labuznik

The weekend of March 1-3, we were in Seattle for Emerald City Comic Con.  We have cat sitters for our beloved male black cat, Titian (tee-shen), who is diabetic.  Saturday, we got an email from one of the sitters telling us Titian was a bit off.  He’s been known to display bouts of off behavior and experience some separation anxiety.  Still, he is being visited twice a day by his cat sitter, Aunties.  Upon arriving home on Sunday, the off behavior was apparent to us, and we called the following day for a vet appointment.  

I was also scheduled for jury duty in the upcoming week.  I called in on Sunday.  My group was not needed for Monday, but I was told to call back Monday evening to see about Tuesday.

Monday

I started to feel “off” myself.  I lost my voice, and it felt like laryngitis.  Body aches started, but I didn’t have a sore throat and could breathe through my nose.  I tested for Covid, and it was negative.  I called in, and my group was chosen to report for jury duty the following morning at 8 am.  I did not sleep well that night.

Titian’s condition declined.  He was not eating or grooming.  He had very low energy and was extremely lethargic.  He had peed partly outside the box a few times now, which had never happened before.  The vet also called and asked us to drop Titian off early the next morning.  Michael had to go to work the following day, so before reporting for jury duty, I’d be taking Titian to the vet.

Tuesday

After another poor night’s sleep, I woke up at 5:30 am feeling even worse.  I got Titian to the vet by 7 am.  Thankfully, I was dismissed after showing up for jury duty at 8 am.  I told them I was ill.  I tested for Covid again, and it was negative.  My existing symptoms became worse, and I started to cough.  I was able to sleep better that night with a nose strip.

The vet called regarding Titian. His liver enzymes were up, which could be due to inflammation, infection, or an auto-immune issue. We picked him up and were instructed to give him several oral medications, including antibiotics, and to syringe feed him if he continues not to eat on his own. 

Wednesday  

Covid test #3 – positive

I will fully admit to being rather proud that I managed to avoid getting Covid or being sick at all for over four years. I attributed this to being diligent, mindful, and vaccinated, as well as taking active steps to boost immunity and avoid exposure. 

I did not wear a mask at Comic-Con, however.  Perhaps if I had . . .  I didn’t wear a mask to last year’s Comic-Con and didn’t get it.  This year, while in attendance, I took extra vitamins and immune-boosting supplements.  I didn’t touch my face and sanitized my hands at frequent intervals.  I took several preventative steps, and I still got it.  I’ve had to work on my feelings of pride, judgment, and unfairness.  This virus doesn’t care; it’s not rational, it’s not fair, and it’s not personal.  It just is.

Titian and I were home sick together.  I was continuing to feel worse.  My nose was now stuffed up, and I was having difficulty breathing (through my nose).

The vet’s notes said to syringe-feed Titian if he was not eating on his own. We tried everything, tempting him with all his favorite foods and treats. He wasn’t interested in any of it. So, I tried to syringe-feed him. Let’s be honest and call it what it is—force-feeding. Michael had barely managed to get the two antibiotic pills down him earlier that morning.  I know it was hard on them both. Feeding him was equally traumatic. 

At 2 o’clock, he was due for another medication pill. That did not go well either. It ended with him foaming at the mouth and in a very miserable and sad state.  I was beside myself with despair.  I can’t do this to him.  I called the vet, and we had a conversation.  Our options were to continue to force feed, force medications, and hope things turn around.  Or have a feeding tube inserted while under anesthesia.  Or . . .  

Since Michael would be off, an appointment was set for the following day.

Michael came home from work.  Behind face masks and socially distanced, through waves of emotion, we discussed the options and what would eventually lead to our decision.

Thursday – Hell on Earth

While fixing my breakfast, I noticed I had no sense of smell or taste.  And I continued to feel like shit.

Michael and I were doubtful that Titian would make it through the night. But he did. He even gave us some morning purrs when we were all together. He also displayed a bit more energy. However, he was still not eating, and our options remained unchanged. 

Anyone who has been responsible for a pet knows making this kind of decision is absolute hell.  Seldom are the circumstances cut and dry.  Sometimes, you are lucky, and the animal makes the decision for you.  Often, you are left in the agonizing state of deliberation about whether to end the life of a beloved family member.  But when their quality of life and suffering come into play, it’s not about you; you must make the right decision for the animal, even if that means cutting your remaining time with them short.

From the waves of emotion, my nose was beyond congested.  I could not remotely breathe through my nose.  The pressure in my sinuses felt like my head was going to explode.  My eyes were hot, swollen, and overly sensitive to light.  The amount of liquid omitted from my eyes and nose was remarkable.  I thought for sure that everything would stop working and dry up at some point, but no.  An endless faucet of infected tears, snot, mucus, and saliva flowed freely into my face mask, which I had to change often.

