Dangerous Days and Bad Old Memories

Sunset in late February from the rooftop of a bar here in Tama. How much things change in such a short time.

Today was all sorts of weird. Around noon today, after lots of Combivent and a slide into more crazy symptoms, four bad days followed by two where I felt much better, followed by three getting sicker I finally went back to the doctors office. Which turned turned into an all afternoon thing, many tests, blood tests, a chest xray and assorted medical nonsense.

The good news: My chest xray showed while I had some small amount of congestion are the very bottom at my lungs I did not have RSV or the start of pneumonia. All my silly doping on asthma drugs and doubling and tripling up on the Combivent has had a good effect, and apparently I'd likely be a lot sicker if I were not so crazy hyper vigilant over my asthma. I have learned that I must be, because no one else will be.

The bad news: It ain't asthma. Tomorrow the Health Dept for this state in Costa Rica will be here with bells on to stick that cotton swab into the back of my sinuses. They will be posting a quarantined sign on the gate, at least until the test comes back. Yes, the blood work turned up a viral infection in my blood stream.

Anyway I am quarantined either way until I get the test results on Friday or Saturday.

The doctor thinks it's Covid 19. I saw it in her eyes when she returned from reading the blood tests and switched masks from a thin surgical mask to an N95 mask. I left clutching a Z Pack and those drugs our president has been rattling on about. This clinic is one of the best, and they have the latest of everything, so I was not surprised to receive the meds.

Again, I cannot began to tell you how much better the day to day health care is here. I walked in right before 1 pm. Within the hour they'd done the bloodwork and xray. I had answers within two hours of rolling in the door, and been scheduled for the test with the government.

If I have it I'll be the first person in the Playa Grande area diagnosed.  Woopie!

I feel strangely confident that this episode will turn out alright. I'm so crazy hypervigilant over the asthma I've been doping it stupid. Tomorrow is day ten, and I keep reading that people that end up in the hospital on ICU usually have a crisis of lung dysfunction by day ten or eleven, and a lot more lung congestion up until that point. I have my trusty O2 meter, I use it frequently to gauge how much asthma drugs to take. I am chipper about this, it's just another illness.

My immune system really is like a rusted pinto up on blocks. Remember when I did a border run and stopped at Walmart to get toilet paper afterwards? I joked that if I was going to come down with this virus it would from that day. I didn't know how true that was. It was the only time in the last month I didn't wear my mask, because they were doing health checks on both sides of the border and I didn't want to appear sickly. It happened just over three and a half weeks ago, with the incubation period being 14 days that would put me at  9 days just now.

I don't have the 'traditional' symptoms, only a slight fever, sore throat one day, but the one I have in spades that sent me to the doctor is the awful fatigue.

Our pastor's wife stopped by this morning with a friend from church, so I have the unpleasant thing to do, tell them I am quarantined and may have exposed both of them to this virus. Not looking forward to that.

Guess it's a day to take Jimmy Buffett's advice, breath in, breath out, move on...

But I always have to be careful with Buffett, the same album that holds that song also has one about the Florabama Lounge on the Florida Alabama line. It's a place filled with ghosts for me. My family had a beach house a few miles from there. I spent many a day and night at the Florabama eating pizza. My band played there a few times. I've seen Jimmy Buffett play there before he was famous.

It also makes me remember my ex. I remember my family taking me away for two weeks to the beach house, and begging, pleading, tearful appeals n6 ot to marry my ex. But I was in love at all of 16 years old and resolute.

Every single time I think I've put my ex out of my brain after a few years, a quick divorce and nearly 34 years of marriage I get reminded. Today's reminder was not Jimmy Buffett, but the death of John Prine. My ex played music with him off and on early in his music career. I remember in particular being so upset with Prine for trying to lure my ex away to be part of his band. I was nine months pregnant at the time. I remember feeling loved and treasured when my ex turned down that gig. I was so incredibly foolish then, and I've always held that against a hapless John Prine, who could not have known what he was asking. Rest in peace John.