Hospital Continued

Hello, still from the hospital! This morning when a crew came into the room at 6:30, it sounded as if I might not even have enough time to zip downstairs and acquire a coffee before they’d be whisking Edward away for a second CT scan and then a second surgery. (A nurse told us last night she’d been told to have him stop eating/drinking at midnight, which was our first clue that something might be happening today.) I fairly FLEW for the coffee, then flew back, panting. At around noon, they finally came to get him for the CT scan. We have become familiar over the years with the concept of Hospital Time: things happen when they happen, and not when anyone says they’re going to happen, and the term “soon” means “in the future, that’s all we can say”—but it still fools me from time to time.

What I should have done was race down to get some lunch right after the CT scan, since we knew it would HAVE to take at least a certain minimum amount of time before the results could be evaluated/communicated—but I didn’t think of it. I was still in foolish Poised For Action mode, plus I wanted to update family members. Then it was 2:00 and I hadn’t had lunch, but now it really did seem as if any minute the doctor might come in and want to talk about the CT scan and discuss surgery options, so I didn’t feel I could go.

The ENT doctor/surgeon came in around 3:30 and talked about how things were kind of inconclusive, and that one option was to send us home and have us come back Thursday—so we could at least get a couple of normal nights of sleep. He said he would go talk to Infectious Disease (that’s the department handling the antibiotics, and they decide when it’s okay to switch from IV antibiotics to oral ones) and get back to us. He left, and about ten minutes later the Infectious Disease doctor came in to talk to us, and we told her the ENT surgeon was looking for her, and right around the time she was done talking to us her pager went off and it was the ENT surgeon, and she said she would go talk to him. It is now 7:00 p.m. and no one has come back. I guess we are staying another night? The nurse did come in and say Edward could eat and drink again, so in any case we know surgery is not imminent; he had a nice big dinner and is feeling a lot cheerier.

There are several things that would vastly improve The Hospital Experience for me. One of them is not even something I’d waste a wish on, which is that I would love it if things happened when people said they were going to happen—but I know that is not possible/realistic. I think the more realistic wish (not that I will get this wish, either) would be to NOT HAVE the consistently-wrong predictions. I remember when I worked at a pharmacy, I would start adjusting the time I told people the prescription would be ready, as prescriptions piled up: so, like, if we only had one prescription to fill, I’d say it would be 10-15 minutes (and often we could do it quicker than that); but once we had half a dozen prescriptions, all for people who wanted to wait for them instead of coming back later, I would be saying 30-40 minutes; and if we hit more like 10-12 waiting prescriptions, I would say I was afraid we were rather backed up and it would be about an hour. My boss did not like that, and wanted me to say 10-15 minutes to everyone. But I know for myself, the absolute WORST is to be told 10-15 minutes and have it be an hour! That’s the WORST! If I KNOW it’s going to be an hour, I can choose to come back later! If I am TOLD it will be 10-15 minutes, I will notice and count and resent EVERY SINGLE EXTRA MINUTE! And my BOSS was not the one who would have to deal with those absolutely-justified noticing/counting/resenting people!

Where was I? Oh, yes. So I would not even think to try to fix Hospital Time, because obviously there are always going to be things that take longer than expected, and emergencies that have to be dealt with, and unexpected complications, and so forth; and it is in everyone’s best interest for doctors and other medical professionals to take the time things NEED, and to take care of situations in THE ORDER THAT MAKES THE MOST SENSE. But I WOULD enjoy it if people didn’t make predictions when they KNOW, FAR BETTER THAN I DO, how unreliable those predictions end up being. I feel like a lot of hospital people are like my boss at the pharmacy telling everyone it will be 10-15 minutes even when they know it’s going to be an hour, and that’s not good for anyone. (There ARE some hospital people who will say things like “They say 2:00, but–*HUGE SHRUG*–you know how these things go. We’ll just see!” I love them.) (Their bosses probably tsk at them.)

The second thing that would vastly improve The Hospital Experience for me would be having one or two times per day when I could be assured that no one was going to come in with anything important. If I just knew that between 11:00 and noon, or 1:00 and 2:00, or 9:00 and 10:00 at night, NO DOCTOR WOULD COME IN, then I would know when to take a shower, or run downstairs for coffee, or go for a little walk, or use the bathroom. Just as it is comically uncanny how people in a hospital will come into the room the minute you doze off, it is comically uncanny how we will be in the room for hours and hours and hours undisturbed, and then I will go downstairs to get a coffee, and when I come back 10 minutes later Edward tells me the doctor was there while I was gone. (The doctor, probably: “Nurse, please page me when The Mother leaves the room.”) Or I finally decide I will risk a shower, and I am undressing in the bathroom and I hear a knock at the room door and then I hear the doctor’s voice. For heaven’s sake, what is a person to do?? Just tell me even HALF AN HOUR A DAY when I can COUNT ON being unmissed. Right now, in fact, I would like to take a shower, since evenings in general seem less busy/doctory than mornings. But sometimes a doctor comes to see us after handling their last surgery of the day. When is it definitely safe to take a shower? After 9:00 p.m.? After 10:00 p.m.?

