TL;DR I got dizzy. Time passed, and it's getting better.
So here was something new and, at first, truly horrible. I woke up Monday morning and when I went to get out of bed I couldn't because I was whirling around and about to be thrown off into space. I clutched at the mattress through my sheets and hung on for dear life. After what felt like hours, things settled down a bit, I opened my eyes and I tried again. Again, everything whirled at enormous speeds, things went black (probably because I closed my eyes) and I fell back down, not certain if I'd find the mattress or the floor or even land on a wall.
Breathe, I told myself. Feel the breath. It's coming and going. Breathe in through your nose and long and slow out by the mouth. Feel the mattress under you. Feel the covers over you.
Just then, I felt something else, urgently. My bladder was insisting it was time to get out of bed. Now!
Moving my head very slowly, I sat upright on the edge of the bed. Everything swirled, and started to go black, but I felt my soles on the wood floor and I braced myself and I rode it out. Clutching in turn the bed, the bookcase, the dresser, the sink, I made my way to the bathroom and managed to deal with urgent necessities. I stood up, and after the first several seconds, discovered I could walk. Moving slowly, afraid gravity would desert me at any instant, keeping one hand on the wall or furniture, I poured a cup of the already made coffee and sat down in my morning chair with the iPad.
It was then the nausea rose to the top. I was terribly thirsty, but water and coffee made me retch. I was rotating in my head in my chair, and fighting my stomach. I went for guided meditations and visualizations on my phone, and kept panic at bay. I really really did not want to throw up. It was taking most of my energy fighting it. I texted my brother-in-law to call me when he could, and took stock of my situation.
I reviewed what I know. People don't die from vertigo. But, it is extremely disabling. I had had vertigo for a couple of houra at this point, and already I could feel my life shutting down around me. I couldn't read, too dizzy. I certainly couldn't drive. I could barely walk. What did I actually feel? Sick. Aside from trying not to throw up, what was I feeling? What kind of dizzy specifically was it?
Both the nausea and dizziness came in waves as I sat there. Dizzy was definitely spinning, to the right. It was very different from the momentary light-headedness I sometimes get when I stand up quickly, especially if it's been a long time since I ate. There were moments between the waves when I felt almost all right. During those moments I decided to use the telemedicine option my insurance company set up last month. I also cancelled my garden consultation scheduled for that morning. I knew I wasn't dying, but perhaps there was something that would make me feel better.
It took over half an hour to work my through the telemedicine bureaucracy, get my info into the system, download their app to my phone, and get it the queue for a video consult. During that time I talked to my brother-in-law. He agreed to check up on me several times during the day. I was exhausted from trying to fight the nausea, and went to bed (with a basin) and the phone open to the telemedicine app and plugged into the charger.
I fell asleep and woke to a tone from the app. The video with the doc was basic, some more history, some moving around to see where the dizziness came from. She prescribed a medicine - basically, motion sickness pills. It would fight the symptoms, but not fix the problem, and was guaranteed to make me sleepy. She suggested certain videos on Youtube, how to maneuver your head to try to shake loose the little crystals in your ear canals and get them back in the right place. The assumption was this was positional vertigo, from displaced crystals. If the maneuvers didn't work, the symptoms should wear off in a month or two.
A month or two. OK, google. Show me some videos!
With the telemedicine, the prescription needed to go to a pharmacy in the same state as me (normally I go to one in DC) so I picked a CVS. In a little bit, I tried to get the prescription delivered. The CVS phone app was very buggy, and eventually I got up and went to the computer, where it worked.
By then, it was mid-afternoon and I was starving though still nauseous. When getting ready for the pandemic, I figured if I got sick I would be taking care of myself, so I had several boxes of Trader Joe's chicken soup, my go-to easy to digest, easy to make, food. I used up one from my precious cache. I was definitely feeling better, but still cautious. I performed the "half somersault" maneuver (designed to fix the vertigo) several times on the living room floor. As advertised, it made me really dizzy during it, and I couldn't tell if I felt better afterwards or not.
So I puttered during the rest of the day, mostly listening to books and podcasts, watched a little tv. I ventured around the block with the dog. I woke the next morning much better. Some whirling as I got up, but not very disabling. I took it slow during the day, ate carefully of bland food, had my garden consultation, and did a bunch of laundry and stripped the laundry room of all portable things getting ready for a plumber the following day. Every trip up and down the stairs I kept a hand on the railing, even with a laundry basket. I went to bed thinking I had this thing beat.
