Tag Archives: covid

Vaguely Medical Monday

Monday morning, and it’s a nice clean day. The weekend’s rain has washed the streets, the standing water has had time to disperse and there is very little traffic about, as the schools, and the associated parents and teachers, are on holiday. I’ve never understood how school holidays manage to empty the roads so completely, but there’s no point agonising about it – just enjoy it. I left home ten minutes late today but still got to work on time.

The lateness was due to my COVID test. I’d started sneezing over the weekend and had a runny nose, watery eyes, bad throat, fatigue and even a headache. I’m normally tired but it’s very unusual for me to have a headache. I just passed it off as a summer cold and left it at that yesterday. However, in the evening, after seeing there is a new variant, and these are the exact symptoms, I decided I’d better do a test. Then I forgot. This morning, I remembered. It was negative, so it was a summer cold. Magnified by thoughts of COVID, it was, for a short while, important. Now that the result was negative it’s just a summer cold aggravated by a touch of cyberchondria.

However, although I don’t have COVID, and can’t pass it on, which is good, I have killed the planet a little bit more. One swab, one plastic bottle, a plastic pouch of liquid, one plastic testing kit, a plastic ziploc bag for disposal and a bit of packaging, including a desiccant sachet. I don’t know the exact carbon footprint of all that, but it’s come all the way from China by the look of the packaging slip. It’s so easy to use plastic, particularly when, like this, you get sent a pack by the NHS. They sent it before one of my hospital appointments, so I took it as a hint they wanted me to test before I went. On the other hand, I might be wrong, as they didn’t actually send me any information with it.

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Soup and a Virtuous Life

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I know I keep saying I must lead a better life, but the events of the last couple of days have finally brought things to a head.

For the last two days I have been incapacitated. It’s partly down to bad habits and partly due to stupidity. My medications can cause digestive disruption but generally this isn’t too bad, and I have a range of ways of coping with it. One is to take other pills to stop it happening, and the other is to watch what I eat, as some foods are worse than others. Mainly I control it by taking the pills on Saturday night (the dose is ten pills once a week) so I have Sunday to recover. Normally, nothing bad happens. I’m not an idiot, despite some of the things I write, and generally I can adapt to most things in the search for an easy life.

On Saturday, I forgot to take the pills, so this week I took them on Sunday. It’s not usually a problem. However, this week Julia had bought a Colin the Caterpillar Superman Cake for Father’s Day. Any excuse for a celebration . . .

Unfortunately Colin has four feet and a face which are all big chunks of chocolate. Add rich chocolate cake, chocolate and (I confess, a pork pie) to my medication and the results were uncomfortable.

I suppose I’m getting older and I should be more careful with my diet. I’m also less resilient than I used to be. This was a fact driven home yesterday as I sat on the edge of the bed staring into space and thinking about putting my socks on. It was the same sort of thing I used to do when I had Covid, but this time it wasn’t a worldwide pandemic that brought me down, just eating too much cake.

I was still a bit slow putting my socks on this morning, but much better than yesterday. I’m now going to make beans on toast for lunch (my first solid food since Sunday) and explore the many choices of soup that I can make. I may even blog again today, after a few weeks of being lazy.

Carrot & Ginger Soup

COVID Precautions Fade Away

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There’s a definite change in the way we treat COVID.

On Sunday,none of the vaccination candidates were wearing masks, though the volunteers and vaccinators were still masked. In contrast to the queues (and red tape surrounding my coagulation status) that we used to have, there was little fuss. I just walked in, confirmed my details, was shown to a table. There, I had my medication status checked (I have to show I’m on drugs that reduce my immune response, and they mutter about my Warfarin). They used to have to call a doctor over to confirm I could be vaccinated because they were afraid of me bleeding excessively. Nobody could tell me why they were so bothered about it when flu vaccinators and blood testers just used to bung the needle in without a care in the world. Considering the rate of flow from a tint hole with the amount of blood I have in my body I could probably make blood faster than I was losing it. I’d certainly be likely to die of old age before I bled to death.

Compared to the complication, queues and lectures that had to be endured to get a vaccination, this was the simplest of times.

