I have some kind of upper respiratory virus. Whatever it is, it has acted as a sponge for my energy. I went to bed at 7:17 last night. Yes, before Jeopardy. I am forcing myself to write today because I didn’t go to school and I cannot be feckless on a Wednesday, the supposed most productive day of the week. I feel, as the kids say, “like butt”. Oh January, you really know how to have your way with us. Wake me up when winter is over.
Living with a woman on oxygen adds another layer of complexity to this little blip. Will I get her sick? Should I isolate in my room? Trust me, I’ve been living with that ghastly fear for the last 4 years. Somehow we made it through COVID, albeit not unscathed. It wasn’t easy—see issues 69 through 163. Following her NYE incident, we took Mom to the cardiologist yesterday and learned that she does, indeed, have a touch of congestive heart failure but that’s absolutely no major surprise given her age and just how hard her heart has been working since 1934. A little lasix will help keep some of that fluid at bay, the oxygen stays much to her chagrin. “Well, you know, they say that being on oxygen all the time is NOT good for you.” she schooled Jan and I while Dr. Marks was out of the room. We explained this to him when he returned, he simply replied “well, you seem pretty comfortable with it” and added that he had never heard that O2 would have detrimental effects for someone of Mom’s ilk and her deprivation of said O2 most likely contributed to the heart issue. If your lungs can’t, your heart tries. If your heart is tired, stuff gets wonky. Of course, only Mary would argue the health benefits of the very air she breathes because she doesn’t like the optics of the apparatus. The tank needs a tank. Big whoop.
It snowed last night, the trees are frosted. “I heard an owl, Mama!” Maire told me after being outside for a bit before school. I stuck my feverish head outside, the cold felt good. “Just wait, you’ll hear it.” Sure enough, a gentle “ooooo oooo oo oooooooooo” called from the east. I thought about how Thomas recounted how he once took one of his children outside at night in the dead of winter to listen for owls. They had croup and the icy air was prescribed to help calm the airways, many of us parents have been there and know the panic you feel when a child cannot breathe. Thomas admits that he was so scared in this moment; for his child it is a favorite memory. He calmly pointed out constellations while they listened and waited for that sacred bird’s call. For me, this story painted a picture of him as a young frightened father and made me wish I knew him then.
As I sit here and write, the compressor groans while it sighs and drops, sighs and drops. She eats the bagel I made for us both while tapping away on her iPad. I cannot predict how these next few months will go with our newest health situation here. There are so many miles to go and we have much to tackle and conquer. Yet, in place of living in constant fear of what might come or be, we’ll forge on in our new normal and continue to listen for owls in the dark and hunt deer footprints in the snow—so much to savor in this shared solitude of life.