Wednesday morning, blam, I was hit with the whirlies again, when I went to get up. Oh, no! It wasn't as scary this time, as I had been here before. It was extremely unpleasant, and I had to clutch the bed to keep on it, but it was not as purely terrifying. It was just something I had to cope with. I moved one way, wait one beat, whirl, wait for the settle, then move there, wait for it, whirl, settle, and I just kept going. Cautiously, with handholds, but steadily forward. I had a busy day of gardening (mowed the grass!) and I checked in with my chronic-pain-fighting facebook group. I searched on "vertigo" in the group, learned from past messages what kinds of things they had tried and what had worked. I posted my own query, and before bed got some very useful advice. I learned that it comes on when you are lying down, and some people avoid getting horizontal after an attack and instead try to sleep in chairs. That sounded too much like the torture of an overnight flight for me, but I was nervous about going to bed, normally my welcoming safe spot. I took one of the pills (my first one) before bed, and in bed did the Epley maneuver, carefully as shown on several youtube videos, before going to sleep.
This morning, no whirlies! But a general lightheadedness and wooziness, as likely caused by the drug as anything else. In fact, mid-morning I went back to bed, urged on by the weathercaster in the local paper, foretelling a very gloomy and very wet day. Based on the advice from my group, I'll be doing the maneuver every night in bed for at least a week, whether the symptoms come back or not.
In other news, I felt good enough to go out to the store this morning, first trip in three weeks. I was panicking at being down to my last package of coffee beans. I was woozy from the drug (taken 12 hours before) but not whirly-dizzy. (I practiced looking back over my shoulders to make sure I could.) Sadly, I was pretty disorganized, so I spent some money but missed a lot of stuff on my list. The good news is, I have food to eat without having to do serious cooking from scratch. I impulse bought some cookies, and got the planned couple of pints of ice cream, because sometimes, that's just what is needed.
Thursday, April 30, 2020
Saturday, April 18, 2020
Exercise
My relationship with my body continues to evolve, rationally and irrationally, as a result of my conscious actions and randomly. I’ve been much fatter, quite a bit slimmer, less fit, and more fit. I’ve been debilitated by a series of physical ailments I am not going to catalogue here and now. I am intellectually convinced that there is no underlying physical condition in my body causing these ailments that needs to be fixed by medical intervention. I’ve intellectually and emotionally found the value in both strength and aerobic exercise. I am convinced exercise is the magic bullet that is both preventative and curative. I know that mental work - meditation, visualization, emotional discovery, self-talk - is the key to minimizing, heading off, and curing physical ailments that continually derail my exercise efforts. I’ve hated and liked what I’ve seen in the mirror.
It feels to me like I should be feeling better than I do right now. It feels to me like I should not be self-sabotaging my self-improvement efforts the way I do. I’ve actively been participating in an on-line live coaching group geared towards the mental work needed to leave chronic pain behind. It feels like I have all the tools, and all I need to do is pick them up and use them.
This is all preface to the post I meant to write when I sat down: what I am currently doing for exercise. Not that much, but today makes a streak of one day of really going for it! Yay me! Go team! And, I got out there and even had a couple of short runs last week - and am trying to gear myself up for another today. (As is typical for me, I don’t write about something during its slide down, but wait until there is some reason to note things are getting better.)
Our immediate neighborhood has no sidewalks and little traffic, so we all walk in the street and are able to keep distance without too much of an awkward dance. On Friday through Sunday, the two-lane curvy parkway along the near-by creek has 1- and 2- mile stretches of road closed to car traffic. Walking is nearly a religion to me and the highlight of my old dog’s day. So I’m getting out there and getting in some miles. Most days. There are still days I crawl into my hole and scarcely leave the yard, but so far in April I’ve only had one day with less than 5,000 steps, my benchmark of the absolute bare minimum to avoid fossilization. (There are studies that suggest daily steps of less than 4,000 is an excellent predictor of old folks’ decline into mortality. My recollection is there is nearly a straight-line relationship between steps and longevity between 4,000 and 7,000 daily average steps, and a less clear relationship beyond that.)
