Covid Updates End of August

 

Jacob's Ladder

 

The Delta variant is extraordinarily contagious; at the moment, it’s suspected that it can be passed on by asymptomatic carriers.

Both NH (only about 52% of population vaccinated) and VT (around 82% of population vaccinated) are experiencing larger numbers of patients with Covid hospitalized, and rising deaths, than have been since last winter. There are also in both states uncomfortably numerous positive cases confirmed in vaccinated people. Other states are experiencing greater numbers of deaths from Covid than ever.

So what does this mean? You (vaccinated) could be a carrier and not know it (no symptoms = asymptomatic), even if you’ve been vaccinated. Your best friend (vaccinated), or that person standing next to you in line not wearing a mask, could be an asymptomatic carrier. You could have what you assume is a summer cold (symptoms of Covid and summer colds can be similar) but actually have a mild case of Covid because you’re vaccinated. You could have a wicked nasty summer flu (fever, nausea, diarrhea, cough, congestion, or some combo of these) and actually have Covid, even though you’re vaccinated.

And you could be passing Covid on to the unvaccinated; or to the immune-compromised; or to unvaccinated children.

What do we do, as responsible members of society?

   We wear masks indoors in public spaces, even though our states no longer mandate it.

   We wear masks near old people, young people, the immune-compromised, unless we live with those people and/or maintain excellent Covid hygiene and vigilance.

   We maintain social distancing in public spaces, and if you really want to stay safe, do so AND wear a mask even at outdoor venues.

   We don’t drop our habits of carefulness, hand-washing and sanitizing, mask wearing, and limiting contact with people we don’t know for certain are being as careful as we are.

   We don’t assume the Covid pandemic is over: it very much is not.

   We keep in mind that travel, especially on airplanes, and especially to certain parts of the country and the world, is not risk-free.

   We quarantine if we suspect we might have been in contact with someone with Covid, even if we’re experiencing no symptoms. It can take some time for the virus to settle in or cause symptoms – wait 5 days after possible exposure to get a more accurate test result. If the result is positive but you remain asymptomatic, continue to quarantine and re-test after another 10 days.

Being vaccinated and contracting the virus may mean you don’t get sick enough to die – though that’s not always true – but you can get sick enough to need hospitalization, or fear that you will need to head to the ER any moment now.

I know 4 vaccinated people who caught the variant recently; of the 4, patient one had strong summer-cold-like symptoms that lasted longer than 2 weeks and sent him to bed for a week of that time, at which point he got tested and tested positive – no idea how many people he exposed first; patient two had no symptoms for a week, got tested because she’d been exposed to patient 1 and tested positive; then developed mild symptoms two or three days later. While asymptomatic, she infected patient 3, who developed a fever of 103 that lasted several days, diarrhea, nausea, and a bad cough; it took her two weeks of bed rest before the cough subsided and she still suffers from exhaustion and lack of appetite 6 weeks out; patient 4 caught the virus either from patient 2 while she was asymptomatic or patient 3 before she showed symptoms; patient 4 also developed a fever that ran intermittently during the day for more than 2 weeks, a very nasty wracking cough with a lot of sputum, body aches, exhaustion, and lack of appetite; it took more than 3 weeks for her to return to almost normal.

Covid is still with us, it’s still dangerous, it’s still very contagious. Protect yourself and the people around you – use your masks, and your hand sanitizer, and your common sense, and don’t take risks with your health or the health of those around you!

 

Heron Dragon Acupuncture and Traditional Chinese Medicine; Deb Marshall, L.Ac.

 

I HATE HUMIDITY!

Giant kohlrabis!

I HATE HUMIDITY!

Today it’s just getting worse, and starting to remind me of the humidity in that place I was that starts with FL, which name I’m trying to avoid saying or thinking about this week. I’ve almost stopped having nightmares about it, so it seems to be working –ish.

