[This is the second part of a serialized memoir of life during the pandemic.]
As my son-in-law drove me away from the assisted living complex in Millbrae in March 2020, ours was one of the only cars on an eerily empty highway 101. It was rush hour but no one was rushing. The governor had declared that everyone should "shelter in place" -- were we even allowed to be on this road?
Loic mumbled something about an exclusion for transporting elderly relatives in danger from the novel coronavirus. He said that Laila -- his wife and my daughter -- wanted me out of the facility, because it might soon turn into a "death trap." He was wearing a mask; I didn't have one yet.
We drove along in virtual silence wearing grim expressions. I noticed that there were no highway patrol cars anywhere to be seen.
I thought back over the previous year and my long, twisted journey through the United States Healthcare System, which had ended at that assisted living place. When I'd arrived there, I'd known nobody save the marketing director who'd come to meet me at a skilled nursing facility in Pacifica where I'd been rehabilitating after a stroke, among other problems.
She sang the blues in clubs on the side, so she definitely was my kind of marketing executive.
The place she worked was where I chose to go post-Pacifica, where I'd been attended night and day by medical personnel.
There were doctors, nurses, CNAs, PTs, OTs, psychiatrists, social workers, ministers, medical students, volunteers, and uniformed staff members who took care of our bodily needs. They brought us meals, answered our calls when we pushed the red button, changed the diapers of those who needed that, walked the rest of us to the bathroom, bathed those who needed that and watched over the rest of us as we showered, brought us our medications three, four, five times a day in little Dixie cups, measured us, weighed us, took our BP, checked our heart rate, monitored our breathing rate and most importantly engaged those of us who were sentient in non-medical conversations.
They all carried clipboards with notes. They'd glance at the clipboard before looking up at me. "Hello Mr. Weir," or (from the staff members), "Hello Mister David." Practically everyone spoke with an accent, usually Filipino.
They also brought sleeping medicine at bedtime, but I would never swallow that.
Perhaps for that reason, I didn't sleep much. Or maybe it was the call-and-response cadence of the dementia patients, screaming deep into the night, conducting long-distance conversations with each other even though they'd never met and never would meet.
And if they did meet they wouldn't remember it afterward.
We were all mixed in together, the population recovering from heart attacks and strokes and accidents with the people who were gradually, inexorably losing their minds.
I was fairly certain which group I was in, but due to the hallucinations and delusional spells when I was semi-conscious, I couldn't be completely sure. Seeing a little man in the window for three days only to discover he was actually a reflection of a nightlight will introduce doubt into your mind and the minds of those caring for you.
A single terrifying thought kept me awake at night: "If I'm going insane, nobody's going to tell me that."
In any event, the night nurses tended to take their breaks in my room since I was always awake and I endeavored to appear extra specially normal in the way I talked to them. I was strapped to the bed, not literally, but the blankets were so tight I couldn't move my body without their help.
They told me abut their dreams, their stresses and their frustrations. To me they were angels, doing whatever God's work might be. I fell in immediate love with all of them, including the men, there in my dark hospital room.
In case you've never been, and I hope you never are, a skilled nursing facility is a transitional kind of place, like an airport. Everyone is coming or going except those who work there. But unlike airports, it feels like most every patient who leaves will never be coming back on a return flight.
Whenever someone leaves, there is a sudden flurry of activity involving lots of people with hushed voices. The curtains are drawn around the bed; if the patient is conscious, they may be frightened. "Where are you taking me?"
Once they are gone, the curtains are all opened; the bed is completely stripped down, waiting for its next occupant. Nobody ever mentions the one who is gone.
As I said, it was a transitional place and in my case, I was demonstrably getting better, which I told anyone who would listen, so the day presumably was coming when I would be transitioning right out of there, once it was determined that I was well enough to leave.
That day arrived quite suddenly on a Thursday when at the end of her night shift my pretty nurse informed me, "It says here that today is your last day, David. The doctor has authorized us to release you but you need somewhere to go."
At first I panicked and asked to call my son. Where was I to go? Back to my flat in San Francisco, where I'd kept falling and calling 9-1-1 for ambulances to transport me back to hospitals? Or on to somewhere new, one of those nursing homes or independent living centers everyone kept recommending to me.
After some hasty research, I found a couple places right nearby on the peninsula that sounded okay. I didn't feel confident enough to go back home on my own, so within hours, two marketing teams had shown up, eager to recruit me as a new resident able to pay my own way into their facilities.