Last week, our on-line group assignment was “play” (among other things). We talked about what is and isn’t play. I struggled with this - I am not short of enjoyable things, and self-care and self-indulgence. But play? Here is how I’m currently thinking about this: Sitting at the piano to play a well-known piece, and then improvise and riff on it for a while, is play. But it requires a level of mastery to be able to do that, and much of the time spent achieving that mastery may be enjoyable, but it isn’t play. I used to love playing catch, and that was play. But it was only fun after I worked with a friend to coach me on how to throw and catch, so it wasn’t just a bunch of my chasing after balls I missed.
I never enjoyed running until I hit a certain level of aerobic fitness so I could actually run for a while. But then, I grew to love it, not just for how I felt afterwards and knowing how good it was for me, but I actually liked it while I was doing it. (Sometimes.) Now, I am willing to set my Garmin watch to regulate very short intervals so that I alternate between running and walking in a way that is sustainable for a while. A big point of the joy from running is using the rhythm of music I love to carry me along. So last Saturday, I strapped on the Garmin, the headphones, the heart-rate strap, and went down to the closed parkway. I ran a mile down it, and walked back. I did the same thing on Sunday. It was fabulous! I had made running playlists from my own music, so by definition everything I heard was something I liked.
I set out to run on a different stretch of closed parkway yesterday, but ended up listening to a book and walking a solid four miles instead. Not so bad. I’m going to go out a bit later (it dawned rainy but is supposed to clear) but am likely to be walking. Tomorrow, Sunday, is targeted for another run. If I sustain running, it will require “training”, not just “play”, but it will build that aerobic base that will enable more and longer play.
I have been working in the garden for a couple of hours nearly every day, and I kind-of thought it substituted for a more formal strength workout. I know that is not actually true. I’m still paying my trainer, who faithfully sends me a new workout once a week. But I haven’t actually been down to my workout room and done any training for THIRTY DAYS. (I love fact-checking - I initially wrote “three weeks” but then checked. Memory is always unreliable.)
Today’s workout was a solid hour of warmups, upper body and core workouts, and a nice stretching session afterwards. This may possibly be the most rigorous workout I’ve done on my own - I faithfully followed my trainer’s notes on weight and reps. Working in my garden is tiring, but it’s clear that I avoid certain moves and positions during the course of my day. The comprehensive prescribed workout gets me using body parts I normally try to protect or avoid. I definitely felt the erosion of mobility since I stopped training, even more than strength. There’s nothing like being hit in the face with experience to correct my thinking. Training will help me garden better, and everything else, too. Again, music was a big part of the enjoyment of the experience. Today’s stream was the Grateful Dead. I find myself flashing back to the seventies, my college years, more than later periods.
So I’m writing all this here to document this in my own mind, and for accountability. This blog was originally set up for accountability purposes, as I did a good, sustained, weightloss and fitness effort.
I’ve got nothin’ but time, and I would like to keep this up.
I’m curious - for those others who are also confined - are you able to find the motivation to keep moving? Even if it’s only in place? Are people going to emerge from quarantine all buff and fit? Or is that an instagram myth?
It feels to me like I should be feeling better than I do right now. It feels to me like I should not be self-sabotaging my self-improvement efforts the way I do. I’ve actively been participating in an on-line live coaching group geared towards the mental work needed to leave chronic pain behind. It feels like I have all the tools, and all I need to do is pick them up and use them.
This is all preface to the post I meant to write when I sat down: what I am currently doing for exercise. Not that much, but today makes a streak of one day of really going for it! Yay me! Go team! And, I got out there and even had a couple of short runs last week - and am trying to gear myself up for another today. (As is typical for me, I don’t write about something during its slide down, but wait until there is some reason to note things are getting better.)
Our immediate neighborhood has no sidewalks and little traffic, so we all walk in the street and are able to keep distance without too much of an awkward dance. On Friday through Sunday, the two-lane curvy parkway along the near-by creek has 1- and 2- mile stretches of road closed to car traffic. Walking is nearly a religion to me and the highlight of my old dog’s day. So I’m getting out there and getting in some miles. Most days. There are still days I crawl into my hole and scarcely leave the yard, but so far in April I’ve only had one day with less than 5,000 steps, my benchmark of the absolute bare minimum to avoid fossilization. (There are studies that suggest daily steps of less than 4,000 is an excellent predictor of old folks’ decline into mortality. My recollection is there is nearly a straight-line relationship between steps and longevity between 4,000 and 7,000 daily average steps, and a less clear relationship beyond that.)