So as it happens, I managed to NOT catch Covid even though everyone else in that place did – I think I missed it by a day. Everyone else is either recovering slowly or recovered relatively quickly, but two of the vaccinated-who-caught-it got very ill, though not hospital ill. So if you aren’t vaccinated: GET YOURSELF VACCINATED!  All the nonsense you’ve heard about what terrible things the vaccine can do to you, including turning you into a zombie, is just nonsense: I heard a ration of cow-pucky about that this weekend from someone who should know better. If you really believe that silliness, please ask yourself: when did you start believing that science fiction and fantasy tales are real? Seriously – when did you, an otherwise sane and normal person, start to believe in the unbelievable? And what were you drinking/smoking/eating just before you did?

 

A seat for admiring the thyme and garden

These past three weeks when I’ve been home quarantining and trying to recover from exhaustion have been time to catch up on the silliness going on in the world and the real evil being perpetrated by folks who should know better – about the environment, about poor people, about vaccines and the pandemic, about politics, about a whole lot of things, and another period of my thanking the stars that I’m 65 and not 25. The next 10 years aren’t going to be fun, no matter what; the next 70 are going to be hell on earth unless some rich old farts come to their senses and either get out of the way and open their damned wallets, or the God they believe in strikes them dead, which seems like it would be actual justice. And that goes for the ones who believe in other Gods, too. [[I have no idea what's going on with the alignment in this paragraph and why I can't fix it.]]

Like I said, I’m glad I’m not 25. Doom is hanging over our heads.

On the other hand, it’s beautiful out here in the Northeast, where, I’ll remind you, about 20 years ago some Tibetan Llamas who’d come to make a sand mandala at Dartmouth were given a tour of the area after the mandala was washed into the river, and they were asked how they liked the area. One of the monks replied, “Very nice. Soon be seacoast.”

The heather in my yard is all abloom and the bees are going crazy. I have 5 big patches of it: one blooms white, the others bloom various shades of purple. The thyme which took over most of my yard from six small plants I stuck in the front yard 35 years ago, and continues to expand its territory, is also blooming another shade of purple. So looking out a window is like looking onto purple haze. Hmm, Purple Haze – could that be what is causing the insanity that’s running rampant in our country and a large part of the rest of the world….?

But I digress. The skies are also pretty hazy, thanks to the giant fires out west.  And the humidity and temperatures are rising. But the last several days, when the sun was behind clouds, and there was a gentle breeze, it was lovely out on the wart under the tent roof. The cats and I – well, the visible cats, we still have one Invisi-Cat hiding somewhere in the house we can’t locate – luxuriated. And fell asleep. Then we went out to the garden to work (me) and lounge (them) and chase critters (them) and cuss the chipmunks who have completely eaten all my beets and one bed of parsnips (me doing the cussing – cat’s cuss a different way).

So today I have options: Go to the dump. Go out to the garden and pick yet more of the beans that surely are needing attention and processing. Go to the post office – if I do that, I should probably go to the dump, too. Now I know I don’t have Covid, go hug my mother who I’ve been avoiding since I returned from the evil place, just in case. Bring my niece her birthday present, now 6+ months late, per request (something to look forward to). Lie down in the air-conditioned house and a) read, or b)watch a DVD  - my excuse for sorting them, or a) + b) + c) take a nap. 

 

Instead, I decided to write a blog!

 

California poppies; a self-seeding annual! I haven't planted these in years - same with dill, Johnny-jump-ups, corn flowers, parsley - well, that's a biennial - and summer savory!

 

For the blog: herondragonwrites.blogspot.com      11 August 2021

All photos Deb Marshall

 

EXHAUSTED

 

Exhaustion is an interesting state of being. Eyes don’t want to open; body doesn’t want to move; brain gets stuck in places it can’t find its way out of. Willpower sometimes rises – I am from New England, after all, so just like all Granite Staters and other northerners, one does what needs doing until it’s done and exhaustion be damned – and sometimes just sits around nagging when brain and body won’t respond. Very annoying - willpower can be very annoying, sometimes it just won’t shut up. Which when you’re exhausted, is more exhausting.

