At the age
of 81, with advancing congestive heart failure, I had known for a
while that my time card was close to punching out a final time. Every
day I struggled to catch my breath, but I was able to function
once again with the aid of my oxygenator which pumped air through a
plastic tube hanging around my ears and into my nose. In addition,
each day several powerful medications assailed my internal problems,
attempting to normalize them. The net result was, in between
coughing jags, I was comfortably seated in a recliner 24/7 even to
sleep. I was unable to walk more than a few steps because that
required circulation to my legs which sacrificed circulation to my
brain. Several times I blacked out, finding myself face down on the
carpet uninjured, but distressed to find my cocker spaniels licking
my face and wagging their tails as if I had decided to play a new
game conceived for their personal benefit.
.
So it was,
that when my nephew, who is my Caretaker, arrived one morning in
early March (2020), I asked him for assistance in limiting contact
with persons who might have COVID-19. His reaction was swift and
complete, turning this household into a civilian prison. All of my
attempts to slow his efforts were complete failures.
He began by
searching Craigslist until he was able to purchase two freezers. After
one was placed in a spare bedroom and the other on the back
porch, he denuded shelves at Safeway, purchasing $1500 worth of
groceries. About 15 trips were necessary to carry all of the food
from his van into the house. Next, he purchased a bread maker, a
food grinder, and a large mixer. Gone were the needs to get any
groceries or fast food prepared by or delivered from a restaurant.
Large boxes
began to arrive at the house. They contained supplies of rubbing
alcohol, hand washing soap, and bleach. Other packages were removed
from the delivery area on the porch to my nephew's van. They would
be sprayed and remain there overnight before being resprayed and
finally given to the addressee. I often spend a whole day looking
out the window at a package I had ordered, only to see it removed for
an entire day before I can have it.
A portable
hand washing machine is set up near the front door entrance. All
persons, including my granddaughter and grand nephew who live in this
house, are required to wash hands before entering. If they are
carrying anything, those items must be brought to the kitchen for
spraying.
I am no
longer permitted to enter the kitchen as these items have passed
through. I would like to make coffee for myself early in the morning
because otherwise no one else is around to make some. But I have
done what I have been told and have not entered the kitchen in over a
week.
Morning
coffee was one of the last endeavors which gave me joy. Now I am
told that all of this will continue for six months. The two young
people who live here resent that they must do things a certain way
because I am here I resent having to do all of these things because
I believe they are overbearing and excessive.
My nephew
continues to run this prison (strike that), this house under
stringent rules because he wants to “protect me and someday I
will thank him for it”. I know that he cares about me but I
wonder if trading my unguarded life in a recliner for this guarded
life for six months will leave enough time for me afterwards to eat
a Quarter Pounder with cheese, make a pot of coffee, and again find
joy.