Last week, our on-line group assignment was “play” (among other things). We talked about what is and isn’t play. I struggled with this - I am not short of enjoyable things, and self-care and self-indulgence. But play? Here is how I’m currently thinking about this: Sitting at the piano to play a well-known piece, and then improvise and riff on it for a while, is play. But it requires a level of mastery to be able to do that, and much of the time spent achieving that mastery may be enjoyable, but it isn’t play. I used to love playing catch, and that was play. But it was only fun after I worked with a friend to coach me on how to throw and catch, so it wasn’t just a bunch of my chasing after balls I missed.
I never enjoyed running until I hit a certain level of aerobic fitness so I could actually run for a while. But then, I grew to love it, not just for how I felt afterwards and knowing how good it was for me, but I actually liked it while I was doing it. (Sometimes.) Now, I am willing to set my Garmin watch to regulate very short intervals so that I alternate between running and walking in a way that is sustainable for a while. A big point of the joy from running is using the rhythm of music I love to carry me along. So last Saturday, I strapped on the Garmin, the headphones, the heart-rate strap, and went down to the closed parkway. I ran a mile down it, and walked back. I did the same thing on Sunday. It was fabulous! I had made running playlists from my own music, so by definition everything I heard was something I liked.
I set out to run on a different stretch of closed parkway yesterday, but ended up listening to a book and walking a solid four miles instead. Not so bad. I’m going to go out a bit later (it dawned rainy but is supposed to clear) but am likely to be walking. Tomorrow, Sunday, is targeted for another run. If I sustain running, it will require “training”, not just “play”, but it will build that aerobic base that will enable more and longer play.
I have been working in the garden for a couple of hours nearly every day, and I kind-of thought it substituted for a more formal strength workout. I know that is not actually true. I’m still paying my trainer, who faithfully sends me a new workout once a week. But I haven’t actually been down to my workout room and done any training for THIRTY DAYS. (I love fact-checking - I initially wrote “three weeks” but then checked. Memory is always unreliable.)
Today’s workout was a solid hour of warmups, upper body and core workouts, and a nice stretching session afterwards. This may possibly be the most rigorous workout I’ve done on my own - I faithfully followed my trainer’s notes on weight and reps. Working in my garden is tiring, but it’s clear that I avoid certain moves and positions during the course of my day. The comprehensive prescribed workout gets me using body parts I normally try to protect or avoid. I definitely felt the erosion of mobility since I stopped training, even more than strength. There’s nothing like being hit in the face with experience to correct my thinking. Training will help me garden better, and everything else, too. Again, music was a big part of the enjoyment of the experience. Today’s stream was the Grateful Dead. I find myself flashing back to the seventies, my college years, more than later periods.
So I’m writing all this here to document this in my own mind, and for accountability. This blog was originally set up for accountability purposes, as I did a good, sustained, weightloss and fitness effort.
I’ve got nothin’ but time, and I would like to keep this up.
I’m curious - for those others who are also confined - are you able to find the motivation to keep moving? Even if it’s only in place? Are people going to emerge from quarantine all buff and fit? Or is that an instagram myth?
Thursday, April 9, 2020
Nan’s Not Quite Excellent Adventures
Spoiler: Nothing bad, and not much at all, happens in this post. It’s called an adventure only because all my other days are so dull. This has the tiniest frisson of danger, but unknowable how much or how it comes out.
The last time I left the house and went to a place of commerce was Wednesday, March 18, when I stocked up at Whole Foods and PetSmart. On Friday, March 27, I went to the marina to check on my boat. I wasn’t within six feet of anyone the whole time, except a rambunctious puppy. On the way home, I drove past Costco and Walmart and Lowes and Home Depot, but reluctantly decided not to stop at any of those places. I didn’t need anything. Just lusting after some things, especially plants. So for three weeks the only breach in my bubble is seeing my niece. She has been in my house, though not within hugging distance (not me in hers, because it is not tightly bubbled). Oh yes, also the gas company guys were in the house last week. So not an intact bubble. I’ve had takeout delivered twice, but I consider that risk minimal.
Yesterday, Wednesday, I had enough cloth masks made to distribute to the family. I drove down to the city and met my nephew and his girlfriend outside their apartment to make the handoff.
