I was up and out by 6:30 this morning. I made it up to the intersection past the 3rd fire hydrant. I made over 2500 steps before I turned around.
At home, I did some work on the blog and then was ready for my midmorning nap. I couldn't sleep. While I was reading, Kaiser called. I had emailed both my primary doctor and the advice nurse about my urinary tract concerns. I figured if my doctor was down for the count, she couldn't get back to me. While I wasn't suffering the usual symptoms anymore, I learned from Jean that it is possible to have the infection without symptoms. The nurse said besides discomfort, I was to look for smelly or cloudy urine, temperature, or lower back pain. The doctor decided I should come in for a urine test. It took me a while to get my act together before I got into the shower and ready to go.
Following Yvette's advice, I geared up with a mask, gloves, a spray bottle with alcohol, and paper towels in a plastic bag. When I arrived, the parking lot was mostly empty. The side walkway was blocked, so I parked in the front lot. I figured I'd be in and out like a shot. I left my sweatshirt and water bottle in the car. As I approached the entrance, there was a table with two women sitting there. I figure the whole registration desk had been moved out in the open. But no, the two women were there just to check my temperature and redirect me to the tent set up at the far side of the building for those who needed to be tested for the virus. The ladies told me not to spray my alcohol inside the building. They assured me that everything was carefully wiped down.
Everything had been carefully wiped down. I was surprised to see the medical staff wearing the paper masks instead of the N 95 masks. No one seemed particularly stressed. There were only 20 cases on the island as of today. There are over 300 in the state, but most of those are on Oahu, where Honolulu is. That doesn't mean that someone who's shedding the virus can't walk right in and change everything.
Two other people were waiting to get lab services. They were both wearing N-95 masks. I didn't wear the one Sandor gave me because I thought someone would jump on me for hoarding it when the medical staff was short. But no one said anything to anyone. It took a while for me to be called. I was surprised by the wait. In the past, when I need a urine test, someone at the desk handed me a cup and some wipes, and I used the public bathroom. Today, the nurse called my name and expected me to come into the lab. She said I also had an order for a cholesterol test. I refused that. I wanted to keep everything simple and quick.
The technician gave me the cup and two wipes and told me to wipe twice. I made sure I drank a cup of water before leaving the house, so I had something to donate. At my age, making a donation of this sort every half hour is the rule. I went into the bathroom, struggled to get the wipes open so I could do everything quickly, assuring that most of the donation made it to the cup. I was rushing. Instead of throwing away the two wraps and keeping the two wipes, I threw away one of the wipes and wound up holding the packaging. I figured I'd be okay because I had just showered. My hair was still wet. As I was struggling, my sunglasses fell off my head, landed on the floor, and both lenses popped out. These were the glasses Sandor had grabbed off my face and changed out the lenses to make sure I had polarized ones. I picked them up and put them in the plastic bag with paper towels I had brought with me to wipe everything down.
The rule is: urinate a little before you put the rest in the cup. I forgot to do that too. But my body had taken care of the problem. That's why I always wear a pad. When I was finished, I carefully wiped the container and placed it behind the steel door. That arrangement reminds me of the drop-off door for unwanted children set up at nunneries. The mother put the newborn in a basket after opening the door on her side, she rang the bell and got out of there. The nuns, hearing the sound, opened the door on their side and took the child into their care.
As I was driving home, I concluded that I am, indeed, sluggish. This is not just my imagination. Of course, sluggish isn't entirely bad. It feels like a reduced energy level, but I've been running on overdrive most of my life. I am hoping that I will learn to run on only the amount of energy I need to do a task. I am sure that the overdrive of my youth was fueled by pure terror. I was told I could do nothing right repeatedly. That does not lend to a calm and peaceful way of going about one's daily activities.
