Her first c*v*d symptoms showed up on August 25, 2021. Her last post "On Aging" was August 23.
She's been ghosting the socials except for a stalkery likes here and there because what can she say? She got sick. Real sick. And so did all the people living at home with her.
She didn't want to talk about it, she didn't want to report to anyone; she was trying to survive minute by minute while also preparing her mind and waiting to die. Because you just don't know.
After 17 days the main symptoms finally began to subside. She thought she was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. She'd made it through without going to the hospital.
But she'd made it through alone in her house (with help from extended family and friends). But her immediate family members that lived with her, the husband one and the medically complex one, were still at their respective hospitals recovering. They were each alone, too.
A few days ago, as she thought she began to see that tunnel end, she began having intense pain in her feet and ankles and what she describes as a "red, hot spot" at the base of her skull on her right side.
And then all of a sudden she could't just walk to the bathroom for the toilet or to the kitchen for some water. She had to drag and scoot herself on the floor to get to these places. She then had to use her arms to hoist herself to a standing position, balancing precariously and painfully on her toes to accomplish whatever task, only to relinquish back to gravity and the safety of the floor as soon as possible.
By the second day, when she realized this wasn't going away and the pain was more intense, she requested her late mom's walker from her dad. Her brother brought it over, set it up and left. She made an appointment with a doctor for that afternoon.
Oh glorious feeling of being upright! She'd taken walking for granted again. Funny since she never thought she would after not being able to walk after having Austin. She had dislocated her pelvis during giving birth resulting in an external fixator screwed into her bones for 9 weeks and instructions for no weight bearing on her legs.
The walker of almost 10.5 years later is very fancy with moving parts, a seat, and brakes. No yellow tennis balls on this thing. It zooms.
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She pauses and reads over what she just wrote.
OMG. Who. Freak'n. Cares?! Who cares about a dang walker? Who cares that she dust mopped the entire house with her body in her pajamas before she got the walker? The walker has nothing to do with her state of mind right now at 4:00 am.
She'd woken up realizing she needed to go to the bathroom, realizing that the meds from the morning would be completely worn off, realizing that she was going to have to brace herself for the coming intense pain.
She turned on the light and sat there. She finally willed herself and gave in to getting up, the dull ache in her feet screaming the second she let her legs dangle over the bedside. It was like all her blood pooled down into her feet: ankles, heels, arches, toes. They felt very fat and full.
She made it to the bathroom, sitting and scootching on the walker, pulling herself along the walls, transferring to the toilet, washing her hands by leaning her full weight against the counter for support.
When she came back to bed out of breath, she knew she had to psyche herself up into taking Excedrin (taking pills makes her gag and get nauseous so it's a ritual of mind over matter and breathing exercises.) She then laid back on her pillows waiting for the warm glow of pain relief; the residual tingling to remind her there is pain waiting when it wears off. And unfortunately, the wide awake side affect of caffeine.
Her mind reels and rolls with existential sh*t. This could be the end (Dr. G**gle said so.) Is she ready? After some time staring at the ceiling fan rotation, she hobbled with her walker to go find her computer.
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She stares at the screen wondering what to say if these are her last thoughts to share with the world. She has everything to say and nothing to say. She's not afraid of death; she's afraid of the pain of death.
Pain. Such a little word. Such a big weight.
How do people function in the world with pain? Her opinion is it depends on the type of pain.
Acute pain still has hope of relief; it almost becomes manageable just for that fact.
Chronic pain carries no hope of relief in this world. It only forces you to look beyond yourself or within yourself for help. Help to cope; help to survive; help to accept; help to surrender.
If the pain pills had not managed the acute pain of her feet, she would not be dribbling out these stupid words. She would be staring into the far corner of the room trying to keep her sanity; perhaps just focusing on her breathing, perhaps imagining succumbing to death.
She feels tightness in her chest. Nothing new since c*v*d. Or is this new? Is this it?
She feels a strange sensation in her forearm. It this it?
Her temple is pulsating. Her eyelid is twitching.
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There's a God and there is no God. There is Some-thing and there is No-thing. Her head floats above her body, light and heavy at the same time.
Is this where she says, Destiny Is All, and rides away into the sunset?
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