It was so weird being out! This was the first time I had been out of my neighborhood since the trip to the marina. Traffic was light. The first part of the trip is the same path I followed for twenty years to work. Since I’ve been bubbled, I feel like my life is not that different than it would be anyway. But it is. More than I realized, I stepped through the portal into this alternate reality we all live in now. My world has shrunk. I accept some of the premises under which we operate now, so that while watching Grey’s Anatomy I yelled at the TV to make them stop hugging patients and each other! Danger! Not Safe! So there I was, in a place familiar and yet not, because things are so different now. I am different. I wore one of my masks during my brief outdoor visit to hand off masks to my nephew. I drove home the long way, past my old office building (occupied because of operational necessity), a mostly deserted national mall, and through Rock Creek Park, admiring the blooming redbuds. My path took me through downtown Silver Spring, and I thought of stopping at a store, but I hadn’t brought gloves and hadn’t thought through my list. I was struck by the amount of roadwork underway - what a good idea, with good weather and light traffic. I was distressed to see that none of the road workers were wearing masks. When I got home, my mask went in the wash pile, but that was it, no other decontamination. Still, it was odd.
My plan for a while had been to go to the supermarket today - depending on the haul, perhaps Costco as well. They have old people’s early opening hours, so it did involve setting an alarm and heading out early. My struggle on whether to go went something like this:
“I don’t need anything. I have lots of food in the house.”
“But I don’t want to eat anything that’s already here. I want new! I want different!”
“So now I’m going to risk my life because I don’t want to make curry out of that sad old cauliflower?”
“I have my staples, sure. But I’ll really start feeling the pressure in another week, when I’m down to just beans and rice. And the easy-prep soups I got for if I get sick. What if, when I am truly out of food, either food is not available or I’m not able to go to the store by myself?”
It was that last argument that decided me. I feel good, now. Word in the neighborhood is that most things - especially fresh foods - are well stocked. Word also is that delivery is difficult - available delivery times are hard to get. Online ordering does not have real-time inventory, so things you think you are getting, even if a couple of days out, don’t actually show up in the bag. So, I made my list carefully last night, even plotted my course through the store to be as efficient as possible. (Fun aside: I confided my plan, including setting an alarm, to my girl. She said, “but how can you use the old people’s hours?”. I think she was genuinely surprised to realize I qualified!)
Up and out early this morning, 7:05, with clean cotton mask and clean cotton gloves. I carefully put my credit card in an easily reached pocket, and left the purse in the car, so it wouldn’t be “exposed”. Whole Foods opened at 7 to old people, and I was about a dozen people back from the front of the line, as they metered how many could be in at once. About five minutes wait, with everyone I could see in a mask or bandana - mostly what look like disposable surgical masks. The store line monitor asked a couple of very grey and old-looking folks in front of me for their IDs, giving me a moment’s panic (purse back in the car). But, it was a joke, to keep things light.
But I couldn’t be light. I thought, Soviet Russia. The opening scene from that movie where Robin Williams is Russian and later defects, in Bloomingdale’s. But first, he is queuing for toilet paper. I looked at the older (than me) folks and thought, Did you ever think this would happen here? While standing there, I looked at my list and rehearsed my planned path through the store.
Once in, the very first thing I did was toss a bag of avocados into the cart. Not on my list. I like avocados, but a whole bag? Things got partly back on track, as I checked things off. Cabbage. Lettuce. Carrots - not on the list, but they keep well, what a good idea. Oh, lemons will be useful. No, I don’t have a plan involving them, but they keep well in the fridge. There was an awkward dance through the store, as some people were very conscious of keeping distance, standing back and waiting before moving to a shelf. Others were in their own mental bubble, and just moved right along, stepping in front of and close to others. I ended up with a full basket (including some gelato, not part of the original plan). I got most things on my list, and not too much that wasn’t on my list. The only real shortage I noticed was in the frozen food department - few, if any, frozen vegetables. I was able to be third in line to check out, not much of a wait. I had my own bags, so they wouldn’t do the bagging (which decreased by one the number of people touching my stuff).
When I was done, I went to the hardware store right there (same parking lot). They had plants! Sitting out front, calling to me! In the past, I have scorned to buy plants from them, because they are not well tended. But I couldn’t help myself. I got some stuff, also picked up some paper yardwaste bags (always useful), and didn’t really venture any further inside.