They didn’t even tell me to wait for 15 minutes in the car park this time. From the days when you used to have to log in and out of the waiting area, to the times they told me just to sit in the car for 15 minutes, to merely wishing me goodbye, has been a steady decline. At one time they told us we weren’t covered by our insurance to drive for 15 minutes, but I have checked the car insurance companies and they say they are happy that you are covered to drive as long as you feel OK and have no history of problems.

Meanwhile, at the surgery this morning there are no masks and no mention of masks. The waiting area was crammed and people seem to be bringing companions with them again, after being asked to come on their own during COVID. It was a nightmare of crowds and noise and I didn’t enjoy my wait at all.

You would think, looking at the way we now live, that there had never been a pandemic and that COVID has gone away. Over 150,000 people have died from it. Compared to the Great Plague of 1665-6, which killed approximately 100,000 in London and 100,000 in the rest of the country we got off lightly, considering that the population at the time was around 5 million compared to our current 67 million. On the other hand, 40,000 people were killed in the Blitz . (approximately half of them in London). The population in WW2 was around 40 million. I’m loathe to say “only 40,000” but it does set the figure in perspective. It amazes me that we can just shrug it off as easily as we seem to have done.

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Canada, Coyotes and Covid

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I got home yesterday at just after 4.00 and spoke to Number Two Son in Toronto because he was on WhatsApp with Julia. I commiserated with him because his new dog is disruptive, demanding and destructive and found myself unable to resist mentioning that was exactly what I felt when he was at home. It just seemed like too good an opportunity to let slip. Transatlantic sarcasm – an unforeseen benefit of technology. I was also able to comment on the quality of his wood flooring, which looks excellent. This is he sort of technology they had on Stingray and Thunderbirds when I was growing up, though I always though it would be reserved for saving the world, rather than commenting on wood flooring.

It seems that if you have a dog in Canada you have to protect it against coyotes. My first thought is that you should make sure you buy dog that can see off a coyote, but it seems that this isn’t as easy as it sounds, as coyotes are more lethal than they look on TV. To get something capable of seeing off a coyote you have to invest in something that would be a danger to small children. And would cost a fortune to feed. That doesn’t sound like the sort of thing you would want as a family pet. Alternatively just buy a cowardly dog that always runs away when it sees a coyote. That’s probably simpler. Life in foreign countries throws up so many problems that we don’t have here.

Yesterday was quite busy in the shop, which was good. There is something depressing about a shop with no customers. We are gradually getting more visitors again as people start to put their lives back together, but it’s taken a long time. This year, I suspect, is the one where we start to forget about Covid, although the shortages in the shops will persist thanks to the war in Ukraine.

It would be interesting to come back in 100 years and see how this time was written up in the history books. Liars and Lame Duck Governments is a book just waiting to be written.

The header picture is a cat, our apex predator. Badgers are too slow, foxes eat worms and insects, dogs are lazy and can’t climb trees. That leaves the cat. They may seem domesticated but don’t be fooled. Once they learn to work a can opener the human race will be living on borrowed time.

A New Record

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I sent a group of poems out yesterday evening, and had an acceptance later that night. It’s a new speed record for an acceptance, and probably a sign that I’m not the only one champing at the bit after a few days off.

There is one more set of submissions to send off before the end of the year (or within the next two days, to put it another way, though that sounds a bit more desperate). I am just about on top of that, but as soon as that ends I am straight into a month with five more submissions needed. That’s quite daunting as this hasn’t been a productive month and I have little left to send.

I thought I had plenty down on paper but when i looked again a few weeks ago I realised I had quite a bit written, but nothing finished. A good number of the pieces had bits missing as i struggled to find the right words and I’m still no closer finishing them. This isn’t unusual and most of them will eventually be completed. It’s just that if I get myself in the position of being unable to finish I often find it can take months to get it right.

I’ve been going through things tonight and have tinkered with several I’ve also cut a couple substantially because both language and thoughts were sloppy. None of them are actually finished yet, but I have four weeks until they really need to be sent. Fortunately I have another selection in draft form – either as notes or in on paper, so I have not yet run dry.

Pre-Covid I had myself organised so I was able to send things out on the first day of a submission window opening. I always feel that puts you at an advantage. Submit early and you only have to be good. Submit late and you have to be good, and be better than the people who submitted earlier.