I’ve been exhausted for months. I’d like to tell you it’s the Covid thing – we’re all exhausted by the Covid thing and its restrictions and its protocols – or that it’s politics – and it was indeed an exhausting last four years, without doubt, and there’s a particular political party which is still exhausting to think about or hear from – but my exhaustion has more to do with Florida.

Florida is a state I’ve been in three times in my life: once, decades ago, when I went with my friend to meet and visit her parents who benightedly moved there when they retired from the military – this visit was at the end of May while we were still in college – and after that trip, I swore I’d never go there again. The season was what they considered to be still winter, so the A/C wasn’t on; it rained every 15 minutes for about 5 minutes; and every time I opened the door to step outside hoping for just a little fresh air, someone would shout, “Watch out for the alligators!”

I HATED Florida.

I managed to avoid Florida for upwards of 40 years. When my friend still lived in New England, we visited each other, but when she decided to move to Florida to be near her folks after she divorced, I never saw her again – at least, that’s what I expected. But her mom died many years ago, and my friend’s an only child; about 6 years ago she and her aged dad began living together on and off, for companionship and to lower their individual stress levels; and then three years ago that part-time living situation became permanent and full-time. And I promised to come to Florida to help when her dad, who had a heart condition, died.

Which he did this spring. His heart finally failed him. And after attempting to get my PCP to tell me that no, I absolutely shouldn’t go anywhere near Covid-ridden Florida, I had to go. My PCP pointed out that I was vaccinated so there really wasn’t any reason to go.

My friend isn’t well, but I couldn’t tell how much so over the phone. I’d heard about some of it, but her voice was normal, she thinks as well as any 68-year-old, she has many interests, and she told me how she was taking care of Dad and he was taking care of her – she gave me a little insight into the memory problems, the physical problems, the energy problems, but I really had no idea how bad things were. When I got there, I was shocked.

So exhaustion started. There was too much to do, too much to set in place, too much to see to in the short three weeks I was there. Cousin Paula, who also lives many states away and is the only relative, went down a week after I left and took over some of the chores. But still there was too much for either of us to do efficiently around jobs and distance, and everything had to be done, because my friend is physically and energetically and psychically incapable of doing it. I’m not complaining, I’m just describing: all my free time has been devoted to another life for the past 4 months, and I’m exhausted. 

In-between chores, I got the garden planted, but everything else has been put off. Now I’m back from Florida for the 2^nd time, and hoping I’ll not have to go there again for a very long time, and I’m more exhausted than I was. My garden got out of hand during the weeks I was away; my CEU classes didn’t get taken; I’m pretty sure I missed a Medicare deadline; the chipmunks took out yet another tomato plant, ate all my beets, and have started on the parsnips; and still there’s some paperwork that needs sorting, pursuing, checking on, dealing with, from Florida.

And this time in Florida, I was exposed to Covid.

I have no symptoms; I’ll find out next week if I’m an asymptomatic carrier. The person who exposed me was vaccinated and asymptomatic, but since I’ve been back, I’ve heard that my friend, who is vaccinated, is running a fever and coughing hard; her part-time care-giver is running a low-grade fever and coughing; and the person who is the well for this spread caught it from her vaccinated husband, who thought he was just suffering from a summer cold.

 

The Delta variation is a bastard. It’s easy to catch; it’s easy to pass on. We all need to be wearing masks again, and sanitizing, and distancing, and being aware and careful, even around vaccinated people. WE ALL NEED TO BE VACCINATED. No excuses, I’m sorry, the small minority of people who really shouldn’t get vaccinated is a lot smaller than the group of people who aren’t vaccinated, even here in northern New England where willpower generally gets us to do what needs doing.

