Good to be Home

 Tuesday morning. Five AM. I give up the fight for sleep. I don't think I have ever been so tired. The Mr. has been up all night with GI issues and I have just been up all night. Sleep just didn't happen. I look like the walking dead in my reflection as I comb my hair. Today is clinic day, as is every Tuesday. We have been at this hotel for 11 weeks and two days. It's possible that the doctors could release us to go home today. I spent yesterday prepacking just in case. But after last night my hopes have once again faded, just as they did last week and the week before. Every single time we think we are ready to go, the Mr. has a setback and it's put off another week. A few days ago he had a fever and a headache, which resolved completely, except for the smallest little cough every now and then, and now the GI stuff. I can't see any way they will let us out of here. And we are so tired. And bored. There is literally nothing to do here except watch TV. I long for home. I am feeling more than a little sorry for myself. Three A.M found me throwing pillows at the wall in sleep deprived frustration. Will I ever sleep again? I put all these thoughts behind me and we are out the door by six thirty. At the lab by 7 and in the clinic waiting area by 730. Princess, yes her name is actually Princess, calls us in the office and we go over the weekly vitals log that I have been keeping. She notes that fever he had during the week and that weak little cough he is still having. On the verge of sending him down for a covid test, she relents. She knows how much we hate standing around in the covid riddled ER. She can see how tired we are. She looks at his labs and all are good, except the magnesium is low again. We are dismissed to hotel, where both of us fall into bed and pass out and sleep as if we have never slept before. Noon. The phone rings. She is calling for a meds update based on those labs, after consultation with Dr. Cotton. I am sitting on the edge of the bed listening and noting the changes. And then she says it. You are released to go home. My tired eyes pop open as I meet the Mr.'s eyes in amazement and joy. And then I am up and out of bed, immediately resuming the packing I started yesterday. It won't take a lot to finish, just the food in the cabinet and the fridge. Everything else is ready to go. An hour later The Mr. brings up the luggage trolley and we close the door for the last time on the room that has become our home for the last three months. We try to hurry, because it's already later than we would like for driving. Traffic is already starting and we have a 3.5 hour drive ahead of us to get to my Dad's for the night. Car loaded. We stop by the VA one more time to pick up some things from the pharmacy. I wait in the car and spread the news to home that we are on our way. And we are. We head out, and traffic isn't terrible, but it's going to be dark before we get there and this makes me nervous. I am not a good night time driver anymore.  And I am still so tired. I get settled in the car and start driving. After an hour or so my back is starting to bother me. We stop to get something to eat and I am not feeling so great. We are almost there, just fifteen minutes away and I know I am coming down with something. I am still thinking it's just me being tired, but my head is beginning to ache. Maybe it's just the drive. We arrive and I am overjoyed to see my Dad and Jo and the dog I had to leave behind. I pick her up and whisper in her ear that we are never going to be apart again. A little of my heart is healed just holding my dog. I have missed her so much. But I am really not feeling good. With an apology to my parents I get in bed and try to go to sleep, but the headache is fierce. Ibuprofen isn't even touching it. By morning I  have a temperature of 99 degrees. I tell my Dad we are leaving. Immediately. We had planned to stay a couple of days, since Matthew, home at my house, has just had a covid test but doesn't know the results yet. The last thing we need, with the Mr.'s transplant just behind us, is covid. But we aren't sure what to do. We can't stay here, we can't go home. We can't go back. So we decide to go to a hotel on the way home. It turns out to be a good choice. An hour in the car and I feel like I am dying. We stop and check in and I lay down in bed with a towel over my eyes to block the light. The Mr. goes across the street to get me some soup and I take my temp again. I am up to 101. I just can't believe this. I have been well for years, without a smidgen of illness. Why now? The Mr. comes back with some Alka Seltzer cold and cough, even though I am not coughing, and I gladly take it, knowing it will knock me out. I haven't really slept in three days now and I am desperate. And it works. I drift off with a prayer that Dad and Jo don't get sick and I wake up at Five in the morning and I am fine. Really fine. No headache, no fever, no nothing. It's like I was never sick. After discussion we decide to go home, even though we still don't know the results of the son's C test. We have no choice. We can't stay in this hotel indefinitely. So we load up and prepare for re entry into our lives. 