By then, it was 8:05. The Costco old peoples’ hours start at 8, and I decided not to go. The fact is, the main thing I want from Costco is Aidell’s Chicken and Apple Sausages, a staple in my household for twenty years. If I went, I would get other stuff, especially coffee beans. But, there are other sources for coffee beans, and I also have two small unopened cans of ground Folgers I rescued from my mother’s apartment for emergencies. I was certain there would be a wait to get into Costco, and I couldn’t let the gelato melt. I’ve seen the sausages sometimes at my Giant, so I went there.
The only thing I was planning to get were the sausages, which they didn’t have. But the first thing I saw when I went in was asparagus, so I got that. Then, disappointed by no sausages, I wandered a bit. I ended up buying a fairly large collection of fancy cookies, including Oreos with dark chocolate (flavored) filling. I also saw, in the aisle where they stock the Hispanic brands (a perk of my neighborhood, big demand), packages of dried beans, labeled “small red”, “white”, and “pink”. Charmed, I bought one of each. I also saw all-purpose flour, which the neighborhood chat had indicated was in short supply. I don’t bake a lot, but I have stress-baked a couple of times in the last couple of weeks, and I knew I didn’t have much flour left. My thought process on the beans and flour was along the lines of “what if there is scarcity later? I’ll regret not buying when I had the chance.”
I think I am a bit of a hoarder, and also a bit of a miser. I want to know I have plenty - that’s the hoarding. Traditionally, I leave the best stuff to last, and sometimes that means I don’t get to the best stuff before it goes bad - that is miserly. As I try to manage my perishables and my pantry, I’m consciously trying to eat the stuff that will go bad first. But I’m also trying to buy and eat stuff I normally like. Dried beans and baking are slightly off my path. But they will keep, and should true scarcity strike, I’ll be glad to have them in reserve.
When I got home, I realized how nuts trying to be sanitary will quickly make me. I used hand sanitizer in the car when I took the gloves off, and wiped down the steering wheel and door handle. Then, I used my clean and bare hands to pick up the mask and gloves and shove them in a pocket for bringing in the house. Huh. I brought all my bags into the kitchen with bare hands, though I had worn gloves to put them in car. I had a cleaning cloth I soaked in hot soapy water, and with that and bare hands I gave a less-than-thorough swipe to packaging as I put stuff away in the fridge and freezer and cupboards. I put the mask and gloves into a bowl with a capful of Woolite and hot water, and swished them around with bare hands, feeling better about my hands. I swiped the doorknobs. I washed my credit card! Then I stripped, tossed all my clothes into the laundry, and took a shower. I realized as I took my eyeglasses off for the shower that they were also a potential harbor for a virus, so they got washed too. After the shower, I wrung out the mask and gloves, and put them in the hot sunshine outside to dry. (Except as I wrote this, a clap of thunder alerted me to the shower that just started, brief interruption to get stuff in!)
I am certain there is cross-contamination going on. I can’t maintain surgical cleanliness. I discussed with my kids, that not every exposure results in infection. Also “viral load” is a thing, so more exposure, and how much one is exposed to, are factors in the probability of getting sick. But this is making me nuts. I think for the next while, I’ll just stay the fuck home.
The last time I left the house and went to a place of commerce was Wednesday, March 18, when I stocked up at Whole Foods and PetSmart. On Friday, March 27, I went to the marina to check on my boat. I wasn’t within six feet of anyone the whole time, except a rambunctious puppy. On the way home, I drove past Costco and Walmart and Lowes and Home Depot, but reluctantly decided not to stop at any of those places. I didn’t need anything. Just lusting after some things, especially plants. So for three weeks the only breach in my bubble is seeing my niece. She has been in my house, though not within hugging distance (not me in hers, because it is not tightly bubbled). Oh yes, also the gas company guys were in the house last week. So not an intact bubble. I’ve had takeout delivered twice, but I consider that risk minimal.
Yesterday, Wednesday, I had enough cloth masks made to distribute to the family. I drove down to the city and met my nephew and his girlfriend outside their apartment to make the handoff.