The third thing that would vastly improve The Hospital Experience for me would be if someone came through each day and checked on supplies, just automatically, perhaps when they came to collect the trash. I hate having to tell A REGISTERED NURSE that we need more toilet paper, as if I think she is our personal servant. And you were all SO helpful last time I was here and was afraid to ask about towels, but I was STILL AFRAID AGAIN TO ASK ABOUT TOWELS. (Partly because I wasn’t sure if Covid restrictions might apply to the showers, but mostly because I am as ever a wee sleekit cowrin tim’rous beastie.) I wish there were towels already in the room, and also sheets so I could change Edward’s bed when the medication makes him all sweaty, and really I just wish I had access to all relevant supplies so I could do my own fussing/housework and didn’t feel like I was constantly asking for things / asking for people to do things. I know it’s NOT like this, but it FEELS like I am snapping my fingers and demanding room service. I was so happy and relieved when I realized that I could take our finished meal trays out to a cart in the hall, instead of the nurses having to do it for us. Surely there are other things like that that I could be doing if I only knew! But I think for most of the things I just CAN’T: I don’t have access to the sheets or the towels or the toilet paper.

The fourth thing that would vastly etc. etc. would be a good gift shop. Our local hospital is not anywhere near as well ranked as this city hospital, and they do not specialize in children (they’ll take out children’s tonsils or set their broken bones, but as soon as Edward needed a more extensive procedure they sent us here), but they have (or used to have—I haven’t been there since Elizabeth got her tonsils out, and that must be about a decade ago now) a really good gift shop. They have the expected stuffed animals and toys and cards and flowers, but also it’s like a small drug store: they have over-the-counter medications, pads and tampons, a small section of socks and underwear. Here, I have to leave the hospital and walk to a drug store, which does not sound so bad when I type it out, but I am not a city mouse and would prefer to stay tucked into the hospital—especially now, when there are screening stations to navigate at the entrances.

And the final thing is that I would love to be able to order Edward’s meal trays ONLINE. I have to use the phone every single time, and I would say 9 out of 10 times I get someone brusque who sounds like they hate their job, and often it’s someone who is pointlessly trying to correct the way I’m ordering (“No, ketchup is a condiment, tell me that at the very end”), when their colleagues have corrected me the other way (“Hamburger, okay—you want ketchup or mustard or anything with that? And fries, okay—you want salt and ketchup with those?”). And why correct ANYONE, when most of us are merely passing through and no one will be long-served by these educational efforts, and it will only frustrate the employees who will feel as if they SAY it and SAY it and no one EVER LEARNS?

Book: Plainsong

We are still in the hospital. Today is Sunday. We got here Wednesday morning. The incision should be “running clear” by now, but it is not. Bloodwork should be showing decreasing inflammation/infection markers, but it is not. The likely explanation is that some of the abscess is still there—a possibility we were warned about, since it was multichambered, extensive, and not in a location where they could see what they were doing (the surgeon said that in order to see it all, they would have had to take risks that were not worth taking). Tomorrow they will likely do another CT scan to see what the situation is. After that, it seems likely there will be another surgery. This is what happened with his sinus abscesses as well, except that time we went home in between; this is longer, but less hassle, and hopefully will result in fewer weeks of antibiotics (last time he took antibiotics for the weeks in between surgeries, and then for a month after the second surgery; it was a lot of antibiotics).

I have finished another book: Plainsong, by Kent Haruf (Target link) (Amazon link).

(image from Target.com)

I would NEVER have selected this book at the library, NEVER. I would have judged it by its cover (boring/bleak), title (sounds like a reference to either the Amish or The Great Plains), author (older white guy), and plot (sounds depressing/bleak). I was sure that I read it ONLY because Sundry recommended it, but can I find that recommendation to link to it? Can I hell. But I know it was before Henry was born, because I remember I was reading the book when I found out I was pregnant with him; I was thinking about that riveting news for the entire rest of the book, and it got locked in. If he’d been a girl, we were strongly considering the name Victoria, the name of one of the characters. It is one of my favorite books I’ve ever read, so I can’t explain why it took me so long to re-read it, except that there are some difficult/sad scenes, and sometimes when I’m considering a re-read, such scenes loom too large, even if I know at the time I considered them well worth it.

Anyway, I’d bought the book at some point during the pandemic, and it was on my To Read pile, and I brought it along to the hospital; and I just finished reading it, and I loved it all over again. I think it is the kind of book that some people would love so much they can’t stand it, and other people would be like “What the heck? I don’t get this at all”—because so much of what I love is the exact way things are phrased, and that is the kind of thing that can yank one heart all around and leave another heart right where it is. So maybe get it from your library and see what you think. This book too has an Unexpected Baby plotline, which I will go for every time.