First thing we saw when we pulled in the driveway was that part of our house was missing. That looks bad The Mr. said. And I agreed. One of the siding boards that covers the attic was down on the ground. We knew it had happened, but the reality of it was unsettling. The second thing we saw was a mountain of dishes on the sink as we came in the back door. Through the kitchen into the dining room I could see the table laden with all the appliances that normally reside on the kitchen counter, now moved to make room for the dirty dishes. There were leaves all over the floor, the carpet. The blinds in the coffee lounge were hanging in shreds, thanks to Mr. Raccoon making his hasty exit last month. There were Christmas lights still hanging from the walls, the fireplace, the doorways. The place was a mess. I was a little angry and a lot perturbed. We had told the "kids" we were coming home, we had been warning them for weeks that it would be soon, and they had, for whatever reason, valid or not, not cleaned it up. There were words said. Feelings were hurt. Doors were slammed as people retreated into their bedrooms. As we made our way upstairs we began to smell it. Something had died in the office or in the attic, or the walls. I did a cursory search, and the Mr. asked his friend to come over and check out the attic. He said he couldn't find anything. I looked in the closet of the room it was the strongest in, but I didn't see anything. That closet was full of old suitcases and I was kind of afraid to pull them all out. Surely if it was in there I would have seen it, or the smell would be stronger. I determined it had to be coming from the attic and dismissed it for the moment. I rolled up my sleeves and got to work on the rest of the house.  This was certainly not the way I planned our homecoming. Despite the fact that I was not feeling sick, I was still feeling tired and very overwhelmed.  Matthew was in his garage apartment, not coming anywhere near us until he knew what his test results would be. Ally was in her room and not coming out either So the Mr.'s friend and I did the cleaning. He washed all those dishes and it took him hours. I pulled down the Christmas lights, swept up the leaves, started the laundry, and disinfected every thing in sight, especially our bedroom, since we could not take any chances with the Mr.'s health. Everything must be spic and span since his immunity was now zero. Old sheets off the bed. Old rugs off the floor. The new ones were waiting in the foyer for me to wrestle them up the stairs. I had decided to start from scratch in the bedroom, not taking any chances, since Ally had had the flu a few weeks back and she had been sleeping in my room. Floors swept, end tables cleaned and disinfected, ditto the sink, the bathroom. New sheets and comforter on the bed and I was exhausted. Just a load of laundry to throw in the dryer first. I opened the dryer door and threw the laundry in. Slammed the lid and turned the dial. The dryer started with a POOF of air coming up from the back. That didn't look right. Almost out the door, I went back for a second look. Dryers should never have poofs of air from behind when they turn on. I grabbed a quick look behind and was astonished to see that there was no dryer vent hose at all! What?? Where was it? There was no trace. Just a hole in the back of the dryer and a hole in the floor where the vent disappears into the crawl space. I stared at it for a minute in disbelief and then I just reached down and put a trashcan over the hole. It was clear now how the raccoon had entered the house. In fact, he probably actually tore it off the dryer, a thought that was confirmed when I went outside the next morning and saw that the grate covering the crawlspace was also MIA. Completely gone. But I didn't know that yet. I threw in the towel. It was all I could do for today. I would