in St. Paul. Never diagnosed. Kate thought it might have been myocarditis. That was 29 years ago. It’ll be ok with me if it’s another 29 between bouts like this.

I’m up in the loft early. Feels nostalgic after 15 days of mostly miss on the mornings. I’m ready to get back to my old life, resume painting, teaching, writing. Not yet. There’s this big bump in the road.

A while back I read an interesting article about snow. A heavy snow eliminates boundaries, covers fences and streets, rocks, even mountains. The world becomes white, curvilinear, jagged edges smoothed. The affective mood of the landscape undergoes a transformation, becomes more connected.

Illness has a similar totalizing affect. The landscape recedes. Old linkages like grocery stores, schools, churches, synagogues fall away. The house, or even a room, becomes a world. In this world there is struggle, the body trying to hang on to life, an invader not caring about that life, but wanting the resources the life has to offer. It’s a raw, pitched battle, tough to watch, tough to experience. Not all illnesses are this extreme of course but pneumonia at 72 is a life or death matter. Either the pneumonia is defeated or the body dies. High stakes.

Like a heavy snow the world around this struggle transforms, becomes homogeneous. Can it help? It exists. No help? It disappears.

Writing from inside that shrunken world.

Imbolc                                                                                    Valentine Moon

Such a romantic lead into my romantic birthday. Kate’s going to get the feeding tube put in sometime. CT next week to make sure the stent’s working, then the tube soon? thereafter. Don’t know. Looks like it will be a home-based operation from the git. No rehab.

Meanwhile on Friday I drug my sorry, tired a@@ to the doctor. Doc thought I’d had the flu. Have you ever had a flu swab? Oh, man. A long plastic handle, a scrub like brush at the top, thin, and a hunk of wire joining the two. One up each nostril? The wire? That’s so they can get up behind the bend of your nostril. Exquisite, but short, pain. Negative, too. As Kate pointed out, that did mean my flu shot worked. Yeah.

So, whatever I’ve had, probably an adenovirus of some type, acts like the flu. Huh. Don’t let me ever get the flu. Doc yesterday it hits “you like a truck.” Good description of the last 1o days. Anyhow, that seems to be gone now, replaced by a follow-on, pneumonia! Yep. Just be too sure I was paying attention, I guess. Got my antibiotics course, ten days, doxycycline. I hope to pass.

Missed two days here. I can feel it when I miss a day, like I’m not yet complete. Don’t like it, but I didn’t feel like climbing the stairs. Hopefully, the plateau has changed to slight upward curve.

Imbolc                                                                           Valentine Moon

We’re a matched pair. Hair uncombed, vacant looks, wan smiles, in and out of bed during the day and the night. My bout with this virus, probably an adenovirus, is a week old today. 1 to 2 weeks according to the home medical advisor: Kate. Let it be less than 2 weeks. Please.

Last night the sore throat kept the good things coming. Coughing, clearing my throat. Going back to sleep. Waking up. You know how it goes. Any thought of swallowing? X.

Which meant I got awful thirsty. Not a good fit with the sore throat. Ice chips! I’d seen Kate in post-op recovery often enough to remember these. Got some. My entire menu for the day so far, one cereal bowl filled with ice chips. Brings up something else. After months of nudging Kate to eat, all of a sudden I don’t want to. Hurts to swallow. Not hungry. What’s the point?

As you can tell the glass is less than half full, at least I think so, the glass itself being opaque for the most part.

Really shouldn’t do this, look up adenovirus on the net. I’m gonna die! I’m gonna die! Well, yes. But most likely not right now. When I did, I found that, as with most viruses, the treatment is supportive. In other words, wait.

Nothing we can do. No choice, I know that, but god, what a word, wait. In common use it often means do nothing while something awful continues until it stops. Like this damned adenovirus (or, whatever) rummaging around in the closets, storage areas, kitchen, living room. Hey, you there! Stop what you’re doing and go. That would be supportive, too.

These diseases are like the old Lords of Misrule from medieval times. They come in, take over, put things wrong way round, upset life. When the illness or the festival is done, matters return to normal. The King or the Duke or the Baron in charge once again, but this time with a renewed sense of the value they bring. Order, equilibrium, homeostasis. Oh. Yeah. This is what it is to feel well. So I suppose they do play a role, reminding us of our mortality and our frailty, reminding us of what it means to be healthy. But. I’ve had my reminder for this biennium. And I’ve paid attention. So, quit already.

Imbolc                                                                            Waxing Moon

Frayed end of a hawser. That would be me this morning. I thought this virus was done on Saturday. Nope, just getting warmed up. More fever. Then congestion, chest and sinus. So, coughing. A lot of clearing of the throat. “Yes, Curt,” Kate says, referencing my father’s frequent clearing of his throat. When that subsided, nope, not over. Now let’s try throat-on-fire. Last night. Full on righteous 7 or 8 pain. Made sleeping difficult, coughing an exercise in self-torture. Not to mention fatigue. Where it began last Wednesday. It will end sometime, apparently very much on its timeline. Not today. Go away little virion’s, go away.

Which, if you recall yesterday’s post, creates in us an expectation that this too will pass. We get sick. We’re miserable. We get better. We go on. Fully what I anticipate. We’ve had the same anticipation with Kate’s 18 months of malady after malady. Not happening. Could not happen at all. Therefore it seems out of the way of things. An anomaly.

She woke up miserable yesterday, more miserable than usual. She called Gidday and we got an appointment with Tabita Lane, Lisa’s P.A., since her schedule was full.

Here’s a bit about Tabitha from my Caring Bridge post: Tabitha, a former oncology nurse and military corpperson, came in. “I was reading your file. It’s long.”
Yep. Tabitha carried herself much like Dr. Gidday, an athlete confined for the moment to a stool. Her left leg splayed out behind as she began asking questions.

Her empathy was obvious. She leaned in, nodded, frowned. “What do you want to do, Kate? A feeding tube? I think you’re there.” She was seeing Kate for the first time, at the tail end of an awful four months and she’s clearly malnourished, thin and weak. “And, your brain may be effected. Not enough fat. You’re probably not thinking straight.”

The next branch on this ancientrail began. Kate will see a general surgeon this week about placement of a feeding tube. After that procedure she will probably go into a rehab center, Brookdale most likely. There she will gain weight, have p.t., gradually regain her strength. I have no idea how long any of this will take. It does mean that my life will change dramatically once again. Less fraught this time because the initiating event here will be therapeutic, not management of a mysterious emergency.

Not done yet.