I have Eventide with me; that’s the sequel, which I don’t believe I ever read. And there’s a third book, Benediction, which I wonder if I’d better just go ahead and order now so it’ll be at my house if we ever get discharged from this hospital. And the last book I have with me is The Tie That Binds, another Kent Haruf, and one that I have because when I ordered Plainsong and Eventide, used books were buy two get one free, and they didn’t have Benediction.

Books: The Story of Beautiful Girl; The Glass Hotel

I brought five books with me to Edward’s appointment on Wednesday, feeling a little silly because what if all we did was go to the appointment and then go home, perhaps with a new prescription? Or what if he WAS admitted to the hospital, but we went home the next day? I took two of the books with me in my backpack and left the other three in the car just in case. I have finished the two from my backpack, and have taken a refreshing little walk out to the parking garage to pick up the other three.

(image from Amazon.com)

The Story of Beautiful Girl, by Rachel Simon (Amazon link) (eBay search link).

It is hard to know whether or not to recommend this book. If someone had described it to me the way I would describe it to you in order to explain why I don’t know if I’d recommend it or not, I would not have read it; but I am glad to have read it, and would not want to have been talked out of it. There are hard parts about the mistreatment and abuse of people with disabilities, in institutions and in communities and by police. It’s hard to read, as it should be, but it feels valuable to learn more about those things, and also to have those points of view represented. And it’s not just bleak/educational: there’s friendship and care and love and the good kinds of secrets. And a major plot point involves an older woman who is suddenly in charge of a baby, and I find those sorts of stories very appealing. I read them the way I used to read books about people getting pregnant: just, if that’s one of the plot points, I will try the book. Which is why I tried this one. But there are times I can handle reading about how bad people can be (knowing that these people continue to exist, and continue to exploit and abuse vulnerable people, even if certain kinds of institutions fall), and there are times I can’t, so even with the balancing factors, this might not be the right book for you right at this moment.

 

(image from Target.com)

The Glass Hotel, by Emily St. John Mandel (Target link) (Amazon link).

You know how with most books, you can tell someone what the book is ABOUT? Not this one. I don’t think I would have selected it based on the flap; I got it because I’d liked Station Eleven by the same author. It’s kind of about a woman named Vincent. (Her name was my main complaint about the book: it was TOO distinctive and TOO confusing, and I kept thinking accusingly that the author did not HAVE to choose that name.) But it’s not just about Vincent; it’s about a lot of Vincent-adjacent people, without being clear as to why it would be about them, or about her. The book just sort of talks about them, and sees things from their points of view, and moves around in time, and some things come together and other things just exist. I don’t know if I’m explaining this well, but I liked the book, and found it kind of intriguing to be reading along without feeling like the story was on a particular PATH.

Hospital

It is very weird to me that if you were to think of me at all, you would imagine me going about my usual life: working at the library, doing dishes, playing Candy Crush, scrolling Twitter, fretting at the grocery store, doing laundry, procrastinating phone calls. You would not know (and would have no way of knowing) that actually I have been here at the children’s hospital with Edward since Wednesday morning. We left our house at 7:15 a.m. to drive to the big city for a morning appointment with an ENT doctor, and at that appointment the doctor checked him over and then admitted him to the hospital, and he got surgery that afternoon on an abscess in his neck.

This is his sixth abscess in 2.5 years if I am counting right, and sixth surgery (one of the abscesses didn’t need surgery; one of them needed two surgeries), and I am hoping that now we can finally start talking about PREVENTATIVE MEASURES or something, because abscesses are gross and scary and the post-surgical care involves drains/wicks that are gross and uncomfortable, and my child is getting increasingly scar-covered. I think it’s been a little difficult to figure things out because the abscesses have been far-flung: first he had a sinus abscess, so that just seemed like maybe a sinus infection gone bad; then he had one on his rear, so that seemed Crohn’s-related—but then he got one on his leg, another on his rear, and then two on his NECK?? and so I think it’s taking awhile to see this as An Abscess Issue as opposed to a collection of random unconnected situations for different specialists to deal with separately.

Anyway, this is the third day in the hospital, and I am very glad that the LAST time we were here, I made a LIST; and also that I resolved that ANY TIME we were here for a check-up on any sort of Concerning Issue I would pack a bag. So I have changes of socks/undies/shirts; I have shampoo and dry shampoo and deodorant and baby wipes; I have books and my laptop; I have chargers for everything; I have (well, had) a giant chocolate bar and a can of Pringles.

It is not happy or comfy to be in a hospital during a Covid peak, but we do not seem to be in a Covid-patient area of the hospital—not, I guess, that I’d know. But the floor is not crowded, I’m not seeing any big warning signs on doors, everyone seems normal and relaxed except that we’re all wearing masks. If you are interested, the rule here is that Edward does not have to wear a mask in his room; I have to wear one if anyone comes into the room but not when it’s just Edward and me; we both have to wear masks anytime we leave our room. Edward was given a Covid test on arrival, and was asked about his vaccination status; I was not tested or asked.

