Gosh, but there is nothing like the San Francisco museums to delight a person in the summer. In terms of the content of these museums, well, everyone knows that America’s great robber barons ran off with a lot of loot from Europe when they could. So, U.S. museums tend to have wonderful collections closer to where your typical 19th century tycoon liked hanging out: Chicago and New York.
But never mind. Because San Francisco is San Francisco. The city’s museums are beautifully located. One has a magnificent view of the Golden Gate Bridge’s towers. The other is in Golden Gate Park. So, what’s to lose? After all, my sister was in town. Brother-in-law too. So we donned our masks, but otherwise threw caution to the winds, in terms of COVID-19. We all had a merry time. My sister flew home to Phoenix around 6 PM on the Sunday. At almost the precise moment when I was getting on the exercycle and beginning to feel like I was coming down with a cold.
But, what the hell, a man needs exercise, right? So there I was, pedaling away, watching some inspiring television series on my iPad…the sort of scary show that makes you pedal fast to get the hell out of Dodge. And I glanced at my Apple Watch, as one does, and dammit if my heart rate wasn’t twice normal. So, what to do but slow down and monitor my cardiac state? And try not to worry.
Jane helped me get off the exercycle, and I tilted back in my wheelchair for a few minutes while she made dinner. And was seized by utter terror. Terror of what? Terror of terror. Terrifying terror. And, all kidding aside, I really thought I was having what those recorded messages from Kaiser Health describe as ‘psychiatric emergencies’. Fortunately, this existential crisis only lasted about five minutes.
I picked my way through dinner, my appetite having been sucked away. Just as a precaution Jane took my temperature. She looked at the digital thermometer, then looked at me, smiling in a way that said well, let’s get some more readings. Like of my blood pressure. Which is normally very low and I don’t even think about…but was now extremely high. Oh, and I didn’t mention the little battery powered thing that goes on your index finger to test blood oxygen. No, it’s the little finger. Your pinky. The number had dropped below the point where Kaiser says call 911 (America’s national emergency freephone number.)
No sense in panicking, right? And no harm in taking one of those little COVID-19 tests you can buy in any pharmacy. It only took about 15 minutes. And we had another datapoint, let us say. Another key medical indicator. I phoned Kaiser’s number for Armageddon, and wasn’t placed on hold for too terribly long. A nurse asked if I was gasping. No. There’s always some good news, isn’t there? Not a gasp out of me. Besides, there was something hugely entertaining about watching the blood oxygen number plummet to the sub-death zone. And then bounce back.
There is nothing wrong with dying at home. I have seen a hospital or two in my life, and I had seen enough. Jane had a bag packed, but I just couldn’t do it. Time passed.
As long as Time is passing, I always say, the Grim Reaper is waiting. Yes, he may be sharpening his blade, and he may be checking the commodity prices of wheat, but trust me, he isn’t reaping. Besides, I was breathing. Always a good sign. And an hour later. I was still breathing and still at home. Kaiser’s hospital was across town. And I was home and actually getting in bed.
This was all a couple of weeks ago. I think.
Around 1980, I was a science writer at Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory. I loved interviewing the scientists, particularly the physicists…one of whom had won a Nobel prize for doing something in physics and also for being the uncle of my dear friend Sharon King. But I digress. Some scientist, and I can’t remember which one, corrected me in a friendly but firm way when I asked him to explain viruses. Nasty organisms, I had said, or something along these lines. Nope, he said. Not an organism. Or not exactly. Possibly a crystal. But not exactly that either.
In short, no one knows a fucking thing about COVID-19, except that it wants to kill you. Or if it can’t kill you, frighten the shit out of you. And, check the Mayo Clinic website…depression and insomnia and acute anxiety are fairly common Covid symptoms. In short, there is a difference between a virus and a Trump Republican, but science doesn’t yet know what it is.
Oh, and did I mention that Jane got COVID-19 the day after I did? And my sister and brother-in-law a few days later?
We live in interesting viral times. But to give a sense of how fine we feel right this very minute, much of our cognitive capacity is devoted to planning a lovely and extended trip home from England next month aboard the Queen Mary 2, the world’s last true ocean liner. As for Covid 19, Cunard demands proof that you don’t have it three days before heading for Southampton. Then you have to prove it again at the dock. Then you have to prove it at random intervals every day or so after you hit the high seas. And, yes, the Grim Reaper will be water skiing behind us. I plan to go out on the stern and wave.