work on the rest tomorrow. Tripping over the suitcases to the dresser, I searched for something I could wear to bed, something I could throw on in a hurry so I could just sleeeeeep. All I could find was a very unsuitable slinky nightgown, not good for anything, really, certainly not cold nights in the dead of winter in Texas after a long day of driving, disinfecting, and deep cleaning. But it was what I had, and I was desperate for sleep, so slinky nightgown it was. I finally snuggled down deep in my bed, the bed I had missed so much while I was gone. I had taken some Ibuprofen PM, and was sinking down into a blissful sleep when the door cracked open ever so slightly. It was Ally. Can I take a bath? she asked me. I was kind of bewildered. At 23 she usually didn't ask me if she could bathe. I said sure, go ahead, and slid off into dreamland again. Half an hour later the door cracked again. Mom? Yeah? I can't get the bathtub to turn off. My eyes popped wide open. That was why she had asked me. I had forgotten about the bathtub. When we first got to Houston she had called and had been unable to get the tub off. I had had to call a plumber to shut it off. A hundred dollars and a warning not to turn it on again. I had forgotten. So I eased myself out of my warm beautiful bed, grabbed a wrench and took my slinky nightgown to the bathroom. The water was pouring our of the tap. Steaming hot water, of course. Putting a strain on the water heater and robbing us of hot water. I applied the wrench. Nothing. Again and again. After half an hour the absurdity of it struck me. Three days ago I was in a cocoon, in a bubble, protected from the real world. Problems, yes we had them, but they were all related to our current situation there. It was like time out of time. A bubble within a bubble. While the larger world revolved around us we were only involved in our little world. Clinic on Tuesday. Maid service on Thursday. Would there be bacon in the lobby for breakfast in the morning, or the same old sausage links as yesterday? Up and down the elevator for towels, extra TP, and laundry on the fourth floor. Down to the Suite shop for some Tums or cookies. Trips to Target and making sure the Mr. got enough to eat. Alarms at 8 Am, noon, and 8 PM for meds. Blood sugar testing and insulin before every meal. Insulin before bedtime and upon rising. Entertaining myself in the always clean kitchenette with my paint by number and Bible study every morning. The Mr. playing the video game that never ended. It was like being in a lunar module out in space. The world went on but our world revolved at a pace all it's own. The minute they released us we had begun re-entry and now the crashing touchdown, in an ocean of problems we had put off, was turbulent. Our worlds were converging, the real one we had left for a time, and the temporary one we had been living for a time, so that the real one could continue for the Mr. Without that time away in our temporary world, the real world would have shattered to pieces, would have ended as we knew it. The convergence of our two worlds coming back together was rough. Here I was at 11 at night, half drugged out of my head, in my slinky nightgown, wrestling with a stubborn faucet full of steaming hot water while my daughter looked on, and that ever pervading odor of something dead coming at me full force. There was no doubt now, that in the morning I was going to have to go searching a little deeper for whatever it was that had had the nerve to die in my house. But for now I had to put down the wrench and just slink off to bed in the slinky nightgown and pretend I didn't smell it until morning and I could call a plumber. I listened to the water run all night long. I swear it sounded like money going down the drain. Clinkety clink clink clink. I think the sound of that running water bothered me more than the smell.