I have found that even my fretful brain is willing to go mostly into Whatcha Gonna Do mode about this. We have to be here. This air is our only option. My brain has instead turned its fretting toward Edward’s Covid booster shot, which is supposed to happen in two days. Probably I should reschedule it. We might not even be home by then. Well, we’ll probably be home by then. But they don’t want to give a vaccination to someone who just had surgery and is on antibiotics, do they? Or do they? Maybe I should give poor Edward a little break between one Medical Thing and the next. But maybe this recent hospital stay shows just how important it is to get him anything that can protect him, and it’s just a booster shot. fret fret fret fret fret fret fret [Update: I asked one of the doctors, and she said it was indeed a balancing act, and that she would give it more thought and get back to us; but that her initial thought is that he should wait until he is done with this infection, for a reason I wouldn’t have expected: it’s because we need to watch him very closely for fever, and if he got a fever from the booster, they would need him to come back to the hospital just in case it was abscess-related.]

There is no aspect of a hospital stay that you have not already heard discussed by every single stand-up comic—but it really is uncanny the way they wake you up just as soon as you go to sleep. Yesterday we had vast stretches of time in the afternoon when no one came in—and then Edward drifted off to sleep, and five minutes later someone came in to check on him. They left; a stretch of time elapsed; he drifted off again—AND SOMEONE CAME IN AGAIN. And yesterday evening, we spent a long time alone waiting to go to bed until after his vitals check, then we got into our beds and turned off the light—and WITHIN A MINUTE, someone came in; and then ten minutes later, SOMEONE ELSE CAME IN. Also, the ENT team does their rounds BEFORE DAWN and it is not my favorite alarm clock, to have six people come into the room and turn on all the lights and start asking questions. I understand there must be reasons for the timing. But.

A Quest for Non-Depressing Tall Men’s Clothing

I am hoping to access our hive mind. I have a child who is 6’4″, male, wears a medium or large in tops but it HAS TO BE Tall sizing, absolutely HAS TO BE. And he says all his clothes depress him, and he is expressing interest in things such as lilac sweaters with daisies on them, and colorblocked pastel hoodies like from the ’90s, and Keith Haring dancing-guy shirts, and rainbow-striped sweaters, and sweaters like this one:

(image from vibeheat.com)

But I am having trouble finding these things in his size. Elizabeth has a friend who wears things of this style and she asked him where he shops, and so I got this:

(image from asos.com)

But only a certain number of their items are available in Tall sizes. And every other path I’ve gone down the last hour looking for Keith Haring hoodies/tees has led to frustration. We found a GREAT site with TONS of good stuff, including that shades-of-green sweater—but it said it had “Asian sizing,” and I know that is not going to fit a 6’4″ medium/large man.

Books: The Ten Thousand Doors of January; They Left Us Everything; The 7 1/2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle

Before books, I have a product to recommend. It’s my new favorite keto candy:

(image from Target.com)

Reese’s Zero Sugar. Like most keto treats, they are startlingly expensive. Some days, I would rather just wait for my next Day Off and eat regular, normal-price Reese’s peanut butter cups. But some days are dreary and bleak, and a little bit of expensive candy can help considerably.

 

Okay: books! I finally read The Ten Thousand Doors of January, by Alix E. Harrow (Target link) (Amazon link).

(image from Target.com)

There were some things I didn’t like: the cutesy title; the way toward the end it seemed like it was just one thing after another, as if to meet a page requirement. But overall I liked it very much and would recommend it. I like when a book puts magic into the real world. I kept wanting to get back to reading it. I don’t try to figure things out as I’m reading, so things dawned on me gradually in a way I found pleasant. I came to like the name January.

 

Next I read They Left Us Everything, by Plum Johnson (Amazon link).

(image from Amazon.com)

This was a great book to get out of the library: it was about 50% interesting, and the rest I could skim and be glad I hadn’t bought it—but the part I did find interesting has continued to be interesting to me, and I’ve thought of it many times. The book is about a woman dealing with her parents’ possessions after their deaths. The part I found interesting was where she was talking about things she found and what she decided to do about them; I was also interested in the help she received from other people (it seems very appealing to have a friend come help, or to be that friend helping someone else). And I was interested that, in the end, she came down on the side of saying people shouldn’t try to clear out their own possessions before they die, but should let their children do it—which flies in the face of some of the other books/articles I’ve seen on the topic, so that’s been some food for thought.

The part I didn’t find interesting was all the Family Tree Bragging. I think she probably wrote this book in part for her own family to use as history/keepsake, so it was excusable/understandable. But I found the stories boring at best, cringey/embarrassing/basking-in-reflected-glory at worst. And it seems like it would only take one charmingly unscrupulous story-spinning ancestor to invent a whole bunch of boastful stories, and who would ever know?

