Covid Negative

Still counted with the living, although not counted anywhere as far as the Pandemic goes. You see, my test was negative. Twice. My body, however, disagreed with the results.
Started mid-March, seemly unrelated to the virus in China. I just figured my body was doing some crazy old-people-failing-apart thing. Started with diarrhea and some fierce headaches. Within days news of the Virus Covid 19 was spreading around the world. My corporate office immediately started issuing emergency guidelines...so when my cough and sore throat started I thought I better stay home. Also, my oldest daughter Kendra was in back in Utah fighting pnemonia after her recent visit. So I got tested. 7 days later it came back negative, and Kendra was recovering, thank God! I felt better so I went back to work for two days.

That second night after work I was dizzy and decided to lay down. The fever rolled over me like turning on an electric blanket. I could feel endorphins surging through me, an odd pleasant sensation. Then like being in a hot tub too long, I became light-headed and realized I was too hot. The ugly feeling of pressure everywhere started. Confusion filled my head like smoke fills a room on fire. An internal wrestle over my blankets began with the growing fire, the rattling chills, and the smoke in my brain. At one point I remember telling my Stephanie that i didn't feel well. There I was, 47 years old with my kid draping cool wet towels over me like I was a child with a sunburn. My temp and blood pressure were both way too high, but without a thermometer, we didn't know how high. I was on my side and the cold towel draped my head and one eye, it felt like heaven. Took Tylenol, wrestled with covers and within a couple of hours I finally swam to the surface.

Stumbling to the bathroom mirror I found that my eye, the one not under the towel had sprouted a small blood waterfall from under the iris and down the milky white of my eye. They say this can happen when coughing, but I dont remember coughing in that first fever. Honestly, don't remember much from those hours...except that MAYBE the negative test was wrong. The rollercoaster had just made its maiden climb and fall. A rollercoaster that lasted 16 days. During the climbs I read everything I could find about Covid 19. Harvard doctor said it was a "shy virus" with a 30% negative test failure rate, diarrhea is an early symptom, and that people everywhere were dying.

I had no choice but to finish the ride. During the falls I would turn myself over to the beast and then fight my way back out. Tylenol, Tea, & Tumeric (for the swelling because ibuprofen is not good with Covid). My joints felt stiff and swollen, old injuries coming back like they happened yesterday. Chest pain that felt like a heavy long lead necklace. The fevers came and went, leaving a gift each time, a nightmare. Horrific colorful, memorable nightmares leaving my mind in a hazy PTSD state with each waking.

A day came that I felt a little better, started counting hours so I could break out of my quarantine prison and get back to work. I went for a second test, it came back negative again in less than 48 hours. Felt better like I might be able to shake this since, apparently it wasn't Covid. Trying to crawl away from a dragon too fast is foolish. That great beast rose again and stuck a fiery talon in my back. My blood pressure went up and my oxygen dropped. The shortness of breath was irratic and between moments of tachycardia I recognized a change and knew my heart was in trouble. I could feel a sizzling in my chest like candy pop rocks under my skin. My best friend, a nurse I respect very much, suggested I take an extra BP pill and call her back in 15 minutes or go to the ER. So Friday night, after getting up at 4am, my Steph took me to the Emergency room. Once there, I explained my Covid negative, but symptomatic condition. No visitor signs everywhere, Steph realized before I did that she couldn't stay. We immediately hugged and cried. So many stories of people dropped off at ER never to be seen again. My heart broke all over again.

They put me and my cute homemade mask on the Covid side and proceeded to treat me in isolation gear. Finally, someone was taking this serious. Oxygen was low, but BP meds were kicking in and the pain was decreasing even as they did an EKG and x-rays. The techs, nurses, and doctor were all very good, kind, and validating. No pneumonia, no heart damage. All the pain was just the virus. Batman, the cute nurse, released me with a booklet of instructions and sent me home after 3am.
That weekend I rested, fought more fevers and nightmares and kept a double dose of my BP meds going until I could see my doc. My kids showed me an app on my smart phone to measure my oxygen, great tool! I would check it and do deep breathing exercises as Chris Cuomo, my new hero, instructed me to do. By Sunday night I started to feel the beast let go. Starving after each fever I tried to fill up on salads, tuna sandwiches, and home cooked foods. As the virus rolled from my toes on up, it nested in my head. The "Covid/not Covid" feeling was gone, but now a milder fever started as a bacterial infection set into my sinuses. Back to the docs and now on antibiotics with a prescription for my double dose of BP meds.

