The uninvited germs of Christmas and 48 flat

The week of December 11, 2023 had been a busy one for my wife. She and other volunteers had been giving of their time to assist with the Henrico County Christmas Mother gift distribution for families.

On the morning of Saturday, December 16, 2023, my wife, the Commander Supreme, received a text message. Several of the volunteers from the Henrico County Christmas Mother had tested positive for COVID.

Mild cold symptoms had been annoying the Commander since late Thursday. However, she had not suspected COVID to be the cause of this nuisance.

Within minutes of receiving the text, my wife took a COVID test, and of course, the results were positive.

Although I had no symptoms, I took a test, and my result was negative.

I had another concern regarding COVID. On Monday, December 18, I was scheduled for eye surgery.

I called my surgeon and left a message. He called me back. I explained the situation. We agreed on a plan. I kept my fingers crossed that I could make it to Monday without COVID disrupting the surgery.

As you know with COVID, all things ceased at our house. Cookie baking stopped. We masked and isolated. And looking ahead toward Christmas, the Commander emailed a set of questions to her doctor.

With this variant of COVID, the Commander never had a fever, but the head congestion was significant.

So from Saturday, until Monday morning, I did my best to meet the needs of my patient.

I guess I did pretty well as she was still vertical on Monday.

Also, by Monday, no COVID symptoms had showed up in my old sack of bones. At the prearranged time, our son, Andrew, picked me up for the short drive over to the surgery center. We both wore masks.

Check in was hassle free. Soon, I handed a few items over to Andrew, said goodbye, and walked back with a nurse to my spot in the prep area.

Within minutes, I was flat on a gurney. The nurse was doing the required preps so that the anesthesiologist could knock me out. Once I was in another orbit, she supplied the proper numbing agents for my left eye.

For the last few years, I knew that I had Fuchs’ Dystrophy. This eye ailment was impacting my cornea and starting to gradually impair my vision. The surgery was two-fold. I would be undergoing a cornea transplant and having the cataracts in the left eye removed.

I don’t recall falling asleep, but it was a good nap. When I awoke, I could sense a numbness around my eye and the left side of my nose.

Seems like I was waiting on that gurney a long time. But soon my nurse returned, and I was ready for my doctor to work his magic.

I was awake during the procedure. A couple of times, I remember the doctor describing what was taking place, but luckily I never felt a thing.

In thinking back over that afternoon, I was amazed at how many times I was asked to acknowledge my name, date of birth, and which eye was to undergo the surgery.

Additionally, I will never forget the blankets. They came to me preheated. My gosh they were toasty for my cold feet.

After the surgery, they allowed Andrew to come back. It took a bit of time for the doctor to work his way to me and other patients for the post-operative instructions, and there was a reason.

While we were waiting for the doctor, we could hear sirens. That ear piercing sound from the emergency vehicles kept getting closer. Then, the sirens suddenly stopped. Paramedics hustled through two exterior doors on the other side of the room.

That big room became very quiet and still. Chatter among the medical staff stopped as another team of paramedics arrived. Within a few minutes, we saw medical personnel escorting a family member back to another room.

Gradually, we learned that a patient had stopped breathing during a surgical procedure.

Life is so fragile, but in this case the patient was successfully revived.

My doctor came and checked me over. He talked Andrew through the surgery, explained the post operative requirements, and reminded us of the follow-up appointment on Tuesday morning.

I was transferred to a wheelchair, and then rolled out to meet Andrew at his car.

For the next 48 hours, except for the bathroom and to eat, I was to be flat on my back, no sitting up, no sleeping on my side—flat on my back. And that requirement to be like a pancake started with the ride home. Andrew fully reclined the front seat and buckled the seat belt around me.

Andrew did a nice job of chauffeuring. On the ride back, he described where we were as he cautiously drove toward home.

When we arrived at the house, my COVID nurse was ready to help. With my left eye not available, I was a bit wobbly with my balance. My sustainer for forty-eight years made sure my steps were slow, but steady.

Andrew filled in the Commander, and he promised to be back on Tuesday morning to drive me to the doctor’s office for the follow-up appointment.

My doctor had warned me that the procedure had the potential to zap me, and it did.

I quickly learned my wimpy tendencies related to pain.

At this stage in my life, my back has not given me many challenges. But in this situation, my back made it perfectly clear, it had no patience for the flat requirement. My back was a tight, angry mess.

During that first night, my left eye ached. This was a combination of pressure and the anesthesia wearing off. Every four hours, I depended upon Tylenol or ibuprofen to lessen the pain.

At the designated time on Tuesday morning, Andrew picked me up. He made sure I was flat in the front seat.

I had a patch on my left eye, and I was surprised that my balance still wasn’t quite right.
Andrew guided me into the lobby of the office, and I checked in. Soon, we were called back.