It’s dangerous, and it’s not fair. Before I found out I was exposed, I exposed my husband and possibly a friend. I can’t see patients; I can’t earn my rent, or money for food and electricity and all that jazz. My patients can’t get treated, and have to worry about when it’ll be safe for them to come back for treatment. I can’t go see my 89-year-old mother; I can’t go to the post office, or shop for groceries. I may have put my husband’s biggest money-making event of the year at risk.

And I’m exhausted.

 

For the blog: herondragonwrites.blogspot.com    1 August 2021

All photos Deb Marshall 

Balloon flowers; and weeds. Don't judge me, I've been away and I'm exhausted!

 

 

Hoarders, Florida Again, Gardens At Home

Rasta being quite comfortable

Hoarders come in various versions, but the pathology amounts to the same thing: amassed quantities of stuff that often still carries its original price tag and/or packing material, piled up in ridiculous quantities, often never used and with no place to be properly stored, and challenging the hoarder’s health: financial, and/or physical, social, and surely mental/emotional.

One could call such a person a collector if the items hoarded are expensive, or beautiful, or unusual in a rare-and-gorgeous kind of way, until the hoarding starts to make itself obvious: you can’t take a shower or bath in the hoarder’s house because the bathtub is piled shoulder-high with empty boxes “that might be useful some time,” or the piles of bed linens that used to belong to beds that no longer occupy the space and that don’t fit any that do, or the stacks of bath and kitchen towels that were once a relative’s, but might be useful, even though our own have arrived and are too numerous for the available space, and so are now occupying the bathtubs that were emptied of empty boxes by people who don’t understand. Stained pillowcases, frayed throws, stacks of boxes of staples, and too many expensively-framed pictures – mostly prints – to fit the wall space available, even if you had someplace to store the extras and changed them out 3 times a year. I stopped counting beautiful, unused kitchen towels at 250.

This kind of hoarding deteriorates quickly: 29 empty tissue boxes carefully stored, in which to put “the tissues I prefer”; broken things that were once lovely but are now rusted or moldy; a shower curtain covered in insect poop and eggs that was once very pretty and “I can get it clean again, you have to bring it to me”; sets of a parents’ dishes that fill all the available space so our own must reside in boxes piled high in the laundry room – not a single saved plate for memories, but 12-place-setting sets that will never in a million years be used again if they ever were used even by the original owners. Seven cake stands; dozens and dozens of scented candles, in spite of our asthma; enough underpants to wear a clean pair daily for 3 months without running out; 50 pairs of shoes; moldy, mildewed books stored for too long in the heat and humidity of a garage; rusted ancient tools and kitchenware, when new, good stuff is available;  empty little cardboard boxes with pretty designs on them; empty glass bottles by the dozens; dozens of vases; cans and bottles of beer we don’t drink.

The list goes on and on, and the originating experiences that have combined and aged into the current pathologies are all understandable and things we can sympathize with; and the excuses for “collecting” so much stuff are even almost reasonable, until you look at the whole world of this person: thrift (except the collecting has led to financial straits), memories and emotions, being an army brat with no real home until middle-age, buying stuff being one of the only things we still have control over as our body deteriorates, various interests – even a form of creative art. But then a cousin opens yet another cupboard in the garage and a too-full pile of books falls out and knocks her over; the friend is forced to don elbow-length gloves, a face mask, and double-bag the disgusting bath curtain because the owner, who is ill, is threatening to drive herself to the site and remove it herself; the asthmatic owner can’t part with mildewed items that are making her cough her lungs out; she can’t part with cast-iron cookware that she can no longer lift, and continues to use the scarred and marred and toxic Teflon-coated cookware that belonged to Dad; and when presented with a clear either-or situation (either you get rid of the old towels and half the 150 newer ones of your own, or you won’t have enough room for any of your own and your guests won’t be able to use the bathtub”) a decision can’t, just can’t, be made and we want them ALL and damn you if you can’t make it happen! – and the pathology becomes very clear.

