Weirdest Lunch Hour Ever

Dwayne is tired of social distancing and decided he lives in a different corner of the yard now. He muscles through the big pavers of his enclosure when he decides it’s time to eat, and I look up from my computer to see him traversing the lawn all the time. He’s doing his share of the yard work with gusto. We’re not arguing with our Editor in Chief on this one: Dwayne is officially a free range tortoise.

Tate is stressed out by the amount of work he’s doing to close out his first semester. He’s overcoming a couple new-to-college mistakes and working through new concepts that are easier to learn in a classroom setting than from a book. I am so grateful he has been able to keep up with the workload during treatment. He continues to amaze me.

Tate’s sprained ankle is nearly healed. He said, “I barely have to limp at all!” And today he went for a walk around the block without any difficulty. Unfortunately his back still hurts. The rational part of my brain knows the pain began the day after a lumbar puncture and it could be a complication from that day, but the wary part of my heart fears more bad news. I don’t know what that bad news could be and I refuse to google, so I’m trying to put it out of my mind until he can get checked out properly. (If you are a googler, please do not send me any information. I truly cannot handle it.)

Tate’s next appointment is Monday, May 4. We’ll ask the Nurse Practitioner to investigate his back pain, and he’ll get his monthly dose of Vincristine and start the 5-day steroid pulse.

The current state of the world is strange and scary. Tate and I were just beginning to emerge back into public when COVID-19 hit, and it was an natural thing for us to return to a quarantine routine. We’re lucky to be surrounded by people that help us with anything we need and family, that while far away, constantly make their love felt by all of us. You guys are what make an easy quarantine possible for us.

But sometimes there are things you have to do yourself. Last week Greg needed to go to the ER, and driving him there is hardly something I would want anyone else to do. (Although truth be told, his closest friend picked him up, and we all felt pretty good about it.) We arrived at the hospital, and staff members were working at a table under an EZ-UP, screening patients for fevers and spraying their hands with disinfectant before allowing them to enter. I watched as a man in scrubs and a surgical mask guided Greg into the hospital. I walked back to my car and sat there for a few minutes considering what to do next and decided to go home. I didn’t know how long it would take, but in our experience with Tate we have learned that ER visits can take several hours. Waiting at home seemed like the best move. It is such a strange feeling to surrender a loved one to a hospital and leave, even when it’s the only thing to be done. When I got home, I gave Tate an update and went back to my desk. As I started working I realized the round trip took about 60 minutes – weirdest lunch hour ever.

If you’re wondering how heartless a person that can drop off her husband at a hospital and then log on to work remotely within an hour could be, the opposite is true. Not being allowed into the hospital stripped me of my ability to help my husband; he had no advocate. Due to restrictions brought about by COVID-19, I couldn’t bring him anything that couldn’t be disinfected before being brought to his room: no pajamas, no clean change of clothes for the ride home, no food, no favorite blanket. Nothing. When Tate was really sick there were days when I had to clean up vomit, empty urinals, and so on, and while that’s emotionally very difficult it was a tangible way I could help. Not being able to do anything for Greg was really hard. I logged onto work because I knew there were things I could do and people I could help. So that’s what I did.

And so as not to broadcast too much about Greg’s stuff but still give an update, I’ll just say he’s much improved and looking and feeling better every day.

When it rains it pours, or so they say. I have never really held with that notion, but there are weeks that test me! Our old dog got sick, too. For two weeks she has to take as many meds as Tate does. She’s also going to be fine.

Despite our weird week and ever-changing struggles, we’re hanging in there and hope you are doing the same with whatever life throws at you. Together from apart, we can sing in the rain and make lemonade from all these lemons.