A low-level infection somewhere internal had been dragging along for three weeks. Off and on achies and a very low-grade fever if any fever at all. Then the game captain upped the ante. I got out of bed Monday and looked out on a different world.
I was seeing double.
Now it turns out that seeing two of the same thing side by side isn’t the fun thing that it’s supposed to be. It’s disorienting as hell and super-annoying. So I called my physician, Dr. Strangelove, and told her of my plight. Her response was “Don’t come see me, go to the ER.” Not quite the come-to-Mama-hand-holding response that I was looking for, but oh well.
The ER doc was careful, though, and he did that one magical thing that a medical professional can do to instantly win me over … he listened. If you are worried about your head possibly exploding it is good to feel that you have an ally. His proposal was to order an MRI.
I mentioned my claustrophobia, and requested some help in that regard. I also mentioned my needs to at least two nurses who came by periodically to check on me, because getting an MRI on that day meant waiting in the ER for four hours. And then the radiology tech came to get me. She was not happy to hear that I was such a wimp that sticking my head into a hole in a giant magnet would bother me. In my defense I said that I had told other staff, and sure enough, there it was on the chart. But that was not enough for this queen of the night. I heard at least three “humphs” and a couple of “tsk tsks.”
Finally, meds were ordered and injected and it was at that point that I fell off the world. I had never been given this drug before (Ativan), and if anybody tries to use it on me again, I will defend myself by any means that are at hand, including stabbing them unmercifully with those tiny plastic hospital forks, if I have to. Because I went down a rathole of a drug reaction where I sat for three days, of no use to anyone including myself.
But on Thursday morning, my vision was much improved, and I continue to get better and better. In fact I would say that I am at 98%.
Our grandson, Dakota, has been staying with us the past few days. He was injured on the job in Oregon, and while he needs to do his PT and take it easy for several weeks, would rather do some of that time in Colorado. We are the lucky beneficiaries of his misfortune.
My health issues have kept me from interacting much with him so far, but now that the cloud has passed I plan to interrogate him unmercifully about everything.
Right now is a good time to visit Colorado, that is, if you love peaches. They are widely available and the prices are less daunting. Robin sorta overbought and is now looking for things to make with them, like crisps and pies, and the rest we will eat with our own little hands.
What is more sublime than to approach a beautiful piece of fruit, knowing that the first bite must be taken with care, or a river of juice will run right down your shirt? So you take the peach, lean way forward over the sink, and bite down. Your teeth meet almost no resistance. Slowly and appreciatively you chew what you have in your mouth. And then once again … .
I cannot bring myself to write but little about the great sorrow and disappointment that has been our country’s role in Afghanistan. I am especially disheartened by the way that the withdrawal has been handled by our President.
On Saturday Dakota and I explored just a bit of the Uncompahgre Plateau by car. Specifically we checked out the Silesca Guard Station and a tiny campground, Iron Springs. The guard station is a large cabin that has been there since the 1930s, and is now available for rental. Robin and I stayed there one weekend in 2019. I thought it was lovely. She thought it needed a deep cleaning.
The campground is really nothing special except that it is what every campground should aspire to. A place to re-create. No noise, the trees above, the sky beyond. Nature with you a part of it.