Thursday, July 23, 2020

Surgery in the Time of COVID-19 (Anderson)

When my husband (Al) and I first heard about Covid-19 last December, his shoulder pain was controllable with over-the-counter pain relievers. As the months passed, the pandemic worsened and so did his shoulder.

The situation was complicated because we spent the winter in Charlotte—a day’s drive from our Northeast Ohio doctors—but we decided to deal with his shoulder immediately after we returned home in late March.

We quickly found ourselves caught in a maelstrom of challenges caused by the sharply upward trajectory of Covid-19. The first issue was a fourteen-day quarantine before Al could get an appointment with a specialist. At that appointment, he had an x-ray and cortisone shot. Weeks of physical therapy began. He saw our family doctor, returned to the specialist, and had a CAT-scan. The recommendation:  surgery. He sought a second opinion. He had two socially distanced massage therapy sessions. And then he decided that rotator cuff surgery was the best solution.

We were thrown a curveball when a Contact Tracer called Al because he had been exposed to Covid  during his last PT appointment. It had been eight days since that appointment, and we could not help but wonder if the Covid positive person was the receptionist…or therapist (the only two people at the facility). Al tried to schedule a Covid test through the CDC online portal, but his request was declined because he did not “qualify.” 

In the meantime, he scheduled his surgery for July 16. But before he could have the surgery, he needed to see his cardiologist, who was out of town until July 13.

Out of town? Where do people go when there is a pandemic? Vacation? Conference? Golf excursion? Fishing trip? 

In the long run, it did not matter. Our hope was that someone would cancel an existing appointment on July 13 so that Al could slide into that spot. Which, as luck had it, was exactly what occurred.

The cardiologist ordered more tests and completed them that day (amazing what can be accomplished when the timeframe is critical). Clearing that hurdle left a Covid test to be done on July 14.

Since national news affirmed that people lined up for blocks for Covid tests, we arrived early at the testing site. But—still lucky—there were just two cars ahead of us, and the highly invasive test that we expected was more like a tickle swab with an extra-long Q-tip. Not bad.

On July 16 (still no results from the Covid test), we drove to the surgery center. We bypassed valet parking (Covid concerns!), donned masks, had temperatures taken, socially distanced from others in the waiting area, and tried to breathe. Every other step was “business as usual” in a shockingly busy facility. (And, yes, someone at the surgery center confirmed that Al was Covid negative.)

Rotator cuff surgery is no cake walk. Even with meds, pain bubbles to the surface (“Scale of 1 to 10, where are you?” “12”). Thanks to Covid-19 and our strict adherence to distancing, no one visits. We have occasional phone calls and FaceTime with family, our daughter dropped off bags of ice, and Al’s Mom made him a potpie (which his brother delivered at a safe distance). Neighbors express care and concern. But that’s it.

It’s a marathon—not a footrace. And we’re just out of the starting blocks because the recovery is said to take five or six months. Slow but likely quicker than the race to find a Covid vaccine.

I cannot help but wonder…how do people manage when they live alone? Who dispenses meds in carefully regulated doses? Who fills the ice bucket and keeps the surgery area cold? Who cooks? Cleans up? Cheers when spirits flag? Who talks to you in the middle of the night, when the pain is intense and the only TV available is more bad news or infomercials? Who holds your hand? 


Pam Anderson (pamelaranderson.org) is a lifelong Northeast Ohio resident and graduate of the NEOMFA Program. When she is not writing, she likes to observe the world by taking photos of windows, doors, and lightbulbs. Her poetry chapbook—Just the Girls—is now available from The Poetry Box Press.

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