I probably could have just said, those were the worst 2 weeks of my life, but I can't. My story needs to be heard and understood. I'm not counted, so i haven't suffered...at least part of me feels that way. I see those numbers everyday, the outbreak counts and I KNOW I cant be the only one! I feel hurt and angry when people dont take this seriously, when they don't wear masks around my kids at work or my family all over the country. I want to shout and say this is HELL...protect yourself! I lived through it. I can breath, smell, and taste life again and it was worth the fight! Everything happens for a reason, I've always believed that. Maybe the world needed a wake up call to see what was important to all of us. The planet needs to heal from our pollution. To some, learning what is important has been toilet paper and canned soup. I hope that for most of us it is a chance to see the world through new eyes. If you survive this, make everyday and every interaction count. Because that is the important count.

Thank you Chris Cuomo for sharing your struggle, it helped me so much. Thank you to my family for all the long distance love and support! Thank you to the brave souls at St. Al's ER in Nampa, ID. Thank you to my kids...no words can express my love for humans who stood by side when things were ugly. Thank you for this second chance at life.

Epilogue: Day 18. Blood drawn for the antibody test. We'll see. Regardless outcome, I still won't be counted. But I know what counts now.

A Library card to Heaven

When my Grandma Reed was in her 80’s we took her to get a library card, her first.  Gram was an avid reader and the romance novels were her crack.  She traded books with her girlfriends, daughters, and the small used bookstore in town.  So one afternoon when she mentioned that she needed something new to read, I offered to take her to the Library.  “No Library card”, was her reply.  So of course, it instantly became my mission and I talked her into going by telling her she would need a Library card to get into Heaven.  We laughed and off we flew (as quickly as one can fly escorting a 4’11” woman with a cane).   It was only a couple of miles from the house.  Her girls had Library cards growing up and in fact her oldest, my Mother, loved books and became an Elementary School Librarian. 

When we arrived a very sweet, young Librarian took Gram’s license and attempted a couple of times to find her in the system.  Gram impatiently told her again, “I really have never had one, I need an application”.  The gal smiled and promised to get her all set up.  Once we made it through the paperwork she guided us to the romance novels with Gram’s instructions to point out the Nora Roberts books.  At the top of the row she paused and gave us the beauty queen hand wave at the hundreds of paperbacks in that genre.  I’ll never forget my little Grandma’s mouth falling open, eyes popping, and her smile at the endless row.  She checked out 10 books in record time and let the gal know she would be back next week for more.   

Last week my beautiful, sassy, brave, 91 year old Grandma went to Heaven. I know she is there, because she had her Library card.  I loved her fiercely and thank her for telling me to let go of things beyond my control and to love everyone around me as much as my heart would allow.

A rough week with the dogs

Some things don't belong on Facebook.  Facebook is a happy place full of success and silly stories.  So where does one vent when shit becomes to real, shameful and too painful to talk about in nice places?  A blog no one reads, that's where.  I've spent two years in the animal rescue game, volunteering, fostering and adopting the forgotten breeds people put away in prison shelters.  It's emotionally rewarding and gave me a sense of being part of the community "making the world a little better place".

Somehow I lost sight of the reality of animals and how they behave.  My dogs, in my eyes became these short humans with fur and wagging tails of gratitude for be saved.  Fur balls who kept my feet warm and seem to love me unconditionally.

Sunday night our two Pitbulls killed our family cat Lily, Stephanie's cat Lily.  A furry baby who had been in our family for 12 years.  We came home from dinner and we knew immediately something was wrong.  Horrific and brutal and real she laid on the floor dying in front of us.  Covered in dog saliva and blood.  The dogs, they looked at me like a cat looks at their owner when they proudly place a mouse on a doorstep.  I can't fix this.  Can't take Stephanie's pain.  We were naive believing they could live together peacefully.  Blood in almost every room.  She fought, she tried to get away.  I can't bring her back.  I'm so sorry Lily.

