3/3/2020
Well, maybe, at least for awhile. The President’s pandemic spokesman, Dr. Fauci, just announced that the U. S. may suffer as many as 200,000 deaths from COVID-19. A couple of nights ago I realized that, despite considering myself pretty robust for my nearly 79 years, I really could get a severe case of the virus; I could even die. Really! So could Rita. I had presumed that we would get either mild or moderate cases if we did become infected. The next morning she and I had a discussion about what we would actually do if one or both of us became seriously ill. I was concerned about the difficulties I read about that some people have had getting tested or getting into a hospital even though seriously ill. But yesterday my doctor told me that he could test us or get us into medical care if needed. Still.
We have been self-isolating for a couple of weeks now, though I still go jogging, cycling, or slogging around a couple of blocks with hand weights virtually every day (the YMCA gym is closed). Our neighborhood organization now encourages us to get out into the streets and socialize evenings, especially Sundays, at a discreet distance, of course. We do wash our hands many times a day, even at home, and we both carry small bottles of disinfectant around with us for when we don’t have ready access to soap and water. Last week I inadvertently disinfected my mouth and upper esophagus from a 30-oz. bottle of what had been flavored sparkling water that Rita had put in the side pocket of her car. I thought she had put it there to get it out of our overcrowded fridge; she likes to keep water in her car. But in this case she had emptied the bottle and refilled it with a bleach solution for decontamination purposes. I spat it out immediately; there are some bleach stains on the cloth upholstery on the inside of the door, which I didn’t open quite fast enough, but my mouth and insides seem ok. I’ve been a little more careful since.
Actually, I have been experiencing a series of health repair issues since before the virus became a problem. I finally had both cataracts removed over the last month or so; I see whiter whites, bluer blues, and everything whiter. Concerned about possible mild hearing loss, I learned from a Costco audiologist that my eardrums were blocked with wax (!); a nurse at HEB’s ReadiClinic flushed them out. Somewhat more seriously, after years of slowly rising PSA levels, a biopsy revealed that I have localized intermediate prostate cancer, not a great surprise. The cluster of scans also revealed stones in both kidneys, which was a surprise. Lithotripsy for the kidney stones had to be postponed to make room for coronavirus cases; Rita and I are meeting with a radiation specialist this afternoon to consider treatment for the cancer. It feels as if I have been getting an 80,000-mile overhaul in stages even before the pandemic posed a more immediate threat to possibly shut down my body altogether.
4/2
Given the almost instantaneous social retreat and global economic collapse caused by the response to the pandemic, I do wonder how much of our collective life will return to anything close to what we have considered ‘normal’ in the foreseeable future, if ever. Perhaps oddly, I don’t much worry about it, but I am curious.
4/4
Our daughter-in-law in Mexico sent us an article indicating that the number of the infected ill in Houston hospitals is higher than the official infection rates would seem to indicate; testing is still limited here. So obviously we will have to stay hunkered down for the near future at least—no celebrating Easter at church, though we did watch one live-streamed service. Actually we do maintain active social contact through Zoom with several groups of friends—writing group, reading group, a lunch group with former-colleagues, and a dinner group of church friends. I’ve learned that we don’t look our best while eating in front of a monitor, yet I did snack a little online last night (discreetly, I hope) because we hadn’t had time to get dinner together beforehand. We do still get outside, in the yard, where we sometimes chat with neighbors in their yards, and with other neighbors in the nearby streets (at a proper distance). Rita finds visits to the Japanese Gardens in Hermann Park very soothing
4/6
Staying at home so much lately gives me even more time to pay attention to goings-on in and around our yard. While eating lunch a few days ago, I watched through our large kitchen window as a male cardinal solicitously fed his mate a seed on an electrical line just above our feeder. Then a dove dropped down between them; the male cardinal immediately hopped over the dove to the other side of his mate to be close to her. At the same time a jay (now-bluer to my scale-free eyes) lit on the nearby feeder. This morning a more intense spectacle occurred while I was eating breakfast on the patio. A black cat that has been stalking the birds and squirrels for weeks from under my car in the adjacent carport pounced on a squirrel under the bird feeder hanging from the big pecan tree; they skirmished for several seconds in the ground cover before the squirrel broke away and ran across the patio behind my chair with the cat in hot pursuit. The squirrel must have jumped into the oak tree between my chair and the house because I lost sight of it, though I soon heard angry chittering in the tree. The cat disappeared over the tall wooden fence beyond the tree after I hissed at it. I’ve been chasing that cat from its ambush location under our cars, sometimes with small sticks, for weeks, so I was surprised that it had the cheek to attack the squirrel while I was sitting only a few feet away, even if I was sitting at an angle that prevented me from spotting it before the attack. Clearly our backyard animals carry on as usual, oblivious to the disruptive effects of the pandemic, though I read this morning that a tiger apparently contracted the virus from one of its human keepers.
I find it a little odd that I haven’t felt more distress at all the changes occurring simultaneously in my life during the past few weeks. But then I have overreacted (momentarily) to minor disruptions and underreacted to major ones most of my life; Rita sometimes overreacts to my overreactions and grumbles that she won’t be able to tell when I’m really in serious trouble.
Houston Writers' Group 