Covid for Two (part three): The Cordrays Take a Ride, and Get in Trouble

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

After a particularly restless night, Dan's fever came back with a fury, and his dry cough would not subside.  We had been in contact with our doctor via text message for a few days, and knew it was time to find out if Dan was suffering from secondary bronchitis or pneumonia.  We called the office and were told to come to the parking lot, and to call when we made it there.  A nurse would come out and take our vitals.  She advised that it could be hours before we were seen. 

We loaded up in the van, thanking our lucky stars that there was a bed inside to rest upon once we landed at the doctor’s office.  I will mention for the record that Dan does virtually ALL of the driving while I navigate from the bench seat behind him, as a rule. To a guy who has driven fire trucks and water tankers through the curvy, narrow rural mountain roads of Kentucky and hung off mountainsides on big metal grasshoppers to fight fire, driving a high-top van with cargo trailer is wee tiny piece of cake. 

My pain level and range of motion issues from spinal fusion and several flavors of arthritis limit my ease at driving for long distances. When I was a solo vandweller, before my spinal fusion, my driving limit was only a few hours. Afterwards, I would recover for a day or so, and maybe go a bit further. Being limited by a fixed income, SSDI, I would make one big leap per month, and then just jiggle around within 30 or 40 miles to really learn about and enjoy an area.

I have always felt so grateful that Dan was willing to drive the long distances that have allowed us whip back and forth across the country at will, and to explore places I would have never been able to see on my own. I was feeling wobbly and miserable myself and needed to be seen as well, for good measure. Medicine-head be damned, we were going to get there with me as driver, and that was what I knew to be true on that day.  Through the dusty mountain pass with blowing dust storm ahead on the horizon, through California's agricultural inspection station at the California/Arizona state border, down another small stretch of freeway, and then a few side streets. My head felt like Charms Blow Pop, much bigger than my body and a little bit unwieldy. We made it before the text caught up to us from our neighbor asking if everything was ok when she saw us pull out in a hurry with me at the wheel.

We arrived safely, then sat or laid down like lumps in the van for three hours before our vitals were checked from the driver's side window.  We were ushered into the office through the back door and told to not remove our masks for any reason while inside the building.  We settled into the “infected” antechamber and waited another hour before we had any contact with office staff or doctor. The Blues Clues examination table paper art was what I chose as my point of focus, not having the strength to hold my phone, nor the interest to scroll.

Dan's bladder was maxed out on all the extra liquids. He was close to making a puddle on the floor.  His patience was wearing mighty thin. I saw him glance at a mop bucket and got a bit worried. I grabbed my phone from my purse to call the ladies at the front desk as he walked across the room and opened the door.   An alarm sounded and continued to wail as he was reprimanded and shuttled back to the storage closet we had been sitting in.  I asked the nurse who also reprimanded ME, the one who had NOT tried to escape, if he could go out the back door and relieve his bladder in our van, where we had a port-o-john.  She relented, so no resulting puddle formed.

After a thorough exam and were both found to be free of bronchitis and pneumonia.  Our doctor called in prescriptions to the pharmacy across the street from our little tin can house on the desert in Quartzsite, Arizona.  His office is in Blythe, California, 20 minutes away, but with an hour time difference.   Our local rural small-town pharmacy in Quartzsite rolls up the sidewalk and closes the blinds at 3 p.m.  They received 6 prescriptions and filled two, then locked the doors and went home while we were on our way there.  On a Friday.  And would not re-open until Monday. 

I was able to alert the doctor's office staff before they closed of the issue.  The doctor was on rounds at the hospital, but they would let him know.  Great.  Sounded like no meds this evening. There were limited hours at the pharmacy due to staff shortages.

Our doctor got the message and was able to call in the ones that hadn't been filled to the pharmacy...in Blythe.  Luckily, there was at least one of each prescription we needed, so if we got them, we could both get started. Another neighbor, Rodney, took off early the next morning to pick them up. Unfortunately, the gas line in his truck ruptured in the Rite-Aid parking lot.  Neither of our other neighbors were home to help him, and we felt rotten that our need had created a problem for someone else.  He didn't mind though. Two hours later, after a tearful, masked and gloved thank you and hand off at the gate, I sprinted to Dan's bedside with pills and water in hand. 

Elated, I had him sit up and take them, and then I tucked him back in. I carried the bag with the alerts and the rest of the pills into the kitchen. A spotlight flipped on inside my addled brain. I had forgotten that he had already taken Nyquil. I panicked when I noticed a possible serious drug interaction (after he downed the pills). 

I was completely exhausted.  And mortified.  I am well-versed in this kind of thing, having managed a surgeon's office for most of my working life, plus a million or more prescriptions of my own. Clearly, I did not have my wits about me. The pharmacist assured me that the worst that might happen is that he would be drowsier. Since sleep was difficult, this ended up being a blessing. 

Soon thereafter, Dan started feeling better and spent more hours sitting up.  He fell asleep out on the patio in the sunshine and ate more than half a sandwich here and there. He was really starting to improve, and I was as well.  Then after a good day or two, he felt a little bit backed up, but forcing fluids and other measures weren’t really resolving the issue.  He had right sided flank and back pain that just went on and on, waking him out of any restful sleep he might manage.  Several possibilities came to mind, but the only way to find out for sure was to head to the E.R.  Back to Blythe we went for 5 more hours of waiting room (for me) and antechamber (for him) hang time. We had our suspicions, but we needed a firm diagnosis. Dan was about to ice the proverbial Covid cupcake with another issue that would require more misery, and more waiting for resolution.

(to be continued)

Brenda Cordray

“The Desert Rose"

Buy Me a Coffee!