I picked the blues singer's place and that's how I landed in Millbrae, where I met a small band of other survivors who'd escaped from the Land of the Young.
(To be continued...)
***
* From India, Brazil and Beyond: Pandemic Refugees at the Border -- Fleeing virus-devastated economies, migrants are traveling long distances to reach the United States and then walking through gaps in the border wall. The Arizona desert has become a favorite crossing point. (NYT)
* Israel-Hamas conflict hurtles into its second week with more airstrikes on Gaza (WP)
* The Biden administration reportedly blocked the U.N. Security Council from calling for an immediate ceasefire between Israel and militant group Hamas. Biden has stayed vocally supportive of Israel despite growing opposition from within his party over the Israeli army's daily barrage of attacks on Palestinian civilians. [HuffPost]
* Aerial assaults, casualties derail any hopes for Israel-Hamas cease-fire talks -- Israel has so far declined entreaties from outside mediators that it agree to a halt, according to two officials. Hamas has vowed to continue retaliatory rocket attacks for an Israeli strike that killed 42 people. (WP)
* When Fighting Erupts Between Israel and Hamas, the Question of War Crimes Follows -- Civilian deaths on both sides raise urgent questions about which military actions are legal, what war crimes are being committed and who, if anyone, will be held to account. (NYT)
* Days before conflict, Congress learned U.S. approved $735 million weapons sale to Israel, raising red flags for some Democrats (WP)
* Trump’s comments on Maricopa County election recount are ‘unhinged,’ Arizona GOP official says (WP)
* Changes to make voting safer during the 2020 elections made casting ballots easier for people with disabilities, a population that has struggled for decades with polling site access. But a wave of voting restrictions proposed or already passed in Republican-led states is threatening to not just halt the progress, but significantly reverse it. (HuffPost)
* U.S. Supreme Court takes up major challenge to abortion rights (Reuters)
* Long Before Divorce, Bill Gates Had Reputation for Questionable Behavior -- Melinda French Gates voiced concerns about her husband’s relationship with Jeffrey Epstein and a harassment claim against his money manager. He also had an affair with an employee. (NYT)
* Board members for Microsoft determined in 2020 that the company’s co-founder, Bill Gates, needed to step down from his own role on the board amid an investigation into a past affair with a female Microsoft employee, according to the Wall Street Journal. A Gates spokeswoman confirmed there was an affair but said Gates stepped down of his own accord. [HuffPost]
* Chinese businessman with links to Steve Bannon is driving force for a sprawling disinformation network, researchers say (WP)
* Pandemic Hit Less-Educated Workers Hardest, Fed Survey Shows (WSJ)
* Underfunded And Overworked, Secret Service Fears They're 'Relying On Luck' -- Carol Leonnig spoke to a number of Secret Service agents for her new book, Zero Fail. "They strongly believed that it was a matter of time before a president was shot on their watch," she says. (NPR)
* U.S. tiptoes through sanctions minefield toward Iran nuclear deal (Reuters)
* When it comes to lobbying lawmakers in Sacramento, California’s main teachers union is king: The California Teachers Association outspent other interest groups in the first quarter of this year. The teachers union pursued political influence amid the pandemic to the tune of $2.85 million. (Bay Area News Group)
* A Scratched Hint of Ancient Ties Stirs National Furies in Europe -- Czech archaeologists say marks found on a cattle bone are sixth-century Germanic runes, in a Slavic settlement. The find has provoked an academic and nationalist brawl. (NYT)
* Scientists unravel a mystery about a naked giant carved into an English hill (WP)
* The Golden Gate Bridge has been humming loudly and driving commuters and neighbors crazy. A team of engineers has been working on the problem, which began following a retrofit of a sidewalk safety railing. (SFC)
* U.S. awaits chorus of huge, 17-year cicada hatch (Reuters)
* Deep Throat’s identity (FBI agent Mark Felt) was a mystery for decades because no one believed writer Nora Ephron, who figured it out while married to reporter Carl Bernstein (WP)
* Why We Speak More Weirdly at Home -- When people share a space, their collective experience can sprout its own vocabulary, known as a familect. (Atlantic)
* Family Can Trace Ancestry Back To Whatever The Hell Grandma Was Talking About (The Onion)
***
"Where Am I Now?" (excerpt)
How am I here?
Which way do I turn
When it's all so unclear?
I'm standing alone
With nothing but fear.
Where am I now Now that I'm here?
-30-
No comments:
Post a Comment