Since Covid, and my several months of inability to write, I have not yet caught up. I will, but it won’t be this year.

My Orange Parker Pen

Note to self – Parker Pens seem impervious to my attempts to earn money, or free pens, from product placement.

Day 209

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Three unusual things happened today.

One, I went for my blood test at hospital after a week of avoiding it. Took a COVID test the night before, as I had been in contact with someone who is positive, and I didn’t want to spread anything. I am clear so I went. There were spaces in the car park and a man on the barrier, which I linked in my mind – there used to be space when they had someone there before. Walked in, hardly had time to sit down, was tested (though she only took two tubes when I was expecting three) and left.

Despite the ban on staff parking in the car park, two doctors were leaving as I left. Couldn’t get out. That’s why there was a man on the gate, they have a new system of number plate recognition. No free quarter hour now, just a Big Brother system where you are automatically In The System. Had to pay using debit card. More Big Brother – all my spending monitored . . .

So that was unusual thing one.

Number two. I had a parcel delivered. It contained a medallion I had seen on eBay in the “sold” section as I browsed. I complained to Julia that I would have liked to have bought it. It seems that I must have done. I checked and saw I had used the “Buy it Now” feature. I must have bought it in my sleep. This is a worrying development in both the “Senior Moment” department and the “eBay Addiction” department. I have promised Julia that I will only go on eBay in the hours of daylight.

Finally, a man came into the shop. He had a mask.

“I’ve got COVID,” he said, “But I have a mask on so it’s OK isn’t it?”

My workmate muttered something unintelligible. He doesn’t like to say n0. I rolled my seat back and said: “I am on medication which lowers my immune response, so no, don’t come in.”

I actually thought something which had a lot more swearing in it, but I am a retail professional.

He was slightly taken aback by my refusal, as if he honestly thought we would want an infected person in the shop.

Apart from the possible health consequences to us and our families, did he really think we wanted to run the risk of shutting the shop because he’s too stupid to stay at home?

Even after being told to leave he insisted on telling us about the coins he had to sell – I doubt they came to more than a couple of quid, but they were, in his mind, worth enough to justify infecting a whole shop. remember that my work colleagues have frequent contact with two others and a mother in law who are all 80 +, one being over 90. That’s why I’ve been testing again.

It’s not about me, it’s about my responsibility to other people.

Grumpiness Personified

Day 33

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Today has been a complete write-off. I had a lie in, got up very slowly and he did nothing. It reminds me of the days (was it only three months ago?) when I had cellulitis and covid one after the other. I’m going to test myself later, and hope that I don’t have covid again. It seems that you can catch the new Omicron variant even after having the Delta form, which was the main one when I had it last.

It’s strange how quickly things become established as “normal”. Three years ago there was no covid, no variants and no testing. Now it’s firmly established as one of the top topics of conversation. The weather still dominates, but I’m not sure where I would place covid, politics and global warming. I suspect covid is in the second spot with the other two lagging behind.

I watched a TV programme about a Farmers’ Market in Somerset once I started taking an interest in the day. Then I cut the swede (rutabaga) for tonight’s vegetable stew. When things get tough we revert to comfort food. Julia is feeling under the weather too, so it has been a subdued day. Swedes are hard work and it requires a man and a large knife to cut one. It does in our house anyway, I’m sure there are lots of homes where tricky veg are not seen as a man’s job.

On the other side of the coin, I’m hopeless at dumplings, so rely on Julia to make them when we have vegetable stew, so it all works out.

And that, as I sneak past the 250 word mark, is enough. I am feeling tired again and need to rest. Pathetic, isn’t it?

The picture is a reminder that things will get brighter.

Miserable Old Git, Moaning and Methotrexate

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Julia picked up my methotrexate earlier in the week. It’s for my arthritis and acts by supressing my immune system, which is what is causing the problem. Well, that, my weight and 45 years of manual labour. There was a note on the form that came with the pills, saying that I was behind with my blood tests and they would not dispense more until I was up to date. They worry about it destroying my liver. There is no such thing as a simple drug, they all come with side effects.

Anyway, last time I had a note like that it took weeks to sort out and then a month or more to return my fingers to a reasonable condition after missing the medication. I don’t want that again.