Maybe if they had grown up together as puppies and kitten.  Maybe if we'd separated them better.  Maybe there is a way to train that instinct out of dogs.  Honestly, "maybe" doesn't mean shit when you have to give a hysterical 18 year old xanax so she can sleep after her cat dies in her arms speeding to an all night animal ER.

I never wanted to tell anyone, just wait until the pain faded away and the shame rolled off.  But then I started thinking maybe (stupid maybe word) if someone read this they might be smarter than we were and learn from this story.  Too late for Lily  

The New Rescue Pack

Dog rescue always somehow seemed easier than helping people, I mean I've never felt strong enough to foster a human child or become a firefighter and truly "rescue" anything!  Besides, dogs are amazingly intelligent creatures that are loyal, lovable, and most importantly can't speak for themselves in a society they have been domesticated into.  When the first caveman threw a chunk of meat to a dog, befriended him, and pulled him away from his natural instincts to hunt, we entered into a sacred stewardship with the species and we owe it to them to protect and care for them.  In return they give us that loyalty and unconditional love.  As long as we maintain that unspoken agreement, the symbiotic relationship will flourish.

Rescue.  It sounds so arrogant, so out-of-proportion for the actual physical tasks that are involved in taking on a foster dog.  I know they would have been destroyed in a kill shelter, but it just sounds so haughty.  So sad that the human race believes they have a right to toss away a life because some stupid human ran out of patience or had a lack of understanding that they refused to correct.  Even with that said, I still imagine a "rescue" as someone hanging from a helicopter over the ocean grabbing a struggling drowning victim.  Then there are those moments when Melie looks at me and I can see the part of her soul that has been to the bottom of the ocean and I understand why the term 'rescue' works!  Sigh.  Ok OK...drama-queen soapbox aside and on with the story!

New roads have led me away from dog rescue temporarily and into human rescue (if you'll permit me to use that already established arrogant term).  My Melie and Toby won't have foster canine siblings for a while, instead they have an adorable white-haired grandma who they are in the process of training.  They follow her protectively everywhere she totters around the house, although from an outsider's perspective it probably looks a little like wild dogs stalking a wounded deer.  They've trained her to give love and head-scratches in trade for not barking at the mailman or the neighbor children.  She's trained them that wrestling loudly with each other is rewarded by the door to the back yard opening.  Best of all they've trained her that if she wants to share her lunch with them, the best way to tell them is to get up and go into the next room leaving the lunch on her end table.  Grandma has been a pretty good sport, I must admit, considering she has never had dogs.

I probably should back up the story a moment and tell you how Grandma became part of the rescue pack.  Sometime before Christmas in the Fall of 2013, the exact day/month escapes me like one long nightmare, Mom (aka: Grandma) had a series of strokes.  Two recognized episodes and several other smaller ones that were found in the tests done later at the hospital.  Being in the medical field I was ashamed to find I was incredibly naive about strokes and how they can damage the brain.  The stroke victim dragging a half paralyzed body with impaired speech is really as far as my imagination and understanding went.  When I was 16 and worked in a nursing home, those were the stroke victims I cared for, the extreme cases.

Grandma's strokes were TIAs (Transient Ischemic Attacks) or sometimes called the 'mini-stroke'.  Mini or not, when they happen like fireworks in several spots through the brain, as in this case, the damage is still showing it's ugly colors even to this day.  The first sign was confusion, the kind of confusion a very drunk person feels and exhibits.  Considering my little Christian Mama doesn't drink, we knew something was very wrong.  Then her sight faded to almost nothing.  At one point she did have a slight droop in her smile just on one side and a headache, however she was still in denial about what was happening.  She asked my Sister to help her get ready for work, but luckily my Sister is a bright bird and took her to the ER instead.

A month later she was finally released from the rehab center where they determined she would be safe to live on her own.  She admitted later that she had them all fooled about her capabilities and that she was actually scared to death to go home.  In one of her eyes part of the sight was returning and the confusion seemed better every day, but cognitive skill loss is not as easily assessed apparently.  Her reasoning skills, decision making, confidence, and coping skills were damaged as well.  Short term memory was (and still is) a problem, but we decided with a schedule and two daughters reminding her to take all of her new meds, she was confident that she could handle it alright.   Her social graces, like in an Alzheimer's victim, were still strong, so who knew she wouldn't be able to administer her medicine safely or ever pay her own bills again?  She tried to protect us all against how much damage was really there.