This morning, I thought it would be a good idea to get the exact mileage of my walk up the hill. I drove up to the top before I went home. This morning, I had completed appropriately 4,000 steps when I got back home. If 10,000 steps equal five miles, then 4,000 equals two miles. Boy, something is off. It was .6 of a mile to the second fire hydrant. Going all the way to the top of this development was only .8 of a mile. Which means the full route is a maximum of 1.6 miles. I had completed 2,000 steps after making it to the intersection, which was in the neighborhood of .6 miles. My total mileage was 1.2. Somewhat short of the 2 miles suggested by the 4,000 steps. However, I continue to believe that the number of steps is more important than the number of miles. It's repetitions that count. I am a precise walker. I engage my muscles. Still, I think if some elderly person who shuffles their way along to the tune of 4,000 steps gets their money's worth.
When I got home from Kaiser, I wiped down everything I'd touched in the car, stripped down in the laundry room and threw my clothes in the washer, and took a second shower. We'll see. Howard and Paulette never got the virus even though they were exposed to it by four people who all took no precautions because they had no idea they had it.
I did some work on the blog and took a nice long nap. I was planning General Tao's Chicken for dinner, which I had bought from Costco. Looking at it again, I was struck by the size of the package. Upon reading the directions, I learned two things. First, the package had to sit in the refrigerator for 24 hours before I could use it. Second, the instructions called for preparing the whole package at once. There are five servings in the package. Five typical servings should be at least seven for me. I plan to cook the whole package and then put the rest in serving-sized Ziplocs and refreeze it. That's how I avoid having to eat the same thing for two weeks straight. I had three fried eggs and two slices of the sourdough bread that I got from Ronen. Tonight, I warmed the bread before eating it.
The missing credit card bill that I had been worried about was in the mail.. Yesterday, I had called the credit card company to tell them I hadn't received the bill and was concerned about someone having gotten their hands on it. Not to worry. Neither the expiration date nor the code was on the bill. They said they would send me another bill. Since they said it would take seven to ten days to receive a second copy, the one I received last night was clearly not the one they just sent out. I was just thrown by receiving a statement from the same company from an old credit card. I did manage to officially cancel that old card when I was on the phone with the representative. I think I just had their statement schedule wrong.
I'm getting all sorts of recommendations for TV shows to watch. I'm not watching more TV with the shutdown, more like the same amount, if not even less.
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Musings;
I have been remembering an incident with my mom on the occasion of my 16th birthday. My father had died 9 months before; she was on her own dealing with two kids. (by the way, in so many ways, she did a dynamite job.) I was eating my breakfast at the kitchen table. She presented me with a sugar corsage. This was a sweet gesture. A sugar corsage for a girl's sweet sixteenth birthday was the convention at that time. My mom had been raised in Germany and knew nothing about these rituals. I suspect she spoke of her concern about doing right by me at work, and someone told her to get the corsage.
Then she said something truly remarkable: "You don't have to miss Daddy. He didn't love you; he only felt sorry for you." When I told Dorothy what she said, Dorothy said, "Bitch!" But it was actually a gift. She meant it to help me not miss him. It was said with the deepest concern in her eyes. I know, I know, what the hell was wrong with her? A lot, but that's beside the point. Interestingly, those words were a gift, but not the way she meant them to be.
I had plenty of evidence that my dad did love me. Besides that, I called my uncle, his brother, to check. He laughed and said, "He adored you." That's what I thought. Her words were a gift because they gave me insight into the family dynamic that I had not been aware of.
See, he often would say to me, "Ah, I have to spend time with your mother." I realized that he made false excuses to both of us for spending time with the other. He set us against each other rather than deal with the truth. I'd say coward, but I don't think the truth would have worked with my mom. But the truth would have worked for me. I realized he loved both of us. Period end of sentence.
No, I never told my mother what he said when he had to leave my company to be with her. It never occurred to me to tell her when I was younger. I think I knew that it would only hurt her and not serve any positive purpose. I was the more secure of the two of us even though I was 15 to her 53 and a bundle of nervous energy fueled by terror.
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