Our vet was extremely gracious when I said I had Covid.  They didn’t bat an eye, even though I felt very ashamed about it.  The vet just masked up and carried on.

During the vet appointment, I would step outside to blow my nose or have a coughing fit. They had a lovely room accessible from the outside for such sorrowful occasions. I’d come back into the room, sanitize my hands, grab new tissues, and repeat the whole process every five minutes or so.  If Michael doesn’t get Covid from this incident alone, it will be a miracle.  We were both masked, but we were petting Titian, crying, blowing our noses, wiping our eyes, sanitizing our hands, and doing it all over again.  It was a perfect vector storm for transmitting the virus.  

When Michael and I were driving home, I asked that he pull the car over two different times so I could jump out of the car and hyperventilate through a fit of coughing.  Once home, Michael went into “doing” mode, while I couldn’t manage to do anything beyond sit in a miserable stupor of despair and disbelief.  We all process death differently.  Michael and I quickly realized this would be particularly difficult because we could not even console one another, nor could we grieve together.  Doing our best to remain masked and socially distanced in our own home, we had short, disjointed conversations trying to process our pain.

My face, eyes, and sinuses were so inflamed and swollen from being ill and all the bouts of emotion that I finally laid down and put a damp, iced washcloth over the upper part of my face. I thought for sure this would alleviate some of the inflammation, but no. It did feel good, though.

Friday

As if losing a beloved member of your family isn’t hard enough, being sick while going through it is its own kind of hell.  I know folks experience this virus differently, but this is not a mild case for me.  With the exception of a food-borne illness, I can’t remember ever being so ridiculously ill.

What is the point of putting cream in your tea or honey on your toast if you can’t taste it?  In fact, what is the point of eating at all? I’ve asked myself this each time I put anything into my mouth over the last two days. I quickly realized many little aspects of life you enjoy yet take for granted are wrapped up in your ability to smell. The rich, smoky aroma of my breakfast tea as it steeps in the morning. The flowers from the bouquets that loved ones sent. Even body wash and shampoo. I can’t smell any of it. I can’t taste toothpaste. I can’t smell the globule of Vicks I shove up my nose. Nor can I smell the perfumed body lotion I put on after I shower so I don’t smell sick to Michael.

Each day, I wake up feeling like an infected zombie. The only thing that feels good is standing in a hot shower. I think if I stand here long enough, the sick will wash off me. Everything I touch, everything I wear is infected. I visualize in my wake; I leave a haze of infection behind me.  Thank goodness Michael had the sense to buy the four-pack of tissues and six-pack of Clorox wipes—we are going through them!

I’m doing my best to sanitize after myself, particularly on the days Michael works. Shortly before he comes home, I take a Clorox wipe to anything and everything that I thought I might have touched. I moved most of my toiletries into the downstairs bathroom.  I’m trying to be mindful about spreading the infection throughout the house.

Saturday

I feel a bit better today.  I can breathe through my nose.  Two days ago, I thought I’d never breathe through my nose again.  However, my sinuses are raw, so I get a slight sting when I inhale, but I’ll take it.  My cough now has an interesting high-pitched wheeze at the end, which is interesting.  My mucus has changed slightly in texture and color, which is gross but a positive sign, nonetheless.

It’s the third day with no taste or smell.  This forces me to enjoy the underappreciated and often taken-for-granted aspect of food texture and mouthfeel.  I’m telling you, this is really a lesson in finding the positive.  I hate that I’m almost getting used to it.  Something we all do when ill is think of things that would taste good to us.  I’m denied even that small pleasure.   As someone who enjoys food, cooking, and eating, I pray that these senses return.

Sunday

I’m another step closer to feeling better. Last night was my best night’s sleep so far. I slept a good ten hours. Breathing through my nose is continuing to improve, and coughing has significantly subsided. I’ve noticed my lower abs and back are sore from forcefully blowing my nose and violent coughing fits. My voice is also starting to return to normal. I’m starting to sound more like myself and not some demonized version of Kathleen Turner.  I’ve also noticed an uptick in my appetite, which is also a positive sign.

One thing I have not mentioned is the impact this illness had on my digestive system.  I can’t tell if it was from the virus or all the additional supplements and Vitamin C I was taking in a desperate attempt to shorten the duration.  Perhaps it was a combination of the two.  Needless to say, it was just another layer in the Covid cake.

However, taste and smell continue to evade me. At this point, that’s all I’m looking for—well, that and a negative COVID test. My last test was on Friday, and it was still positive. My husband says not to test again until my symptoms are nearly gone.

This concludes One Hell of a Week.  All things diminish with the passing of time.  

Grief

Illness

Feelings of despair 

However, it’s all a process.  I embrace the process in hopes of better days to come.