Covid for Two (part four): The Rock, and the Road

or, Further Along the Great Inbetween (in four parts)

At the emergency room, Dan was diagnosed with a 6 mm kidney stone. It was our first guess, since we had both suffered with them in the past. He was sent packing to expel that baby at home.  He thought he might have released it, or part of it, in the E.R. loo before they gave him the strainer.  Oh boy, was he wrong. A couple of agonizing days later, he caught that jewel, and was pleased to have that painful experience behind him. I’d say it was the icing on the cake for a guy who had been through quite a rough patch already. Dang if he didn’t get a rock flung at him right there at the end.

Only Dan could expel a heart shaped kidney stone for his beloved. We gifted it to the doctor for evaluation instead. I am known for finding hearts in nature, just about everywhere I go. It’s just my thing.

When we arrived home from our trip to the ER, neighbors came barreling out into the street, ready to express their gratitude that Dan was on the mend.  Even though the diagnosis was a painful kidney stone, they were glad that it wasn't anything worse and that he had been discharged to deal with it at home.  One even had a tear in her eye.  Everyone knows Dan, and Dan knows everyone. He is always willing to run over, take a look at, and make an attempt at fixing anything within his immediate area. He is a familiar sight in our 50’s and up RV park, riding his bike or walking, carrying his tool bag.

When we made the victory lap, or usual daily dog walk, additional neighbors expressed their gratitude that we were both on the mend.  Word had gotten around as it does in a small town, a place where we ARE good neighbors, so we HAVE good neighbors. 

Word also gotten around that we might not leave on time.  Our park is nearly empty, with most of the snowbird flock having already flown. It's true. We might not leave for quite some time.  We need to do a few repairs and upgrades on the winter oasis, and the van needs a bit of maintenance, too. All of that has been delayed due to illness and will take some time to accomplish. The burgeoning price of fuel and the volatile world situation add into the equation in huge way, with our current cost of operation while traveling (for fuel alone) at 44 cents a mile and rising.

We decided that we want to sit in the yard and enjoy the 70's and 80's temperatures for a while, knowing full well that we will be living in the blast furnace of an Arizona summer soon.  We have done it before, and we will do it again. We are counting our lucky stars to have a Plan B home that has proven to be perfectly adequate and comfortable for that purpose. We need to kick back and thank the Great Spirit for our lives, and for each other, for each of you, and for so many who have followed us on our journey.

We are well on the other side of our second battle with Covid, which is great news, but the fatigue is lingering. It will be a bit before we are set to full scurry, but we are ok with that. It is nice to putter around and make lists of supplies we need for projects and to not really stress out about when they will get done.

To answer the question that is on everyone’s mind, I will share a bit of my past history. Having suffered the long-term effects of DMARDS, or disease-modifying anti-rheumatic drugs and other, at the time, experimental and/or very heavy hitting medications for a variety of autoimmune illnesses, I opted out of taking a vaccine that could 1.) not prevent an illness, 2.) keep me from giving it to someone else.  Dan felt the same way. My autoimmune status means my body chooses to randomly attack healthy cells, organs, tissues, etc. It has a hard time processing medication, which in the past has led to anaphylactic shock after taking a medication that I had used numerous times over the years. Things can get dicey on their own, without adding something unknown to the mix.

Even after everything we have been through, we are glad that our unadulterated immune systems were up to the challenge and do not regret our decision to opt out. People may not agree and think we had a harder time of it than we might have if “vaccinated”, but one cannot live two timelines to know for sure.  I know that I am proud that outdoor living and taking care of our mind, body, and spirit in natural ways had a lot to do with our outcome.

I am glad that we are strong, resilient, and resourceful. We only required a handful of groceries over the course of a month, having almost everything we needed in stock, right here at home. Living prepared for any possible hardship or challenging situation is nothing new to either of us. We had plans already in place about how we would manage things if one or both of us got sick.

We reached out to the slim number of family members who are in our lives on a regular basis, those who would need to know if it all went awry, who would also WANT to know, but otherwise kept to ourselves.  We are private people, so that was not out of line with how we usually do things, either. We are not alarmists and choose to deal with our personal situations without a lot of outside input.

A few people reached out to us, having noticed our partial absence on social media.  Dan wasn’t saying much, and that is rare. I appreciate the fact that none of these folks panicked, and just waited patiently for each long-awaited update. I couldn't manage the practicalities and also text or call with the twice or thrice daily blow by blow updates that some would require, operating from a place of fear.  We couldn't afford the weight of that fear, nor the energy it would take to be in touch to that extent.  We know that our friends and family pray for us and send us positive energy on a regular basis, and we were sure we were covered.

I was well enough to post a memory or share something cool now and then on Facebook. Still, I am amazed that a month went by without pictures of food on my Facebook page, “The Sunny Side” (search stepintothesunlight) and no one asked what was up, or if we were eating out nightly instead. Surely that must be a new record.  The fridge is restocked, so we will post something grilled or homemade soonly.  Update: before I even posted this newsletter, I shared a recipe for stuffed bell peppers that I made in the Instant Pot. But don't take my word for it. Run over there and see.

I promised that with my newsletter, you would learn a bit more of the "back story" of our nomadic life, and I hope that with this little series, I have delivered.  I really think it’s important to share “boots on the ground” stories of our battles with Covid so we can all experience the truth of what has happened or is happening in our world.

We are all exposed to this virus on a regular basis. I am keenly aware that many have not fared as well as we have, both the vaccinated and the unvaccinated. We have been shaken ourselves by losses of family, friends, and their kin, by our own personal health struggles, and by the news of the world as it stands at the moment.  We have so many in our thoughts and prayers right now, as we have throughout this pandemic. Nothing in our lifetime could ever compare to this. Each of us is going through a lot right now. As they say, just be kind. We send love and courage out to each of you.

It will be a while before we leapity-leap, and when we do, it will likely be pretty close to home for the time being.  As it did in March 2020, it just seems right to remain safely tucked in right now, and to shelter in place.

In the meantime, I am sure there will be tales to tell, and flowers and bugs to photograph as spring descends upon the low desert.  The current temperatures are the usual springtime rollercoaster, but I assure you that we see no snow, not even upon the mountaintops within view. We like it that way.

I am seriously tapping away at my memoir of nomadic life these days, where many stories of the early days of Covid (from our experience) exist, plus others that were a lot more fun.  A month’s worth of laundry and grocery shopping behind us, we are settling in for a little R & R, some maintenance and repairs of rolling and stationary home, and of our bodies, minds, and spirits. Life is good, right where we have planted our feet. Always.

Last night, as we sat on the couch and watched a movie on the big screen monitor, I said life feels very much back to normal in this house. Dan wholeheartedly agreed. Thanks to everyone who voiced their concerns as I posted each part of this particular newsletter. We are good, and we sure appreciate you!

Blessings and love from Camp Cordray!

Brenda Cordray

"The Desert Rose"

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