When the holidays died down and everyone started back to work and school things began to crumble and we realized Mom wasn't going to make it living on her own.  At night, mostly due to her sight loss, she would panic and insisted someone sleep over with her.  That quickly grew old while trying to manage our own lives as well.  I don't blame her for being afraid, I mean she is also diabetic and has enough nerve damage in her feet and legs that she can't feel them.  It would be a bit like walking on stilts while blindfolded.  Somehow her fear and reactions still seemed too extreme, like a child who believes monsters are in their closet, she started spiraling into full panic attacks.  We knew something would need to change, just not where to start.  

One afternoon I came in to bring her groceries and she didn't hear me come in.  She was in her chair not moving and just staring at a blank wall with a sad far away glaze over her eyes.  I saw fear and confusion and then she saw me and painted on a happy face.  She said "Hi", but then asked me what day it was.  My stomach dropped and at that moment I knew she couldn't live alone safely.  This amazingly creative woman, mother, & elementary school librarian was just a shell of her former self and my heart broke at the recognition of the unseen brain damage.   Arrangements started quickly and within a couple of weeks she was a new pack member at the Snow house.

The first days she spent alone with the dogs I was a nervous wreck.  Would Melie knock her over accidentally?  Would she step on little Toby?  Would she let them escape out into the neighborhood?  It's been about two months and so far all are still alive. :) At first the dogs were timid and unsure of this slow moving creature attached to tubes and a loud oxygen machine.  They started following her around, it seemed very sweet at first, like a protective nature.  Then I realized that as she got up, little things like sunflower seeds would fall from her house coat...so they were just straight up snack stalking her!

Usually I leave early and get home after dark from work, but one Saturday I was puttering when the dogs (mostly Melie) starting barking like crazy out the front window.  Grandma said (in super sweet little old lady voice) "Melie. Calm. You are ok. Be calm & come here."  To my surprise she stopped barking and went to Mom's chair, put her head on the arm and waited.  Ear scratches and head tickles followed, then Melie wandered off to go about her business.  I was amazed!  Damn that grandma super power force was strong in this one!  After that I stopped worrying, they had a system worked out and it looked like everyone was happy.  However, I'm still questioning who was training who...sort of seemed like Melie was conducting the Operant conditioning on Grandma.

The three "rescues" hanging out together during the day has cut the anxiety dramatically for both Grandma and the dogs.  No more midnight calls from a scared grandma and no more obsessive chewing from the dogs while we are at work and school.  A few times I've found little things that belong to Mom out on the back lawn, like tissue boxes or a chap stick.  We're still working on the little Melie thief taking advantage of a half blind woman, but for the most part things are OK.  My teenager, however is now married to the Xbox in her bedroom for much of her free time...but that's another story for another day.  She too has been very patient and supportive of the new pack order in her home.

As for me, the much anticipated break in time between raising children and caring for a parent has disappeared.  I suppose the 'cougar' years will wait.  At least I hope they will wait, I refuse to go straight from Mom to a Golden Girl!  Time will tell.

Love Always, the Pack Leader

Melie, the Dog who patched my Heart

Melie, short for Melinoe (Mel in O) the Greek Goddess with two faces, came into our lives in February of 2013.  She is a rescue dog, who ended up rescuing my heart and this is our story.

Hundreds of pictures of dogs hit my facebook wall everyday and I love keeping up on what the rescue groups are doing to help all over the country.   RSQ Dogs posted a plea for some pups up at the Roosevelt shelter in rural Utah, just a couple of hours from us.  One of the dogs was a young female Pit-mix with a large bloody abscess on the side of her face...from the moment I saw her our lives were intertwined.  She looked afraid, skinny, and obviously hurt.  Here I am, a "cat person" (who has only given my heart to one dog in my whole life) looking into the eyes of this sweet soul and I was a goner!  She needed me.