I also had trouble identifying with the overall Boomer nature of the book. There are a lot of the sort of jolly stories many Boomers tell about their upbringing, which sound to my Gen X ears like disturbing emotional/physical abuse. I would love to read a memoir on this same topic written by someone from my generation, and another written by a Millennial, and so forth.

Proof-reading this, it sounds like I didn’t like the book, but I definitely did, and would recommend it! (Get it from the library, though.)

 

Next I read The 7 1/2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle, by Stuart Turton (Target link) (Amazon link).

(image from Target.com)

For quite awhile I had this book confused with The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, a book I found mostly boring; plus, in general I’ve been avoiding books by male authors. When I finally decided I’d read it, if only to get it off my list, I found certain elements obnoxious: the dialog, for example, where someone seriously says “It will little profit you.” That’s Drama/Cape Phrasing: anyone else would say “It won’t do you any good.” Also, people in this book SNARL their words, and many of the women have TUMBLING CURLS and so forth. And there is one extended scene where the (thin) author writes some JAW-DROPPINGLY fat-phobic/anti-disability stuff that almost made me put the book down on principle, and is still making me mad. But the good plot prevailed, and soon I was having trouble stopping reading it when it was time to make dinner. I might start it over again at the beginning to see if everything makes sense now that I know what’s going on.

Grocery Store Report

One reason I am attempting not to panic about groceries is that I often go quite early Sunday morning, when it seems reasonable to assume the shelves might be depleted from Saturday shoppers—particularly if the grocery store is having staffing issues and is low on stockers. Sometimes on Sunday I will have a series of “Oh no, they’re out of ____!! and _____!! and _____!!!” moments, one after another with rising panic, and then I will stop by again on Wednesday mid-morning and they will have plentiful supplies of all of those things. So quite possibly they had ALL those things on pallets in the back all set to put out when I was there on Sunday, and it’s just that I was Little Miss Up Before Dawn and they weren’t ready for me yet.

Still. It was looking very Early Pandemic at my grocery store. There were a lot of empty spots on shelves; a lot of shelves where the items were only one unit deep, with empty shelf behind. They’re not just low on pasta varieties anymore; the pasta shelves are nearly empty now. Pasta sauce is also weird and depleted and spread out.

They’ve been very low on orange juice, sometimes having only a couple of specialty varieties (e.g., one organic kind with extra pulp, three of the kind where it’s like orange-pineapple or orange-mango or whatever), but today they had much more of it, and they had the kind I usually get.

They had Pillsbury canned crescent rolls and Pillsbury canned cinnamon rolls again.

Still no cream cheese shortage at my store. (I’ve been hearing about national cream cheese shortages but haven’t seen it locally yet.)

Chicken nugget-type things were low on variety again.

They had SOME quick oats, but no regular rolled oats—and the quick oats were spread out and only one canister deep, and it was mostly the smaller canisters. Further down the aisle I found four canisters of regular rolled oats that had been part of an attempt to fill in another product gap, and I felt very lucky to get one, and resisted the urge to buy TWO. (I do not NEED two.)

There was no Raisin Bran Crunch, or even regular Raisin Bran—and the whole cereal aisle seemed very depleted, lots of areas where a single type of store-brand cereal was occupying a bunch of slots.

No bagged Splenda again. No baking cocoa again.

Soups looking very depleted again. Canned fruits looking depleted again.

I got the last bag of sugar-free cough drops, and the whole section was mostly empty pegs. One flavor of store-brand cough drops was filling almost all the pegs that weren’t empty.

Very low on menstrual pads, and out of the kind I usually buy.

Very low on cat litter. Very low on cat food. That whole aisle looked stressful.

Still no plain or mini M&Ms.

No regular Hershey’s syrup, just store-brand and Special Dark.

Very low on popcorn kernels: only two bags of them, plus maybe half a dozen bags of an expensive organic kind.

Frozen french fries looking a little better again—more of them, more variety. But still on the sparse side.

Still no Gardein beefless ground and no Morning Star faux-chicken nuggets.

Signs up in the produce department about difficulty getting bagged salads.

Some of this is probably just my specific grocery chain and their specific supply trucks, though: I had to pick up a prescription at Target the other day, and they had the Gardein beefless ground and regular Morning Star faux-chicken nuggets, they had plain AND mini M&Ms, they had plenty of the soups we usually get. Their site says they have Raisin Bran Crunch and Always pads and our usual cat litter. They too are out of sugar-free cough drops, though, and very low on cough drops overall.

(They also had these sweet little bowls, which I put into my cart in a green floral and a pastel floral, and then turned around and put them back because I DO NOT NEED ANY MORE LITTLE BOWLS RIGHT NOW. The kids broke, like, four little bowls during the pandemic when I didn’t feel I could go out and buy any, and it’s true that bowls were then scarce at our house and so I felt justified ordering a set of Modern Look With Elk Design bowls, and then when I COULD go out and buy bowls in person I bought maybe six more bowls, so we are ALL SET on little bowls.)

