We have been missing our grandkids… alot.
Seems we can’t even get them on the phone. When we do, we certainly do not feel like we are connecting…not really connecting. So when Meghan suggested today would be a good day for a drive-by visit, I was all for it!
I spent the morning putting together goody bags of pretzels and leftover Halloween mini candy bars. Of course they would want something to drink, so I pulled juice boxes out of the frig. Finally, I grabbed a bear for Lily to sleep with at night− “No, maybe they would EACH like a bear to sleep with!” John looked at me in disbelief but said nothing. He knew I was on a mission and that it would be wisest not to have anything to say about it.
It was a gorgeous 70 degree day, a bit breezy, but sunny. We set up our stadium chairs at the end of the driveway and with the large basket of goodies in hand, ventured out of our isolation quarters. As we prepared to perch in our chairs, suddenly the rhythmic, honking blasts of an approaching car announced their arrival— a beaming Claire popped up through the van’s sun window. It was so wonderful to see each one as the doors flew open so all could see and be seen.
It seemed so very strange not to be able to hug them. Normally, Kate and Lily would have raced for one of us, the other veering towards the available second choice. We were grateful that a pattern of preference has as yet not emerged. Ella and Claire have reached the age where demonstrations of affection are rarer, yet all the more special as a result. But today…it was enough just to see them and to hear them banter and clamor for our attention.
Meg had picked up a few groceries for us at Walmart earlier this morning. She also brought Starbucks. Yes, we obediently wiped down the Starbucks cups with an antibacterial towelette. We were sipping and catching up − enjoying the sunshine and the love − as Meg, in her inimitable style, discreetly inserted her whammy without a single change in tone or dynamic to her voice.
Meg: “We’ve decided that I WILL work on the Covid ICU floor— likely beginning next week.”
There it was in typical ‘Meghan style’. No drama. No hesitation. Just. the. facts. Her adeptness at slipping in the ‘harder news to swallow’ into a normal stream of conversation was and is disarming. I think she loves it that way.
Meg and Eric had decided that the sooner she could orient to the unit, the better, as all predicted the surge likely within the next two weeks. I listened intently measuring every word she spoke, wanting desperately to fully embrace all that she was saying. She was calm, self assured and definite in her decision. No hesitation whatsoever that THIS mom could detect.
Lily had escaped the protective boundary of the car and was wandering around in front of us. Scolding her back into the car, Meg wisely assessed that this was also the first time THEY had been out of the house and they were definitely a bit squirrely. “Papa, where is that sidewalk chalk?” I asked, hoping to dissuade Meghan from ending our visit too soon.
Papa found the well-used container. The younger kids, delighting to break free of their prison, raced to grab their favorite color. Kneeling on garden foam pads they all began the creation of their perfect Van Gogh. Ella, a bit too grown up for sidewalk chalk, delighted in sunbathing from her sun roof perch of the top of the car.
Thankfully, our visit relaxed into comfortable distancing once again while allowing the kids to blow off some steam. It also allowed this Mom to practice the art of wise, tactful listening. Inside, my heart sank with the reality that my prayer had not been answered as I had wished. I was indeed being asked to adapt to a new, very frightening norm. I listened, asked questions, but allowed myself to speak ONLY words of encouragement. I think John and I did an OK job of hiding our true emotions. But that was appropriate. This was truly a decision that had to be made by Meghan and Eric.
Me: “Can we help with the kids?”
Meg and Eric had truly thought it through and had decided that they needed to keep the kids together since Eric would be working from home each day. Meghan would be working only two days a week and wanted to be with the kids when she was home. At the same time, they assessed the real possibility that the kids could be silent carriers of the virus. Social distancing would be, if anything, MORE necessary now that Meg was to work in the COVID ICU itself.
Silently wrestling with these realities from the perch of our stadium chairs as artistry flourished six feet in diameter around us, we continued to process with Meg. She was truly looking forward to this new nursing experience.
Suddenly our visit was interrupted with a phone call…from Elyse. I was thrilled that the timing allowed Lyse to visit with all there and tried hard to rally a collective response that she could hear. What I missed was the weakened tone to her voice.
Me: “Can you hear them, Lyse? They are all trying to say, Hello!”
Her less-than enthusiastic response pulled me up short as I realized something was wrong. Now fully attentive, I focused totally on the call. “Lyse, you OK?”
Lyse: “No, not really. I am having difficulty breathing.” Suddenly my eldest had my full attention. I was totally focused on her every word.
Lyse: “I awoke this morning having great difficulty breathing. It frightened me, but I got myself together enough to think of taking a steamy shower, which actually helped. Now I am wondering what I should do.”
I asked if she had called her doctor and she had, only to be told that she should NOT go to the ER until she could not breathe or say a sentence without having to take a breath … that she would likely be sent home if she came in too soon. She wasn’t sure if she had a temperature, but definitely felt a change in her lungs. Having achieved a bit of relief with a hot shower and the use of her Albuterol inhaler, she was not getting much better.
Lyse’s direct style of dealing with her parents was very much appreciated. When she shared at all, you could count on it being to the point, and direct. The fact that she shared so openly told me that she was concerned.