It was so weird being out! This was the first time I had been out of my neighborhood since the trip to the marina. Traffic was light. The first part of the trip is the same path I followed for twenty years to work. Since I’ve been bubbled, I feel like my life is not that different than it would be anyway. But it is. More than I realized, I stepped through the portal into this alternate reality we all live in now. My world has shrunk. I accept some of the premises under which we operate now, so that while watching Grey’s Anatomy I yelled at the TV to make them stop hugging patients and each other! Danger! Not Safe! So there I was, in a place familiar and yet not, because things are so different now. I am different. I wore one of my masks during my brief outdoor visit to hand off masks to my nephew. I drove home the long way, past my old office building (occupied because of operational necessity), a mostly deserted national mall, and through Rock Creek Park, admiring the blooming redbuds. My path took me through downtown Silver Spring, and I thought of stopping at a store, but I hadn’t brought gloves and hadn’t thought through my list. I was struck by the amount of roadwork underway - what a good idea, with good weather and light traffic. I was distressed to see that none of the road workers were wearing masks. When I got home, my mask went in the wash pile, but that was it, no other decontamination. Still, it was odd.
My plan for a while had been to go to the supermarket today - depending on the haul, perhaps Costco as well. They have old people’s early opening hours, so it did involve setting an alarm and heading out early. My struggle on whether to go went something like this:
“I don’t need anything. I have lots of food in the house.”
“But I don’t want to eat anything that’s already here. I want new! I want different!”
“So now I’m going to risk my life because I don’t want to make curry out of that sad old cauliflower?”
“I have my staples, sure. But I’ll really start feeling the pressure in another week, when I’m down to just beans and rice. And the easy-prep soups I got for if I get sick. What if, when I am truly out of food, either food is not available or I’m not able to go to the store by myself?”
It was that last argument that decided me. I feel good, now. Word in the neighborhood is that most things - especially fresh foods - are well stocked. Word also is that delivery is difficult - available delivery times are hard to get. Online ordering does not have real-time inventory, so things you think you are getting, even if a couple of days out, don’t actually show up in the bag. So, I made my list carefully last night, even plotted my course through the store to be as efficient as possible. (Fun aside: I confided my plan, including setting an alarm, to my girl. She said, “but how can you use the old people’s hours?”. I think she was genuinely surprised to realize I qualified!)
Up and out early this morning, 7:05, with clean cotton mask and clean cotton gloves. I carefully put my credit card in an easily reached pocket, and left the purse in the car, so it wouldn’t be “exposed”. Whole Foods opened at 7 to old people, and I was about a dozen people back from the front of the line, as they metered how many could be in at once. About five minutes wait, with everyone I could see in a mask or bandana - mostly what look like disposable surgical masks. The store line monitor asked a couple of very grey and old-looking folks in front of me for their IDs, giving me a moment’s panic (purse back in the car). But, it was a joke, to keep things light.
But I couldn’t be light. I thought, Soviet Russia. The opening scene from that movie where Robin Williams is Russian and later defects, in Bloomingdale’s. But first, he is queuing for toilet paper. I looked at the older (than me) folks and thought, Did you ever think this would happen here? While standing there, I looked at my list and rehearsed my planned path through the store.
Once in, the very first thing I did was toss a bag of avocados into the cart. Not on my list. I like avocados, but a whole bag? Things got partly back on track, as I checked things off. Cabbage. Lettuce. Carrots - not on the list, but they keep well, what a good idea. Oh, lemons will be useful. No, I don’t have a plan involving them, but they keep well in the fridge. There was an awkward dance through the store, as some people were very conscious of keeping distance, standing back and waiting before moving to a shelf. Others were in their own mental bubble, and just moved right along, stepping in front of and close to others. I ended up with a full basket (including some gelato, not part of the original plan). I got most things on my list, and not too much that wasn’t on my list. The only real shortage I noticed was in the frozen food department - few, if any, frozen vegetables. I was able to be third in line to check out, not much of a wait. I had my own bags, so they wouldn’t do the bagging (which decreased by one the number of people touching my stuff).
When I was done, I went to the hardware store right there (same parking lot). They had plants! Sitting out front, calling to me! In the past, I have scorned to buy plants from them, because they are not well tended. But I couldn’t help myself. I got some stuff, also picked up some paper yardwaste bags (always useful), and didn’t really venture any further inside.