One of my Coping Thoughts is this: “Even with all the alarming gaps, this store is still VERY VERY FULL OF FOOD. There is LOTS OF FOOD here. Some of my USUAL FOODS are not here; some of my TOP-CHOICE FOODS are not here; but there is still ABUNDANT FOOD AVAILABLE.”

Bonus Alcohol Task

Backstory that will temporarily feel irrelevant but later I will tie it in: When we moved into this house, three years ago now, Edward’s hoodie (the one he wore daily as a light jacket) disappeared—which shouldn’t have been THAT big of a deal, but I was already finding the entire move so emotional and overwhelming, and I HAAAAAATE the feeling of not being able to find something, and also WHERE COULD IT BE. I opened nearly every box, even ones that made no sense (maybe I’d lost my mind and used the hoodie as PADDING or something??), and finally gave up, thinking of it as just one more thing the new house had swallowed: money, joy, memories, coping skills, mental stability—and now Edward’s hoodie.

Finally someone thought to mention the issue within earshot of Paul, who, as it turned out, had inexplicably taken two large plastic bins and shoved into them: snowpants; several random pairs of our winter boots; some extra coats; AND EDWARD’S HOODIE—and put them in an awkward, unheated, difficult-to-access rakes/shovels/equipment-type closet in the barn where no one would ever go to put on snowpants, boots, an extra coat, or a hoodie. He had ONE SMALL SURGE of unpacking, and he somehow made A DELIBERATE CHOICE to put those things INTO BINS and then into an HIDDEN/BAFFLING PLACE; and it was even MORE unfindable because WHO WOULD EXPECT HIM TO PUT ANYTHING AWAY; and it caused me to waste SO MUCH TIME AND EFFORT for NO REASON. I found this so discouraging, so disheartening, so metaphorical, and so symbolic, I couldn’t face dealing with it; and so I took out the hoodie, and left the rest of it there (TO ROT IN HELL WHERE PAUL COULD TAKE THE RESPONSIBILITY FOR CASTING IT).

I may have mentioned before that I have an Alcohol Policy. My Alcohol Policy is this: if I have alcohol on a night I was intending NOT to have alcohol, I (with qualified exceptions) MUST do chores with that alcohol. I wish the dieting comparison didn’t spring to mind, but sadly we are part of this society whether we like it or not, so what it reminds me of is when someone on a diet might decide that they ought not to have the extra cookie—but if they DO have the extra cookie, they need to do exercise to burn it off. Though—it seems like in the case of the cookie/exercise, that’s generally considered a punishment/penance; whereas with me, and alcohol, it’s more of a feeling of let’s not WASTE the extra cheery motivation. It would be like reframing the diet thing so that you were saying let’s not WASTE the food energy of the cookie, and instead let’s use it to build strength and stamina, which is something we want to do but sometimes have trouble finding the energy for. Like that.

Tonight I had alcohol when I had planned not to have alcohol, and so I asked myself what chore I was going to do, and I decided to do the one I most dreaded, which was working on putting away Christmas. I HATE putting away Christmas. It’s a big chore, and also it’s so sad: the worst chore combination, and the perfect chore for being under the influence. Christmas dishes, Christmas mugs, assorted Christmas decor, the Melissa & Doug advent calendar—boxed up and brought to the barn. Wrapping paper and gift tags and ribbons and one stray box of Christmas cards—boxed up and brought to the barn. Empty ornament storage box brought down from the barn and put invitingly NEAR the tree at least.

Then I reached an impasse: I was not done, but the rest of the Christmas dishes/mugs were in the dishwasher. And I was not quite ready to de-ornament the tree. But I still had cheery alcohol motivation remaining.

While walking back and forth to the barn with boxes of Christmas stuff, I had noticed The Closet From the First Paragraph. I hadn’t thought of it or noticed it in literally years—but the other day Elizabeth wanted to go sledding, and was looking for snowpants, and she asked if we had any, and I Thought Of It. I sent her to go look, and she reported that the bins had not been latched closed (FOR SOME REASON) (WHYYYYY) (NO BUT WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY), and so had been infiltrated by dust and spiderwebs (JUST WEBS, I AM SURE JUST WEBS AND NOT WEB-MAKERS), so she had to borrow snowpants from her friend. I decided that alcohol and I would finally tackle this project that had been hanging over my head for three years.

And so now the snowpants and coats are in the washing machine. Items that are too small for anyone in the house AND non-spiderwebby are in the Goodwill bag, waiting to be joined by the items that are too small for anyone in the house but were spider-webby so are in the washing machine. My forgotten hot-pink polka-dotted rainboots are back in my life, though I don’t know how I can ascertain if there is anything spider-webby IN them, without putting my HAND or FOOT in there with, maybe, spiders. Elizabeth’s long-lost winter scarf is on the hook with her backpack. Several new items purchased to donate to a charity drive (where did Paul even FIND them?) are back in the donation pile. Two giant empty bins are newly available for storage, this time in a place that makes sense.