I’m sad and afraid for my dear friend, who is suffering with physical issues that won’t improve, and that are beginning to affect her memory, will-power and stamina. Acquiring stuff is about the only thing she still has control over in her life. She uses that stuff to create lovely little vignettes: a carefully chosen china teacup and saucer, placed on a carefully-folded linen lacy cloth, with a very special tiny teaspoon balanced on the saucer, placed at just the right angle on the chair-side table where she sits every night: a selection of rocks or cones or shells arranged on a lovely plate surrounded by special, beautiful postcards or little framed artwork or a tall jug – her art, pretty much the only art she has stamina for.

My friend is afraid and lonely; how could I remove part of the one thing that she can still control that also gives her joy? More practically, how could I get rid of thousands and thousands of dollars worth of perfectly good stuff, 80% never used or will never be used again? The answer is agony, but it comes down to practicality and safety: mildewed and musty books set off wracking asthma attacks; cardboard boxes piled high are a risk for fall, for muscle/bone damage if she tries to move  them herself, and the boxes are many old and mildew; there is no room to move in two rooms now in the 50’s house she moved her modern stuff into; it didn’t all fit into the moving van. It wouldn’t all fit into the house. No one will be able to stay with her again, there isn’t room.

And oh, how angry she’s going to be when she discovers how Cousin and I edited her stuff!

As you can tell, I’m back from Florida again, and it’s even more of a Third World Country with an attitude and a cesspit than it was the first time I went there in the spring. Delta variant surge? Who cares! Masks? It’s too hot! Vaccinated? Eh – if I am, no need for any care! If I’m not, it’s probably all a fake anyway.

NOTHING nice happened in Florida this time. The crow was nowhere in sight. Everyone I met was originally from PA or NJ. The humidity was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, and hope never to experience again. I came home exhausted and I’m quarantining and will get a Covid test before going back to work.

My garden, during the two weeks I was gone --- was it really only two weeks?? --- has turned into a green mass. I can see the rhubarb’s going by, but there are still some peas coming, there are yellow lilies in bloom, and golden rod, and Black-Eyed Sues in masses, and bright orange California poppies everywhere. The garlic is mostly ready to be pulled, as are the onions. I picked one summer squash; the chipmunks took out yet another tomato plant; the Husband pulled my shallots so those are also hanging to dry in the kitchen. The catnip’s in bloom, weeds and grass everywhere, balloon flowers big and beautiful this year, raspberries ripening and blueberries too. Dill has headed up and is everywhere; summer savory is wildly everywhere as well, growing out of pebble walks, in beds, in the lawn. My lawn is a lovely purple, because it’s more thyme than grass, and the thyme is in bloom, as are the heathers. Scarlet runner beans are flowering; fava beans are podding; vines are traveling. The chipmunks left me two sunflowers that are too large now for them to damage.

I’m exhausted and haven’t made it all around the garden yet, but far enough to see some of the colored lilies are also in bloom and that the constant rains have broken all the delphiniums that were tall and beautiful before I left. The asparagus has all ferned out and is tall and lacy. I can barely see one of the wind go-rounds from the window, the plants in front of it are so tall. My leeks are starting to look like leeks; there are tiny beans on the green bean plants; I need to go examine the peach and pear trees. Bees were having a grand day yesterday.

 

I’m exhausted and my week of quarantining may not be sufficient to regain my energy. I have a tall pile of papers and notes to go through. Today I intend to lie on the couch and sleep through old DVDs; and start sorting stuff of my own because, you spend two weeks packing and shifting a hoarder’s stuff, and you discover you need to empty out more of your own stuff. It worked that way this spring; it’s going to work that way again this fall. Yardsale redux!

My new big question: she’s housebound: what on earth do I send for birthdays and Christmas now I know how little space she has?

 

Two photos here: this is what the bedroom I lived in after the move looked like; that's an inflatable mattress I was sleeping on.

It's probably not going to change in the next many months. 

 

Followed by a much happier image from home: flowers amongst the woodpile!