Our family dog Daisy (my small soul sister) had recently past away and I'd started fostering dogs.  It was working out well, love them and let them move on, not letting them in too deep into my heart, a heart that was still missing Daisy every day.  

I replied immediately that we would take this pup from Roosevelt as a foster if one of the rescue groups would sponsor her.  CAWS of Utah stepped up and have been amazing every step of the way!  With a direction for this little broken gal, the shelter agreed not to put her down.  She was in bad shape and we were heading towards the weekend when the shelter would be closed.  Of course, because we live in ski country, it snowed.  Hours and a mountain away from us, storm after storm, this sweet animal sat and waited for three days.  We went out of our minds with worry that she would die before we could get to her.  There was something about this dog I loved already.  It even crossed my mind to buy an SUV that week!

Finally an angel arranged by RSQ, forgive me for not remembering her name, made the drive and rescued the Roosevelt dogs.  Their safe arrival in the Salt Lake Valley was like fireworks for the soul!  

Our Pit-baby went straight to the VCA Animal hospital in Taylorsville (just outside of SLC) who took amazing care of her. She couldn't come home yet, her medical condition would be more intense than any of us had guessed. They discovered when they tried to drain her abscess, it was actually hard as a rock and her jaw was sealed shut.  That's why she was starving to death. (Well that and her stupid humans who let it go way too long before reaching out for help!)  The hospital shaved her cheek so they could see the problem and do a biopsy and blood work.  The growth was solid bone and it was a heart-breaking discovery. We started to wonder if she could be saved.  Was it a birth defect?  Cancer?

I stopped to meet her at the animal hospital and found a very skinny, very weak pup who was immediately showing signs of affection and gratitude to the people helping her.  They estimated she was 9 months old and only 19 lbs.  The malnutrition was obvious, not just the spine and ribs showing poking through, but her fur was in bad shape too.  She was able to eat soft food from a can by sticking her tongue past her teeth and lapping it up.  They started her on a high protein & vitamin diet.

The x-rays confirmed the solid mass was bone.  It was a rare case and we were pleased that every doc at the VCA was pulled in to help and consult.  They started her on an antibiotic to await test result. Two days later they called to say she could be released to her foster family.  Unfortunately, the day she was released I was flying to CA for a short business trip.  We'd never anticipated the wait time and it killed me to fly away from her, but I knew she was in good hands. My awesome kids, who had been anxious for her to come home too, took on the first couple of hard days.  Within an hour, I handed her off to Nate (who was a life saver and gave her a much needed bath) and then I jumped on a plane.  Our Stephanie (17) came up with the name Melinoe, it totally fit and Melie (Mel-Lee) stuck.  After landing in CA I had a frantic call from my Kendra (19) who had the pleasure of discovering Melie had worms. Which were first believed to be a hallucination or a paranormal poop! Ha ha!  (I still owe you one for that one Kendie)  Poor thing probably ate anything and everything to stay alive.  Quick call to VCA and they had her set up with more meds.   Between the meds and the high protein food her insides cleared up quickly.  

Every day she got a little stronger and more playful.  She watched sadly when the other dogs played with ropes or a ball, she still couldn't open her mouth.  We worried about her choking or vomiting and she couldn't clean herself at all.  Frequent baths helped and even though she could finish a can of soft food at the speed of light she never did gag or choke enough to scare us.  She was a mess, but so lovable that we all attached to her pretty quickly.  After a week we received word from VCA that the biopsy was negative for cancer and that it was just a severe infection so they increased her antibiotics.  Slowly the bone receded and within about a month it wasn't gone, but she could open her mouth!
  

I've never seen pride in dog's eyes (that's a human emotion right?), but I saw it that first day she could pick up a ball with her mouth.  Her infection had been there long enough that her skin growth was still trying to catch up with her now opening jaw...so it was a tight fit to get that tennis ball in!  After that she was up and running, crunchy food, toys and of course the occasional shoe.  She never did become a crazy face licking dog, in fact it was like some of her development was stunted because she couldn't put everything and anything in her mouth.  She recognized us as bringers of food and love, but we weren't really part of her pack (see below Melie pictured with her canine foster brother and sister).  She was, and still is, totally non-aggressive with people, but we needed her to learn to relate to us too.  One afternoon I was coming up the stairs to find her getting into something and I said "Melie No!" (her full name comes in handy when she's in trouble lol)  Because she and I were at eye level, I saw it register and she understood who the pack leader was...from then on she's been a very good listener and has started paying attention to the people more.  