Monday

Probably I should have done this earlier, but today was the day I told the kids to stop eating lunch at school, since they have to take off their masks for it. It’s worse than eating in a restaurant (SO MANY MORE not-in-the-same-household people, sitting SO MUCH CLOSER), but I couldn’t think of any way around it. But last week I heard on NPR it’s estimated that 92% of in-school spread is happening in the cafeteria, and today was the day I thought “It is not COMFORTABLE or PLEASANT or NORMALLY A GOOD IDEA for children to go 7 hours without eating, but it is absolutely DOABLE and SURVIVABLE and IT IS PAST TIME.” I hate this. I am trying to think of a way I could make this better/easier, like maybe cooking something that would be ready for them to eat as soon as they got home from school—something they really like, like chicken nuggets or pizza.

(Incidentally, our school is using a “connected cases” concept for identifying when they need to level up precautions, and that is interesting to think about in the context of most of the spread perhaps happening at lunch, when the school wouldn’t be aware that the cases were connected.) [Edited to add: Today the school, which in the past has been extremely specific about the EXACT number of connected cases that justify an increase in precautions (or, more often, the EXACT number of connected and unconnected cases that let them NOT do any increase in precautions), sent an email that “due to the number of clusters” (unspecified), they would be increasing precautions, and thanking us for our understanding as they continue to do their very best in these uncertain times. Oh, yes: their very best. Yes. By not requiring masks, let alone vaccines. By redefining “social distancing” so that it was three feet instead of six, so they did not need to make ANY CHANGES to classroom set-up or population. By continuing to hold in-person EVERYTHING, including things that did not need to be in-person. By caving in every way to the angry parents who wanted complete in-person schooling, absolutely as normal, with absolutely no modifications of any kind to allow that to happen more safely. Their. Very. Best.]

We heard from the principal that both twins were identified as close contacts of people (it’s a different person for each twin) who tested positive for Covid-19. [Edited to add: Today we found out they are both the close contact of another person, and it’s someone Edward eats lunch with, so my precaution, which this morning felt paranoid and over-the-top, is too late.] They are not supposed to stay home; they are not required to get a test (though the school mentions that they CAN do so 5-7 days after the exposure); they are just supposed to keep going to school, and at lunchtime keep taking off their masks and breathing over other people. If we were trying to come up with the Covid-19 equivalent of a Chicken Pox Party, we could not do better than this.

Paul took the twins and also Henry for PCR tests this weekend. The testing place (a 35-minute drive away, but they take walk-ins, unlike the pharmacies which are appointment-only and have no appointments in the next week) says we can expect to get results “within 72 hours after 5:00 p.m. on the day of test.” When we had Edward tested by this same place back when he had pneumonia, we FURTHER discovered from customer service that “within” means “after” and “after 5:00 p.m.” means “the next day.” So for example, if you get a test on Monday, you start at 5:00 p.m. on Monday and you count 72 hours so now you are at 5:00 p.m. on Thursday—and then you go to THE NEXT DAY, which is Friday, and that’s the day you can expect to get your test results, unless they are really busy with all the tests they’re doing for air travelers, and then it might be later. THIS IS NOT A WORKABLE PLAN, IN A SITUATION WHERE TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE.

Henry is now eligible for the booster shot. Did our state spring into action with giant, efficient, easily-accessible clinics, since we had PLENTY OF WARNING that this step was coming? Did they hell! The earliest appointment I could get him was two weeks away, at a pharmacy. I took it, thinking I could maybe find something sooner as places added more appointments, but no; I check every day, and there is nothing. Our state’s vaccination website is worse than unhelpful: it didn’t even find the one that was 2 weeks out, and gave a search result of only one appointment, three weeks and more than an hour’s drive away. At this point there is no justification for this level of disorganization.

I drove Rob back to his college. I was glad to see a higher percentage of people wearing their masks in the Masks Required For Entrance rest stops: when I picked him up, it was maybe 50%, and many employees weren’t wearing them; when I took him back, I would see maybe one or two people without masks, and all the employees were wearing them. (I don’t count people eating at tables in my mask-noticing, only people standing in line, in restrooms, etc.)

I paid more for the motel this time and got a room that had been cleaned, which was nice. In fact, it looked to me as if they’d replaced some things such as faucet handles, which can LOOK kind of scruffy/unclean as they get older, even if they ARE clean. I still sprayed/wiped everything down, but I believe I’ll probably be doing that for the rest of my life. I believe I will also be leaving Housecleaning a big tip for the rest of my life.

I’m almost alone in the house today, for the first time in quite awhile: everyone was home for winter break, and then Paul’s workplace advised everyone who could work from home to do so (his workplace has a vaccination requirement, and in-person limits throughout all buildings, and weekly testing, and cases are still going up). But I took today off from work when I thought I’d be driving Rob Sunday/Monday, and when we switched to Saturday/Sunday I didn’t change that plan, and now I think I will also do THAT for the rest of my life: it was very nice yesterday to come home from a somewhat harrowing drive (wet roads and temperature kept dipping below freezing) and think “No work tomorrow!” And Paul had to go into work today to deal with some equipment issues that had been piling up over the holidays, and also to get his required Covid test—and, as much as I have been urging him to stay home whenever possible, I am…not sad that the day he HAS TO go in is the same as the day I am staying home. And the kids are in school, and Rob is back at college, and William is still asleep. Even the cats aren’t in the same room with me. It’s nice.

