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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