My brother sent his three siblings an email Wednesday evening:
“Since Monday mid-morning Mom has been feeling dizzy. She called her general practitioner Tuesday and was advised to go to urgent care or an emergency room to get checked out. I took her to the ER yesterday afternoon as urgent care was booked.
“She was diagnosed with hypertension. Her blood pressure when we checked in was 188/73 — way too high. It was lower when we left; I don’t know the number. Her sodium level was low but not too bad. I called her cardiologist this morning; the earliest appointment I could get is next Tuesday. Her blood pressure this morning was 150.
“I spoke last night on the phone with the doc who saw her. (I couldn’t go in with her since the ER has strict COVID-19 protocols.) He has concerns, which I share, that Mom is unstable on her feet and probably shouldn’t be home alone. I stayed around last night until Mom was getting ready for bed and called her this morning before she got up. (I’m with her as I write this.) She’s using a walker to get around the house. She can walk fine with it but is wobbly without it.
“I asked the doc about COVID-19. They test everyone who gets admitted, but since she wasn’t admitted, no test. She doesn’t have COVID symptoms, so he wasn’t concerned about that.
“She feels better this morning: not dizzy, and she has her appetite back. But she’s still a bit unsure on her feet, and her cognitive abilities seem a bit diminished. I’ll be leaving soon but checking in every few hours. We’ll check her blood pressure regularly, and I’ll be around for the coming three-day weekend. Mom will also let three different neighbors know what’s going on. Her spirit is fine since she’s feeling better today.”
The five of us did a conference call Wednesday night. Mom, who’s 89, has lived alone since Dad’s death 10 years ago, seemed normal, grateful for if a touch impatient with our concerns. She had an episode in 2018 when, while traveling to the East Coast, she got a cold, then flew back to California. Her salt levels became alarmingly low, her blood pressure spiked, and for a few days she was bed-ridden, listless, groggy, with diminished cognition. My older sister flew in from out of state to be with her; doctors adjusted her blood-pressure medication, and within a week or so she was close to normal.
On the phone we encouraged her to keep a log of her blood-pressure numbers, along with notes about her condition she can show to the doctor next week. We ran through emergency protocols, encouraging her to call 9-1-1 if she’s in any trouble. She said she’d prefer to rely on a neighbor, maybe call a cab; we exhorted her to consider those as inferior options, even if she doesn’t feel like it’s a “real emergency.” With some force she insisted that she feels able to judge her condition. She probably is.
Her blood pressure numbers over the last couple of days have remained normal; this weekend, if she keeps improving, she’s likely to give up the walker.
Our close family friend in Northern California, retired and living with her husband, had a health scare of her own, which she recounted on her blog.
“We were meeting our kids and grandkids at my favorite beach to celebrate my birthday. I wasn't feeling well, and my oxygen numbers were low, but I am never one to miss a celebration. Once when I was 6, I was in a play in school. I had a fever in the morning, but I insisted that I go to school — as you might imagine, I was an insistent child. I was wearing a red velvet dress, and during the play my face got redder and redder to match the red velvet. I had the chicken pox.
“Never one to learn certain lessons — I face emotional situations with great courage and live in deep denial about my physical being — I thought I’d be fine at the beach. Walking to the sea I was very short of breath, and on the way back I could barely make it to the car. My elder daughter, who watches me like a hawk, grabbed my arm and helped me all the way to the car. My husband finally insisted that I call the doctor, and the doc said, ‘Go to the ER!’
“My husband left me off at the ER entrance Saturday late afternoon; that was the last I saw him until Tuesday noon.
"At the ER I was kept outside while they gave me a COVID-19 test and checked my vital signs. I was then put in a room in the ER. Spooky. Everyone was masked with plastic shields and gloved, with sterile gowns. Very few people around. I was kept there for many hours and given a first round of testing. My rapid COVID-19 test proved negative, but they insisted I be admitted as my oxygen numbers were low.
“For three days and nights I lived in an isolation room. It was a large corner room with a lovely view of the Berkeley Hills, but its size and view, devoid of any people, was disconcerting. My husband was not able to visit or bring me anything (COVID rules). At one point in desperation, I asked a kindly nurse to go downstairs and get my phone charger from him, which the nurse valiantly did.
“I had another COVID test, which was negative. But I was kept in my room until Monday night when, around midnight, I was awakened and wheeled into another room without explanation. Nurses came into the room, as in the ER wearing masks, plastic shields, gloves, and sterile gowns. They were kind and efficient, although muffled and hard to understand. I began to feel as if I had been shot into space where human contact was no longer possible; I wondered if human nurses had been replaced by androids.
“I didn't feel ill. A small amount of oxygen helped my oxygen levels, but I was wheeled from test to test through empty halls and laboratories, and the feeling of outer space intensified. A few comments from nurses also disturbed me. After I asked, one nurse told me they aren't tested for COVID unless they get sick. Another said their work wouldn't be as stressful if they had enough protective gear. A third, when I said my room was cold, quipped that the hospital probably hadn't paid its bills. (He was, however, able to turn up the heat.) Grumblings of the spaceship crew, but the captain was nowhere in sight: all questions were referred to an unseen charge nurse or the doctor who visited briefly each day. Family and friends called daily ,which kept me tethered to earth for parts of each day. But as the hours stretched on, my mind and body floated in space. Finally, on Tuesday around noon, I was released, and I landed back on earth, with no new information about why my oxygen had dipped so low.
“All rather freaky. Now I’m home, fully back on land and feeling fine. But I carry with me a sense of unease, some about my health but more about how we must live in this world of COVID-19.”
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