After 3 months of antibiotics Mel went to see a new doc for new X-rays and an extra opinion about how to proceed.  The new pictures showed an amazing transformation, but according to the Vet she would still need antibiotics for a few more months to get the infection cleared from the bone.  Below is a side by side of the before and after!  Amazing progress!  Other things were moving in the right direction too.  Her itchy, brittle, mite-infested spots of fur sprang to life and a beautiful brindle coat came in like shiny marble.  Nineteen pounds became fourty-five!  

Our skinny puppy needed her collar adjusted often as she became taller and broader.  Even though we had called her a Pit-mix, she was looking more and more like a heeler or Shep-mix.  She played hard with the kids and our dogs, hikes, trips to the park, and even learned to jump on the trampoline. She was doing ok sleeping in a crate, but with little Toby sleeping on my big bed I soon softened up and she ended up on the foot of my bed every night with Toby.  Daytime was and still is a totally different story, she panics in a crate and barks constantly.  Without knowing any history on her we wonder if she was over-caged as a little one.  Even with the crate issues, she potty trained immediately.  Other training like 'sit', 'stay' has been tough because she doesn't understand why anyone would hide a piece of food in their hand and not give it to her.  She is smart, but she gives up on waiting for the treat and nervously runs away. Starving for so long must have been horrible for her.  Sometimes her behavior resembles a person with post-traumatic stress disorder.  She's a brave fighter and every day she seems to heal a little more emotionally and physically.  Melie has learned a handful of words and she behaves very well if she knows what is expected.  Things like bed, dinner, outside, & walk...just say the word and she's there!  She is happy and calm as long as she's not alone.  After I lost Daisy I didn't want to be alone either, so having a shadow has been good for us both.  Even if I'm in the shower she is waiting on the mat for me. :)  Oh and when the Xbox is being played she's totally happy snoozing on Steph's hip for hours.

It's been six months now and Melie has finished her intense course of antibiotics.  Her jaw seems to have stabilized and thankfully she is healthy and beautiful.  It breaks my heart, but it's time for Melie to find her fur-ever home.  Our family is changing, kids going off to college and this little one deserves to be with a family who can train her and be with her more time during the day.  Writing this has taken two weeks.  I want people to hear her story and learn what I have, but I know this will touch someone and the angels will guide her to her new best friend and I will miss her terribly.

Dogs are intelligent beautiful animals who have their own language, emotions, and purpose on this planet.  They have an innate loyalty that I've never seen in any other creature, humans included.  I'm a cat person, who fell in love with a dog.  Losing that dog broke me and it took another dog, our little foster Melie to fix me.  So you see we owe each other a life debt and I finally understand "who rescued who?".

Thank you Melinoe  

   

What's in a name?

For over a year I have been toying with the idea of changing my last name. When I was divorced, going back to my maiden name Burt didn't seem logical since the girls were in school with their dad's name. Yes, Burt to Herbert and back again...yes laugh it is by far one of the dorkiest name changes ever! :) And in the event that I fall in love again, I never plan to remarry and who's to say he will have a better replacement to assist my name-induced trauma? Either way the girls are getting older and there is less of a need to match them like peas in a pod. Soon enough they will be married off and I will have grandchildren with completely random last names I'm sure. (that is not a request girls....I would be happy without grandchildren for many years! LOL) So 99% sure I would like to go with the new last name Snow. It is a family name on my mother's side and I think sounds solid but pretty at the same time. The girls actually like it too and want to change theirs as well, but we will have to get past their dad...so dunno if that will happen. So....Camille Snow. Whaddaya think?

Hope you all like it, because I filed papers this morning. :) (brave Cami Doodle)

Amazing Scotland

My favorite photographer has been in Scotland, check out his blog. Beautiful!!

http://tao-of-digital-photography.blogspot.com/2009/08/preturnaturally-sublime-beauty-of.html