When I was a little kid, maybe ten or so, I thought it would be cool to live through a disaster like an earthquake or tornado, have my tonsils out or break my leg. My elementary school life in suburban Chicago was predictable and unadventurous. I wanted an experience where I could say "I lived through that!"
Decades later, I'm living the dream.
My mom, who has late stage Alzheimer's, has had our modern day plague. This has been a nightmare. I thought about making a chart to describe this struggle, but alas I am in Montana and I don't have my art supplies.
I might not have all of the correct dates for my three week rollercoaster, they are close enough.
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Saturday, May 16 or so -- There are two cases of Corona virus at my mom's nursing home, but we don't know which unit.
Sunday, May 17 -- The two cases are in the Memory Care Unit, where my mom resides.
Monday, May 18 -- My mom is tested for Corona virus. We wait.
Wednesday, May 20 -- Her test comes back negative, but she has a low fever so they test her again.
Friday, May 22 -- My mom's test is positive, but she is asymptomatic. If she gets sick, should they send her to the hospital? I vote no, but my dad votes yes. I fear a hospital visit will freak out my mother and prolong her suffering. Why should she die in fear surrounded by strangers dressed in biohazard outfits? That sounds like an X-Files death. Nevertheless, this is not a democracy. My dad has been spoon-feeding my mom for the past four years. He is the most devoted and dedicated man I've ever met. My dad's vote is the only one that counts.
Monday, May 24 -- My mom has low oxygen. She is sent to Riverside Hospital.
Tuesday, May 25 -- George Floyd was killed by cops in Minneapolis and it was caught on video. I missed the news because I am traumatized about my mom.
Wednesday, May 27 -- My mom is sent to the ICU.
Thursday, May 28 -- I have a meltdown at work during a conference call. My manager is kind enough to stop the conference call, call me back, and talk me off the ledge. I am so glad to work where I do. "Lauren, I am clearing your schedule for the next two days. You need to worry about your family." I have a great boss.
Friday, May 29 -- My mom is started on an experimental treatment for COVID where they inject her with the plasma of a person previously infected with COVID. My mom is given an experimental drug. I cannot recall the name. I have mixed feelings about this: what if she gets better? Then what? Shouldn't they test these things on people who have a normal life to return to? Or, maybe my mom should be a guinea pig. She has nothing to lose. Maybe they could harvest her blood for plasma to save other people? I find that simultaneously fascinating and ghoulish, but mostly ghoulish.
On a Zoom call with a group of friends, one mentions she is proud to call herself a "Social Justice Warrior," a derogatory terms used by the right-wing for left-wing people championing social justice. "I'm going out tomorrow. This isn't my first rodeo," she says. "I am bringing milk." I have no idea what she is talking about. What is tomorrow? Why does she need milk?
These friends think it is awesome that my mom might be used to help find a cure for COVID. "Wouldn't it be great if she could give back to society in her condition?" My friends are nicer than I am. Way nicer. I am glad I have nice friends.
Saturday, May 30 -- Peaceful protests by thousands turn into a riot by a few dozen in Seattle blocks from my condo. Forty million unemployed people plus millions of out-of-school college and high school students have plenty of time on their hands. At 5:00 p.m., the mayor calls a curfew. A half dozen of my friends text or call to see if I am okay. Some say "Get the fuck out of there." I frantically pack the car to head north, but when I look outside of my parking garage, I wonder how I am going to get out of downtown. The police chief says stay off the streets so emergency vehicles can get through. My dad recommends hunkering down instead of venturing out. I talk continuously to friends, one after the other until I fall asleep. I get four hours of sleep, which is more than I thought I'd get.
Sunday, May 31 -- Drive to Montana. I am looking forward to the peace, quiet and change of scenery. The drive from St. Regis to Kalispell is one of the most beautiful drives I've even taken, and I've been to New Zealand and British Columbia. We pick up the Boy from school. When we get to Montana, we learn that a storm has blown through and power has been down at the school since the night before. Tree limbs are scattered on the road.
Monday, June 1 -- My mom is out of the ICU and in a regular COVID room. She is getting better. Wow. It is a miracle.
Tuesday, June 2 -- The Boy has his ACL replaced. All is well.
Thursday, June 4 -- My mom hasn't eaten in two days. My dad sees my mom for the first time via Facetime. My dad, the eternal optimist, thinks my mom isn't going to make it through the night. For my dad to think she is going to die means she is going to die. The Boy is freaked out about my mother's impending death. "Why isn't anyone else traumatized?" Grandpa and I have already been down that road, back and forth, for the past two weeks.
Friday, June 5 -- My mom is better, smiling and eating. Twice she has tested negative for COVID. She is moved back to her nursing home. When my dad called, I was preparing to hear the news of her death. Instead, she lives. When he told me she was doing better, I think I said "What? Are you kidding me?"
It is Claire-Adele's birthday. I am glad my mother chose not to die today. That would be bad. Claire-Adele spends the day protesting in Washington, D.C.. I text her to bring milk to protect her eyes in case she gets shot with tear gas. She replies: "That is not recommended. Saline solution or water is better. Like milk has bacteria." My bad.
Saturday, June 6 -- My dad sees my mom through the window at her nursing home. She is slumping. Of the twenty-six people in her Memory Care Unit who had coronavirus, eighteen have died. My mom might have won the battle, but she could still lose the war.
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The good news is I am riding my bike in Montana. If nothing else, it is beautiful here.
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