Covid 19
In My Bloodstream: Lisinopril, Amlodopine, Omeprazole, Tamsulosin
On The Stereo: Nobody But You: Blake Shelton, with Gwen Stephani
This will be a shorter message than usual. We just returned from Moffitt, where I was scheduled to have my bandages changed. I have been without the use of my left hand for a week now. It has been under wraps and I was under orders, as is normal after surgeries. Don't bend over. Don't lift anything heavier than five pounds. Don't strain.
I have been covering my left arm with a plastic bag, as I was not to get my bandages wet. Washing and shampooing my hair has been a bit of a task. Many people have it worse, I know, but I am unaccustomed to holding one arm in the air to keep it dry, and pouring shampoo on my head with the other hand - that same hand that I need to rub it through my hair. However, it has been done, and I, atypically, have not made a mess of my wound. Something that I have been prone to do in the past.
The wound has been leaking blood for the past few days, and I was concerned that an alien arm might have formed under my wraps. I expected the worst.
For you who are old enough to have seen an old movie called "On The Beach", you will remember that after a nuclear armageddon, nothing was alive in the world. Our drive to Tampa was eerily similar. There were precious few cars on a route that is normally teeth gritting. So far was this trip from the norm, that it was worrisome. The world was definitely different. There was no sense of life as usual. The warnings were being heeded. Incredibly so.
Kath did the driving, resulting in a higher than normal blood pressure reading in my prep. She is not a bad driver, by any means. She, on this trip, apparently forgot where we keep the accelerator. It was more a Sunday drive, than a trip with purpose.
I had not slept well for the past two nights. I had been lying on my right side, mostly, trying to keep my left arm slightly elevated, in an effort to keep my blood from oozing out. A failure on all counts. I did not sleep well, if at all, and I continued to leak blood.
That, too, may have caused the spike in my BP.
The hospital was also far quieter than usual. After the routine check in, we went to the fourth floor and were given a procedure room. The first thing we noticed was the empty bracket which is used to hold rubber gloves in a variety of sizes. It was void, even of the boxes. There had been theft, and all the rooms had been cleared of anything that might be subject to a similar fate. Immediately, I thought of the hoarding of toilet paper, by too many inconsiderate shoppers. Their creed must be more in line with the theory of every man for himself, than that of having consideration of others. We can only hope that someday they get a hearty handshake from someone who has been without toilet paper for weeks. And has given up hand-washing. Hah.
Sarah, my PA, unwrapped the bandages and we all had our first look at the surgeon's handy-work. Most excellent. Sarah squeezed out the remaining blood, we had the arm wrapped, and I will return next week to get the stitches removed, and, hopefully get the pathology report. There will be no golf for at least another week, but, that is not a bad price to pay.
The wound looks raw, because it is. But it is covered with a layer of silicone, and stitched in place.
The new term of the day is social distancing.
My friend's wife told him that they needed to practice sexual distancing, due to this outbreak. He told me that he had been doing that for years. Nothing changes. ( I made this up)
So, my bride asked me if I thought the marital murder rate would increase, given all the time that couples would be forced to spend together. What was that about?
On the upside, there will likely be a bundle of little girls called Corona in nine months, give or take.
Stay safe. Laugh. Find a bright side. Take care of each other.
Love from God's waiting room.
Sorry, I am now unable to send hugs. They might spread the virus. Taking no chances.
jrobinmullen@gmail.com
On The Stereo: Nobody But You: Blake Shelton, with Gwen Stephani
This will be a shorter message than usual. We just returned from Moffitt, where I was scheduled to have my bandages changed. I have been without the use of my left hand for a week now. It has been under wraps and I was under orders, as is normal after surgeries. Don't bend over. Don't lift anything heavier than five pounds. Don't strain.
I have been covering my left arm with a plastic bag, as I was not to get my bandages wet. Washing and shampooing my hair has been a bit of a task. Many people have it worse, I know, but I am unaccustomed to holding one arm in the air to keep it dry, and pouring shampoo on my head with the other hand - that same hand that I need to rub it through my hair. However, it has been done, and I, atypically, have not made a mess of my wound. Something that I have been prone to do in the past.
The wound has been leaking blood for the past few days, and I was concerned that an alien arm might have formed under my wraps. I expected the worst.
For you who are old enough to have seen an old movie called "On The Beach", you will remember that after a nuclear armageddon, nothing was alive in the world. Our drive to Tampa was eerily similar. There were precious few cars on a route that is normally teeth gritting. So far was this trip from the norm, that it was worrisome. The world was definitely different. There was no sense of life as usual. The warnings were being heeded. Incredibly so.
Kath did the driving, resulting in a higher than normal blood pressure reading in my prep. She is not a bad driver, by any means. She, on this trip, apparently forgot where we keep the accelerator. It was more a Sunday drive, than a trip with purpose.
I had not slept well for the past two nights. I had been lying on my right side, mostly, trying to keep my left arm slightly elevated, in an effort to keep my blood from oozing out. A failure on all counts. I did not sleep well, if at all, and I continued to leak blood.
That, too, may have caused the spike in my BP.
The hospital was also far quieter than usual. After the routine check in, we went to the fourth floor and were given a procedure room. The first thing we noticed was the empty bracket which is used to hold rubber gloves in a variety of sizes. It was void, even of the boxes. There had been theft, and all the rooms had been cleared of anything that might be subject to a similar fate. Immediately, I thought of the hoarding of toilet paper, by too many inconsiderate shoppers. Their creed must be more in line with the theory of every man for himself, than that of having consideration of others. We can only hope that someday they get a hearty handshake from someone who has been without toilet paper for weeks. And has given up hand-washing. Hah.
Sarah, my PA, unwrapped the bandages and we all had our first look at the surgeon's handy-work. Most excellent. Sarah squeezed out the remaining blood, we had the arm wrapped, and I will return next week to get the stitches removed, and, hopefully get the pathology report. There will be no golf for at least another week, but, that is not a bad price to pay.
The wound looks raw, because it is. But it is covered with a layer of silicone, and stitched in place.
The new term of the day is social distancing.
My friend's wife told him that they needed to practice sexual distancing, due to this outbreak. He told me that he had been doing that for years. Nothing changes. ( I made this up)
So, my bride asked me if I thought the marital murder rate would increase, given all the time that couples would be forced to spend together. What was that about?
On the upside, there will likely be a bundle of little girls called Corona in nine months, give or take.
Stay safe. Laugh. Find a bright side. Take care of each other.
Love from God's waiting room.
Sorry, I am now unable to send hugs. They might spread the virus. Taking no chances.
jrobinmullen@gmail.com
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