Mortality in the Time of Covid

I could put this in a Facebook post, but I'd rather put it here. I am terrified of getting the coronavirus & Covid-19. I have asthma, am overweight, have high blood pressure, and a history of cancer. I'm super high risk. Since I started working at home on 3/18/20, I have taken my temperature multiple times because of chest tightness. (It was asthma flaring up from allergies & stress.). I've coughed multiple times and been asked if I'm ok. (I was, the cough was productive.) I've left our house on average once per week for groceries and am horrified to see how few people seem to be taking this seriously.

In Arizona, we have a governor who up until late last week, thought hair & nail salons were essential services. Pretty sure golf courses are still on the list though. He refuses to issue a REAL shelter in place order and I worry what will happen. We've even made international news. There are SO MANY people here - and elsewhere - that think that getting out & about is somehow sticking it to the virus. The virus isn't an actual terrorist. This isn't 9/11 and you're not being brave. You're being fucking selfish & ignorant. 

I've read multiple articles that debate whether or not people can safely 'hang out' as long as it's outside. The consensus is that it's not a good idea. If there's a gust of wind, it can carry droplets from even someone speaking. As a homebody who does actually like to go out sometimes, this is hard and I recognize it. I know it's more difficult for my more social friends. 

There's a tweet I saw recently saying that the situation we're in is like Schrödinger's virus: we both do and do not have it. To find out we have to be tested, but there is not widespread testing. We all have to behave as though we are infected in order to keep everyone safe. 

In a breast cancer group I'm part of, multiple members are presumptive-positive. I'm not sure how many have actually been tested. In my own friend group online, 2 are presumptive positive (that I know of). They were not tested. I keep being grateful that I am not currently in treatment for cancer - any stage of it - then I feel guilty because so many people are, including a friend who has basically been isolated for a lot longer than the rest of us because chemo has fucked her immune system.

I don't have a lot more in this without devolving it into a rant about the casual cruelty & ineptitude of the current administration but let me close with what has been playing in my mind for awhile now, pretty much all the time as I try to remain a productive employee and keep a reasonably positive attitude. If I get covid, it will probably be bad (asthma). If things get really bad in Arizona doctors have to start trying to decide who lives and dies (aka who gets a ventilator), which has happened in Italy and if it's not happening in New York, it will probably reach that point. In that situation, if I get sick enough that I'm sent to a hospital (where I will be alone), there is one ventilator and a choice between me and a person who does not have underlying conditions, I'm not getting the ventilator. I will be the one who gets made comfortable.

And I also know that quite a few dear friends will end up not getting picked for the ventilator, too. It's a devastating realization.

So seriously. I don't care how much you want to get out of the house. Don't go visit family or friends. Don't crowd open areas like parks (national parks are largely closed now because of this nonsense), trails, etc, etc. You can't maintain physical distancing if everyone shows up to walk/ride/whateeverthe fuck. Walking in the neighborhood, the backyard, or a "sad Zumba video" (as Amarise put it) isn't nearly as interesting, but it's safer for everyone. 

Use any of the available video chat apps. Unless you have to go to work (which, my god - I feel so bad for everyone who has to go to work outside their home right now), unless you have a reason to be making a brief, properly physically distanced trip to a store for supplies. STAY THE FUCK HOME.

With a Little Help From My Friends

On the day of surgery, we had to be at the surgery center at 5 am for check in. 5 AM. I never get up that early. It was brutal. My brother & sister both wanted to be there, so on the way once we were on site, we took photos to help them figure out where to go once they arrived. Up to that morning, I thought I was ok and at peace with what was happening to me, but, when the pre-op nurse asked me to rattle off why I was there, my voice caught and I started to cry as I said "bilateral mastectomy with sentinal lymph node biopsy." She held my hand & told me it was ok. My breast surgeon & plastic surgeon arrived and they seemed weirdly hyped/animated. Is this a surgeon thing? Does it make them excited to go do their thing? I was asked that morning by someone if there would be reconstruction, I said no. Then an OR nurse came out & asked if there should be spacers - again, I said no. And at that point, was even more nervous because what the fuck people, I told you all of this. One of the last things I recall as I was put under was Dr. O'Neill (my breast surgeon) taking charge of things by way of having someone move & taking over a task then shushing the OR nurse who had been chattering loudly away.

Then later, I woke up. One of the first things I remember is Dr. O'Neill sitting at my bedside leaning on the rail, remarking on how drugged up I was but that I had come through the surgery great, minimal blood loss. And that there had been a 1 cm tumor in the lymph node, so it was also removed. That...was not cool to hear. After she left, my brother & Jason came back for awhile. Then my sister swapped places with my brother and she sat with me while Jason went to get my prescriptions & the car while a nurse helped me to the bathroom to well, use it, as well as get dressed. I won't go into a lot of detail on that, but I wore Wonder Woman undies that day & also made the mistake of looking at the bed where I'd been laying after coming back to my little recovery area because there was blood (that my sister quickly covered with a sheet).

We had a rough drive home & I don't remember much of the first 24-48 hours except for amusing things here & there - like warning the first few people to come over that I wasn't wearing pants. (I did cover up with a sheet though, so haha.)


***

After I started telling people about my diagnosis, I received an almost overwhelming amount of emotional support from all sorts of people. However, many of my fellow clinic escorts (plus a few others who wanted to help) provided tangible, edible support. At a Planned Parenthood luncheon in March, one of my fellow escorts took me aside to see how I was and ask some questions. She said that as soon as I had a surgery date, let her know - she would organize meals for us for awhile. When I seemed hesitant she took me by the shoulders, looked me right in the eye and said "I'm Southern & Italian - LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU." (And I mean really, how can you argue with that?)

Fast forward to May. I had a surgery date & I let her know and sure as shit - she sent me a message to ask questions about food preferences, allergies, preferred meal times, etc. Within days, the entire first week after surgery was filled. Because of all these generous people, we didn't have to actually cook anything ourselves for almost a full two weeks. It was glorious. Some people cooked, some brought us take out, and a couple had food delivered to us from a restaurant. To be fair, I remember very little from conversations I had during the first few days when people stopped by - I apparently had a conversation with Serena that involved pirates and the Flying Spaghetti Monster...? (Jason mentioned it later on.) Yay Percocet!

Two friends who are medical professionals were quite helpful, one brought kick ass potato bacon soup for the first night and assessed my vitals. Another stopped over to help with questions we had concerning the drains and later brought strawberries & whipped cream.

There have been a handful of people who have randomly messaged me to check in & see how I'm coping. Words can't really express how much I appreciate that/those gestures.

Not to mention that prior to surgery people gave me books and the means to get more books (most of which I read while I was out). As I write this, I have returned to work. That doesn't mean this series will end. I still have more to say, but at times struggle with how I will say it.

This

Pre-dawn sky the morning of the surgery. Taken from our driveway.