By then, it was 8:05. The Costco old peoples’ hours start at 8, and I decided not to go. The fact is, the main thing I want from Costco is Aidell’s Chicken and Apple Sausages, a staple in my household for twenty years. If I went, I would get other stuff, especially coffee beans. But, there are other sources for coffee beans, and I also have two small unopened cans of ground Folgers I rescued from my mother’s apartment for emergencies. I was certain there would be a wait to get into Costco, and I couldn’t let the gelato melt. I’ve seen the sausages sometimes at my Giant, so I went there.
The only thing I was planning to get were the sausages, which they didn’t have. But the first thing I saw when I went in was asparagus, so I got that. Then, disappointed by no sausages, I wandered a bit. I ended up buying a fairly large collection of fancy cookies, including Oreos with dark chocolate (flavored) filling. I also saw, in the aisle where they stock the Hispanic brands (a perk of my neighborhood, big demand), packages of dried beans, labeled “small red”, “white”, and “pink”. Charmed, I bought one of each. I also saw all-purpose flour, which the neighborhood chat had indicated was in short supply. I don’t bake a lot, but I have stress-baked a couple of times in the last couple of weeks, and I knew I didn’t have much flour left. My thought process on the beans and flour was along the lines of “what if there is scarcity later? I’ll regret not buying when I had the chance.”
I think I am a bit of a hoarder, and also a bit of a miser. I want to know I have plenty - that’s the hoarding. Traditionally, I leave the best stuff to last, and sometimes that means I don’t get to the best stuff before it goes bad - that is miserly. As I try to manage my perishables and my pantry, I’m consciously trying to eat the stuff that will go bad first. But I’m also trying to buy and eat stuff I normally like. Dried beans and baking are slightly off my path. But they will keep, and should true scarcity strike, I’ll be glad to have them in reserve.
When I got home, I realized how nuts trying to be sanitary will quickly make me. I used hand sanitizer in the car when I took the gloves off, and wiped down the steering wheel and door handle. Then, I used my clean and bare hands to pick up the mask and gloves and shove them in a pocket for bringing in the house. Huh. I brought all my bags into the kitchen with bare hands, though I had worn gloves to put them in car. I had a cleaning cloth I soaked in hot soapy water, and with that and bare hands I gave a less-than-thorough swipe to packaging as I put stuff away in the fridge and freezer and cupboards. I put the mask and gloves into a bowl with a capful of Woolite and hot water, and swished them around with bare hands, feeling better about my hands. I swiped the doorknobs. I washed my credit card! Then I stripped, tossed all my clothes into the laundry, and took a shower. I realized as I took my eyeglasses off for the shower that they were also a potential harbor for a virus, so they got washed too. After the shower, I wrung out the mask and gloves, and put them in the hot sunshine outside to dry. (Except as I wrote this, a clap of thunder alerted me to the shower that just started, brief interruption to get stuff in!)
I am certain there is cross-contamination going on. I can’t maintain surgical cleanliness. I discussed with my kids, that not every exposure results in infection. Also “viral load” is a thing, so more exposure, and how much one is exposed to, are factors in the probability of getting sick. But this is making me nuts. I think for the next while, I’ll just stay the fuck home.
Friday, April 3, 2020
Sewing
Finally, I pulled out the sewing machine, which I bought in 1981. It squealed when I started it - loud enough to drown out the radio. As it turns out, this happened the last time I used the sewing machine two years ago. Not only did I have “sewing machine oil” from back then, I had seen it recently and was able to find it quickly! There came a couple of hours of dismantling it, oiling the eighteen points listed in the manual, trying it out again, taking it apart again, running it by hand, running it with test fabric, trying to mop up the oil so it didn’t cover the fabric when I was sewing...
So just twelve hours later I had four masks! They smell slightly of machine oil, but will be laundered well. I suspect the next few masks will be faster.
These are not medical grade masks. They don’t meet the specs of our local hospital’s donation site - I don’t have the proper materials or skills for those masks. But, I read, they can do an effective job for what is important for the apparently healthy general population: protecting others from me in case I’m not actually healthy, and keeping me from touching my own face, thus statistically slowing the spread. They could provide a small amount of protection for me from unhealthy people I am exposed to. But if everyone wears these when out and about, it will help slow the spread overall. And these stay in place better than bandanas and are easy to breathe through.
So my plan is to make them for my family, friends, and neighbors. Doing this gives me some illusion of control and helping. I can while away nights and rainy days when I can’t be in the garden for a while, listening to books and podcasts.
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