I’m not sure if I covered this in the blog before, but over the last three months I have been arguing about it with the pharmacy and wrangling with the GP surgery to have the inaccurate note removed. I was up to date when it first appeared on the form and have remained up to date – even having two goes at the last one when the laboratory had to retest due to “technical reasons”. I’m not sure what the “technical reasons” were, but it makes a good excuse.

I have just written an email to the surgery asking for the record to be corrected, citing my previous email on the subject (because I have now started filing all my dealings with them) and asking that they reply to confirm they have made the necessary correction.

I am now taking things more seriously, being fed up with shoddy record keeping and the rest of the things that are happening (appointments disappearing from the system, prescriptions sent to the wrong place etc).It is time to sort things out.

Meanwhile, as our Glorious Leader launches “Plan B” to divert attention from the Christmas party scandal, we have a strange situation. We can’t hold Numismatic Society meetings (twenty middle-aged men meeting to talk about coins), due to “Plan B restrictions”. Boris didn’t mention this, but that’s what the owner of the meeting room says. However, under Plan B, football matches, bars, clubs and restaurants are all still allowed to operate.

Of course, if I’d been in charge it wouldn’t have been Plan B, as Plan B lacks gravitas, being the name of a rapper and reminding me of Bela Lugosi’s last film. Even without that, there are just too many words that begin with B that could be used in a disrespectful fashion.

However, that may just be me.

Slowly Bleeding to Death

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I have atrial fibrillation, as does Mark Spitz, the record-breaking American swimmer. Mine isn’t as dramatic as his, mine was simply discovered when I went to the doctor and she listened to my heart.

“You have an irregular heartbeat.” she said.

“I know, I’ve had it for years.”

“We really should do something about it.”

That’s why I hate going to the doctor – I always come away with more than I take in.

I have an International Normalized Ratio (INR) test every few weeks to see how my blood is clotting. I need this because the doctors make me take Warfarin to stop my blood clotting too quickly. Until a few years ago I thought of Warfarin as a very effective rat poison.

If you have a normal set-up you have an INR of around 1. If you have atrial fibrillation they try to get it in the range 2.0 -3.0 which stops it clotting and prevents strokes and heart attacks. If you have a mechanical heart valve they like it to be a bit higher. It’s nothing special, a million of us have it in the UK and ten percent of the over 75s have it.

However, it can be a bit variable, and you may have noticed that I often complain about the testing, as the results can be very imprecise, which annoys me. I do my bit – eat a dull and unvaried diet, take the pills at the same time each day and let them take regular bloods. They, on the other hand, don’t do much, as I recently pointed out to them.

So, I believe I had got as far as 3.5 for people with mechanical heart valve and similar problems. The next step is 5.0 – 8.0. They start getting twitchy at this sort of level, particularly if it is accompanied by bleeding, and start threatening vitamin K injections. At 8.0 they start getting very twitchy . . .

And at 9.6, if you haven’t admitted to any bleeding, they tell you to stop taking the pills immediately and to go for another blood test in two day’s time.

I’m not sure whether to worry or claim it as a personal best.

Looking Forward

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It’s not been one of my better times. Starting in August and continuing to the present, I have been dogged by a variety of conditions, which have all contributed to wearing me down. I’m hoping that there will be better times ahead. However, in August I seem to have thought that a week or two should do the trick, and that proved to be a hopelessly bad assessment of the situation.

Hopefully, I am now back and will be improving over the next few weeks. Having thought that in August and then again in September (just before I caught Covid) I am going to be slightly less vocal about my likely improvement. Even my ten days in isolation turned into twelve when Julia tested positive. Everything in my life seems to take longer and be less good than it once was. I suppose this is old age.

The good news is that I have definitely lost weight. The bad news is that none of my trousers fit and that although braces (suspenders) are a useful solution, they aren’t the full answer. I won’t go into all the details, but they aren’t quite as practical as a belt in some ways, and they carry a continuing risk of injury if over-stressed or under-secured. I’m thinking of wearing industrial safety glasses as a precaution against eye-injury.

I’m also thinking about going the classic route and sewing buttons to my trousers but that involves serious thought about the style of braces and whether to go for six or eight buttons. Six mean less sewing, but eight mean you can use better quality braces. Decisions . . .

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Life after the Care Farm