My very frightened mind kicked into ‘problem solving’ mode, the ‘nurse’ in me shoving the ‘Mom’ in me aside. Deeply concerned, Meg also joined in the discussion. How would Lyse get to the ER? Drive? And if she waits and waits too long, how will she drive herself if she cannot breathe? And she had only two more measured doses of her Albuterol Inhaler. Could we get a refill of that so that she had something to rely on if the breathing suddenly gets worse?
But Elyse had another problem. It became very obvious that her biggest obstacle were her two very large, extremely beloved dogs. What would she do with them if she had to urgently go to the ER? Who would care for them?
We realized that we needed some answers before next steps could be decided. Would her neighborhood kennel take the dogs, especially when they come from a likely positive Covid home? When is someone sick enough to go to the ER without being sent home? What are next steps?
Meg offered several suggestions and, closing off our street side visit, rallied the budding artists into the car. We prayed together with urgency for Lyse’s situation and Meg took the kids home. There was plenty we all had to attend to.
Lyse contacted the kennel. She was told that they were considering closing due to the Covid Crisis, but that just maybe they would stay open if Lyse would be bringing the dogs. The concern was how they would receive the dogs from a quarantined home. That would require a bit of research and they promised to call back as soon as they knew. Waiting for that callback seemed endless for all. We truly thought of NO other options for the care of these dogs and Lyse would not be willing to seek medical help unless they were taken care of safely. They were, after all, her beloved − did I say, ‘large’− babies.
After several attempts on my part to get another inhaler, I realized that might not be an option. Those two puffs of Albuterol remaining suddenly seemed very precious. Meg called me during the wait with further concerns from Eric, her husband, a pharmacist. Supplies of Albuterol in many pharmacies in the midwest were dwindling. Lyse’s small town Walgreens just might be out of stock. I immediately called Lyse’s local Walgreens and was relieved to hear that they had adequate supply. But they would need a valid script and that would require physician renewal. Lyse’s prescription originated in Indy on her last visit home.
By 5 pm Indy time, I was thoroughly frustrated. My baby was alone, 2000 miles away, having succumbed to a crazy vicious virus and SHE. COULD. NOT. BREATHE! There was not a single thing that I could do to help her… but pray… and trust!
There was something familiar about the valley I had entered. I had been here before. Visions of the days immediately following Lyse’s birth, decades ago, flooded my mind. Requiring a full week of hospitalization for a high bilirubin count, Lyse remained in the hospital and John and I came home without a baby. I will never forget the empty, lost feeling I experienced as the fruit of my womb lay alone in the hospital and I was miles away, empty armed.
Allowed to return every 8 hours to nurse the baby, I treasured the contact. Still, each visit only increased my concern. Her peachy tones became only more vibrant as her bilirubin counts increased. As I prayed urgently, I remember visually assessing her tiny limbs, her torso, her face, while making up words to a familiar Sunday School Song, “Jesus loves our little Lysie. Little Lysie six days old. And we know the Lord above hovers Lysie with His love, Jesus loves our little Lysie six days old.”
My 48 year old postpartum daydream snapped back to the present with a ‘ding’ of a text message on my phone. It was happening! Lyse was preparing to take the dogs to the kennel having gotten a preliminary OK from the kennel owners. Awaiting the green light, all she had to figure out was how she was going to get the dogs there, sick as she was. We counseled and encouraged. After a quick ‘goodbye’, John and I prayed in earnest. Envisioning the challenge of all that was about to take place, we were concerned! One sick 48 year old woman with a fever trying to hold onto the leashes of two small ponies as they ran down the front steps to the car, dragging their very limp, weakened owner. I envisioned a number of ways that this could all go wrong leaving Lyse in a state that I didn’t even want to consider. How we hated having 2000 miles between us!
We waited in silence and in prayer trying to distract with any number of evening projects. Finally − 9:38 pm Indy time, Lyse texted, “Sitting in ER shower room waiting.”
The dogs had been kenneled and Lyse had driven herself immediately to the ER. The transport had gone well and the dogs handled the transfer without a problem.
The ER Docs were very sure that Elyse had COVID19, but felt that her breathing was not ‘bad enough’ to warrant admission to the hospital. They would admit her only if O2 levels were dangerously low or she could not finish a sentence without taking a breath. Her lung function had measured 93 and 94. Why not give her O2 by nasal cannula minimally?? A Covid 19 test was not even offered, as she was not hospitalized. As predicted, Lyse was sent home.
A part of me was deeply frustrated. Another part of me, enormously relieved. One thing, however, had been accomplished. They had sent an Albuterol script to the Walgreens Pharmacy. While she monitored her symptoms from home, she would at least have the benefit of an inhaler when she could not breathe.
Elyse was home…and alone. But she was able to concentrate on her own needs without concern for the dogs. I made her promise to call if anything changed during the night. I fully expected that she might be back in the ER later that night or the next day.
“And we know the Lord above hovers Lysie with His love, Jesus loves our little Lysie 48 years old!”