January Pandemic Frets

I am sad and agitated about the kids being back in school this week. Covid-19 cases went absolutely bonkers over winter break with Omicron + holiday get-togethers; and my kids go to a school where vaccinations and masks are not required, and the HVAC system is ancient and the town keeps deciding not to spend the money to repair/replace it, and nothing has been done for “social distancing” except to put up signs telling students to do it (they can’t: their desks are not six feet apart and can’t be moved six feet apart). The kids reported that there was a small uptick in mask-wearing among students, and that some of the teachers/staff who were wearing masks before (most of them were/are not) have switched to KN95s.

I have seen/heard people wondering why vaccinated people are so concerned. I will list my own concerns:

• I am worried that, because of his immunosuppressant medications, Edward’s vaccines didn’t Take, and he’s not actually protected.

• I am worried about long-term effects of Covid-19, which even mild cases can lead to.

• I am worried about the continued mutation of the virus, which is already leading to forms of the virus that are better at getting around vaccinations (AS ANYONE WHO WENT TO A SCHOOL THAT DIDN’T BAN THE TEACHING OF EVOLUTION WOULD EXPECT) and may in the future lead to other unpleasant forms.

• I am worried that maybe I can’t trust the people around me to tell me about their own infection/exposure. There are so many stories of infections happening because someone knew they were positive (or that a household member was positive) but didn’t think it was a big deal and so didn’t let other people know, and then put themselves near other people. This makes me feel like it’s exponentially harder to make my own informed decisions.

• I am worried that hospitals will be overwhelmed. My son Edward has a medical condition that means he needs medical care (both routine and emergency) more often than most people, and I worry that he’ll need care and not be able to get it—or at the minimum that we will need to factor ER overload/contagion into our decisions about what to do. But even aside from Edward, I am worried about any of us having illnesses or injuries and not being able to get medical care / needing to factor overloaded medical systems into our decisions.

• I am worried about other systems collapsing. Our country should have a better system of childcare, since literally everyone understands that parents can’t bring their children to work; but right now schools do a big chunk of that care. If schools (and of course actual childcare centers) have to close because they don’t have the staff to run them, a lot of parents are going to be in serious trouble; I am not one of those parents, but I can still worry and be scared for them, and understand what a huge problem that would be, and feel distressed for them.

• And I am worried about unvaccinated people. It is hard to figure out where the “Why do YOU care, when it doesn’t affect YOU???” point of view comes from. I have given this some thought, and I am forced to conclude that the people asking the question are confused because THEY don’t care about anything that doesn’t affect THEM personally, so it doesn’t make sense to them that other people would care. (But also: we ARE all affected by other people’s decisions/outcomes in this pandemic, so there must be additional levels of confusion going on here.)

 

At my library, a policy has changed. It used to be that if an employee had a Covid-positive household member, the employee could still come to work (masked, with a negative test, and staying at least six feet away from everyone else). The new policy is that an employee with a positive household member must be out of work a minimum of ten days; and that for planning purposes the absence will be assumed to be twenty days to allow for the possibility of the employee testing positive themselves on any day of those ten and needing to stay out an additional ten days for their own infection. Already two of our librarians are out, starting the day after the new policy. My supervisor is scrambling to find anyone to cover any of those hours. It feels like we are waiting for system collapse: just like the school, we can’t stay open without a certain minimum number of staff.

Also: most of us at my library don’t get paid sick time. Even the ones who do get paid sick time don’t get 10-20 days of it. The “stay away for 10-20 days” is a GOOD POLICY for limiting the spread of the virus, but it needs CORRESPONDING FINANCIAL UNDERPINNINGS to make it work. One of my co-workers said she literally can’t miss 10 days of work, let alone 20, and still pay her bills / keep her house. She said this policy was an incentive to lie, or to avoid testing.

 

While I was writing this, the kids came home from school. Elizabeth reports that one kid in one of her classes went to the nurse mid-day, tested positive for Covid, and went home. She overheard another kid from another of her classes talking in the hallway to friends about how she was being sent home because of a positive Covid test. A friend has suddenly started wearing a mask after not wearing one, and it turns out it’s because the friend’s sibling tested positive. Another friend went home with a cough and a fever and a negative test. Elizabeth said a few kids just noped-out mid-day, calling parents and getting themselves dismissed because things are going too poorly.

I stress/comfort-ordered prism duct tape for sealing up care packages (FOR PEOPLE I MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO SEE IN PERSON), and some pretty green 10×13 envelopes for the next ten years of our tax stuff.