The next morning I got up and put on some sensible clothes and called the plumber. Then I put on a mask and got the broom and gingerly approached the closet. Retched a little, and began pulling out suitcases. About halfway in I saw something. I had thought it might be a mouse or a rat, but no. There was a fluffy tail. I moved the tote that was next to the wall. And there it was. The squirrel. The one that had gotten in the house two weeks before. The one that Ally had chased into the closet. I guess it had gotten stuck and never gotten out. It had been here the whole time. Gross. GROSS!!! So I fortified myself, called on Jesus, loudly, and went in after it. It wasn't Tiny Tim, either, this was the Ralphie May of squirrelsville. I quickly disposed of it and then took a shower, washed my hair thoroughly, and torched my suitable clothes. And by torched I mean I washed them immediately in the hottest water my washing machine could muster. The plumber came, and after I apologized for the smell, he kindly turned off my tub water for just 178 dollars. 

Then I took a nap, fixed dinner, enjoyed a peaceful day with the Mr. About six P.M. I got a one word message on my phone from Matthew. Positive. I called him. Are you telling me you are positive for covid? YES. Oh my gosh. I was not so worried about having contracted it from him, because we have not had contact with him since we got home but Ally has had contact with him for the past week, and we have been hanging with her for two days. So, late as it was, I called the Liver Nurse in Houston. I explained the situation, also including that I had been sick on the way down. She was very concerned. You have to go get tested, asap. If Mr. S has Covid he is going to require treatment. We wasted no time. Within fifteen minutes we were at the urgent care being tested. They were in a big hurry because it was almost closing time. The nurse had all three of our swabs on three different fingers, repeating our names as she headed to wherever it is they go with the swabs to be tested.  They ushered us out and we began the three minute drive home, not thinking any of them would be positive. It was just a precaution that we had gotten tested. She called us on the way. Alyssa was positive. As we were talking the other two tests also came back. Positive. All of us had Corona, Shock. And then I began to think. I remembered that mysterious fever the Mr. had had, way back on the 7th of January. And headache and backache. And that little cough. Which he still had, by the way. It dawned on me that I, and the entire liver clinic, as closely as they had been monitoring him,  had missed him having covid entirely. They must have sent him to the ER five times to be swabbed over the course of our time there, but somehow, when he actually got it, nobody realized it. Nobody put all the pieces together. The fever, the headache, the backache, the cough. All the symptoms were so mild. But there was no doubt. That would explain why I got sick. My symptoms mimicked his exactly, right down to the temperature, which was exactly the same and lasted the same amount of time. And Ally. She was completely asymptomatic. So far. Would she stay that way since she was young and healthy? Would the fact that she was unvaccinated mean hers would be worse if she got it? Tommy had had to be vaccinated before he could receive the transplant. Nobody had forced me to do it, but I decided on my own that for Tommy, I would do it, because he asked me to. For no other reason. Would it make a difference? 

And the answer was no. She got sick. She got the fever. Exactly the same as the two of us. Sinus pressure turning into horrible headache, fever of 101, and then gone with nothing residual except a little runny nose.  Exactly the same. No difference. But I digress. We went straight home and everybody quarantined themselves in their bedrooms, one bathroom for each sick person. And it has worked well. A week later and we are all fine. For the record, she has decided she wants to get the vaccine. Her decision and hers alone. When we get out again I will take her to get it. I never had a problem with getting the vaccine, I had a problem with people forcing people to get the vaccine against their will. *Done Digressing*

Things have settled down  over the week. Our two worlds have begun to merge into one again. The squirrel is gone. The water is off to the tub for now, awaiting a complete plumbing redo. The hole in the house, while not fixed, has been blocked off so that nothing else can get in. On Monday morning the Liver Nurse called us and told us the Mr. was going to have to go to the Dallas V.A. to receive and antibody infusion for the covid. I was kind of skeptical. His symptoms, what ones he had were so mild. Was it worth risking his health further by exposing him to the Dallas VA ER? But the Docs call the shots, and the Mr. and I listen and do what they tell us, so he went off to the V.A. for treatment. And I was glad he went. The doctor told him that without immunity, he would be a walking covid factory. His body would never have the strength to kick the virus out. The doc was very excited to be doing the treatment on the Mr. They had only done the infusion a handful of times, and never on a transplant patient. The Mr. was the first. He was a super star for a day. They were buzzing around him like a bunch of bees in a hive, collecting data for the science and treating him like a VIP. 

Meanwhile, back at home, the smell was almost gone in the office, so I tackled the mess that had accumulated over the last three months. There was mail everywhere, suitcases, an old shower chair, papers everywhere, the rugs I had thrown out of my room, and one large tv laying face down on the floor. I cleaned it all up, and swept the floor and disinfected every single thing in that room, and threw a bunch of stuff out. The one thing I learned while in Houston is how little we really need to live on. Coming back to all the junk we own made me want to throw all of it away.  Trying to keep up with it is  a major stressor. I don't want to live like that anymore. 

Today we had a really peaceful day. Nothing went wrong. Nothing broke. Nobody felt bad. I sat in my chair across from the Mr. and just looked at him. A walking miracle. Or in this case, a sitting miracle, in his recliner with his feet up, playing that never ending computer game. I am so thankful. Thankful for our temporary little world within a world, consisting of just the two of us, thankful for our real world, consisting of our children, our grandchildren, our extended families, our dog, our home, our town. Most of all thankful to the God who helps us successfully navigate the merging of the two. He never lets us forget how much we need Him. And the truth is, I don't ever want to get so comfortable that I think we don't need Him. A With Us God. I would rather have these trials and difficulties, these challenges and know He is with us, helping us, leading us, guiding us, teaching us, speaking to us, loving us, than have a smooth and perfect life without God's presence. He makes life worth it. He makes the difference. It's good to be home.