Tales From The Crypt - Monday 6th to Thursday 9th June 2022

[This entire post has been written after the events described. It has also been written in a very fragmentary way, as I've been feeling so rough that concentration has been difficult, only possible infrequently and in very short bursts. Mistakes may well abound.  Tenses may well be mixed, if not tense. Intense.]

Monday began early, though with hints of what might be ahead.  Yesterday's sore throat has worsened and I am beginning to stream - nasally rather than in a social media kind of tip.  I head home early morning after dropping Q off at work, or very close by.  After the weekend's driving the car needs fuel. As I'm filling the car watching the numbers spinning, I'm willing it to stop and luckily it stops just short of £100! FFS!! I guess this is a sign of things to come. Ouch!

I'm home before the carers arrive and check on E.  She doesn't look like she's ill, or at least, no more so than usual, however, I check her oxygen level just in case. Despite the antibiotics, her sats are still on the low side, struggling to get above the 85% level, so I contact the community matron.

He comes over promptly and takes some measurements: individually none of her numbers are that worrying, but the combination of temperature a little above normal, rapid breathing rate, high pulse and low oxygen suggests something is amiss.  An ambulance is called and, based on the combination of numbers, it's a blue light job.  Here we go again.

By now my cold is abominable with more snot than Sid and a cough (thankfully random and very wet) to match. I do another covid test before going in the ambulance to be safe and it is negative again. Can't be too careful.

We get to the hospital around 4 p.m. and I figure we're in for the long haul.  It turns out that having a bad cold and wearing a mask is not a good combination, in case you need to know for future reference. 

E isn't faring any better.  They have a devil of a job getting a cannula into her, and it takes two doctors over an hour and the help of an ultrasound machine before success is achieved.  Having only recently come out of the hospital, her veins are even more difficult to find. Eventually, blood is taken and antibiotics are given through the drip.

What seems like an eternity later (it was around 10 p.m.) she is admitted to AMU.  By this time I am very tired not to mention having produced a football-sized bundle of snotty tissues which I sheepishly chuck in the bin. Where does it all come from???

Once she is safely installed in a bed and I've told the nurse in charge everything I know (didn't take long), I bid my farewells and head for home feeling both tired, hungry and slightly less than human.

The boys ordered a takeaway whilst I was out and I get home around 11 p.m. ready to eat the food they've kept warm for me.  Finally, I get to bed around midnight, taking some night cold & flu relief tablets to help me sleep, but not before I reset the alarm to 8 instead of 6 a.m. 

On Tuesday morning I woke up feeling like death warmed up, slightly. My head aches, someone has been sandpapering my throat in the night, my ears ache, and I sound like Barry White, though I shan't be singing, to everyone's relief. Like the owl and the pussycat, I am adrift on a sea of green. Or maybe drowning in it.

My brain and body are not up to working, so reluctantly I phone my boss and say I'll not be working.

Not much else to say about the day. E remains in hospital being treated for a chest infection.

Sleep, please.

Bloody hell. It's Wednesday and I still feel like shit. If anything my throat is worse and my voice fragile (nothing like Barry White's) and so I text my boss to say I'll not be working today either. Not speaking is a real challenge. All the other symptoms are still present. This seems quite bad for a cold as most times when I've had colds since the end of lockdown, although they've lasted a while, nothing has made me feel this bad or miss work.  Better do another covid test just in case.

After catching up with E's progress with her nurse, I also have a call with a doctor who's been looking after her. The news is that she is being treated for a chest infection, though they’ve not yet identified the bug in question.  Once they do, they’ll use more targeted antibiotics.  She’s off oxygen now, but on a nebulizer to help clear her throat and chest.

The main reason for the doctor’s call, however, was to discuss post-discharge actions aimed at keeping E out of hospital. The key things covered included referring her to the community palliative care doctor, considering enabling the administering IV antibiotics at home and developing a revised palliative care plan (EOL, I guess?). If this is how things will be, then big changes are coming. Guess we have all this to look forward to when she's discharged, which won't be before Thursday.

The day evaporates upon a sea of green.

It is now Thursday. The cleaner is here today, so I have to get up earlier than my body wants, but I still leave it as late as possible and change the order of my morning routine.  I feel like death, again. Why, if this is just a cold? I take another lateral flow test, which is negative again.

I have a call with Q, and she suggests that perhaps I do have covid, despite the test results.  I'd like to think not (for a multitude of reasons), but it does set me thinking, given it does feel a lot worse than a cold normally does. Anecdotally, I know of a number of people who have had a string of negative LFTs, only to discover they've got it five or so days in.  For obvious reasons, I need to be really careful.

Whatever I have or have not got, I'm not up to working, so I let my manager know I'll not be at my PC again. This is difficult.

Thursday goes, somehow.  Maybe I'll wake up feeling better tomorrow?

Fana Hues / 'rain' / 'flora + fana'

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