I will admit—I was nervous answering the preliminary questions for the nurse, and then even more anxious when they checked my vision. The nurse exited, and I asked Andrew how bad I was on the vision check, and he stated—“pretty bad.”

Finally, the doctor and a nurse came back in the room. My doctor has lots of energy. He asked more questions about my eye, and then he said, “let’s take a look.”

I was trying not to breathe, and my hands gripped the arm rest tighter, and then he affirmed that my eye was looking good—he was pleased with the progress.

He asked more questions, and he answered my questions. He showed Andrew how to monitor the eye in terms of a gap closing from the bubbles that had been inserted.

Back at home, Andrew reported the encouraging results from the doctor’s appointment. He left me in the care of the Commander.

Somehow, the Commander tolerated me. She quickly became the best eye drop dropper in America. I had four bottles of drops to take four times a day.

Again, the second night, sleep was sporadic. My back and I continued our struggle. To combat those sleepless stretches, Amazon’s Alexa was able to field my requests to play music, and that helped to get me to daylight.

To protect my left eye, I continued to sleep with a taped on shield. That didn’t bother me, but I can’t tell you how pleasant my first night of sleeping on my side was.

With family and doctor permission, we traveled on Christmas Eve to our oldest daughter’s home in Summerfield, North Carolina.

Our drive down was uneventful. The landscape along US 360 had been transformed by green killing frosts, cold rain, and chilly wind. Weeds were lifeless in khaki hues. Hardwoods revealed their bare, slate gray limbs against a frail blue sky. Sometimes a red cedar or pine would break the blending gray of a forest that served as a backdrop for a farmer’s silent fields.

Our oldest daughter, Lauren, and her husband, Doug, took a bold move in allowing us to be there for Christmas. We knew germs had been floating around both households.

Earlier that morning as we prepared to leave Richmond, we learned that our youngest daughter, Elizabeth, in Raleigh had a really bad stomach bug—no Christmas for her.

And while we enjoyed every minute of our Christmas stay in Summerfield, including a visit from my sister, Lisa, and her husband Eric, I think we were all a bit on edge about the germs.

With the excitement of Santa on their minds, I’m not sure how our grandchildren, Caroline and Hudson slept. Yet, they did.

They had a sleep over with Hudson sleeping on a floor mattress in Caroline’s room. What was even more remarkable is they stayed in that room until 7 a.m. on Christmas morning.

At seven, after a pause on the stairs for a photo session, they bounded into the den with uncontained excitement.

Somehow, we managed to call a time out for breakfast, and then the gift opening frenzy continued.

By mid-afternoon, our daughter, Lauren, was feeling lousy. The next morning at the doctor’s office, she tested positive for the flu, and this was despite having the flu shot.

Late Tuesday morning, we started our drive back to Richmond. By Wednesday, Caroline tested positive for COVID. Hudson’s test was negative. And Lauren’s husband, Doug, wasn’t feeling a hundred percent.

The germs continued their work as we learned that our last surviving Pike uncle, Harry, had been admitted to the hospital in Greensboro with RSV and pneumonia.

Back in Richmond, the germs were not slowed. We heard the stories about weddings and special family gatherings disrupted by these mean spirited bugs.

My luck finally ran out, on the afternoon of New Year’s Eve. My appetite disappeared, chills ran up my spine, and my digestive tract was in turmoil.

I masked and isolated myself to the day bed in the basement, and prayed that the Commander Supreme would not pick up this uninvited pest.

During my 48 hours of flatness, especially at night, my brain restlessly roamed. I revisited the past, thought about my current condition, and peered into the future.

There I was whining wimpily about my discomfort, and then I realized I should be ashamed. In the darkness of my night, my pain was nothing compared to what someone else was experiencing.

In that same night of darkness, someone was in excruciating pain from cancer, the pain of addiction was about to end a life, and the trauma of war inflicted physical and emotional pain in parts of the world where peace always seems hopeless.

My brain swirled more. I have no right to complain. I’ve been exceptionally lucky in my seventy years of living.

No matter the situations or circumstances I have faced, I have wobbled through life.

Why have I been fortunate to wobble through life while others haven’t?

Trying to answer that question is impossible. Although, I think my wobbling to this point is grounded in two things—people and prayer.

From my first gasp of air in the delivery room, I’ve always been surrounded by people with kind hearts. Despite my multiple flaws and for unexplained reasons, these undeterred hearts continued to love me.

As for the prayers, the good Lord knows every morning that I’m overly long winded. But, I’m not sure my wobble through life is about my “me” prayers.

No, I think my ability to be a plodding wobbler can be attributed to prayers from those who have surrounded me—family, friends, neighbors, co-workers, and strangers.

And there is one more regrettable realization from the 48 flat—I too frequently take the love and support that sustained me for granted.

That love and support can disappear in a blink.

It is my sincere hope and prayer that 2024 will be a year where you are surrounded by kind hearts. And as you wobble through your year, may prayers continue to sustain you and those you love.