Day 185

Day 185, self quarantine:

Tuesday, September 15, 2020

So as I was writing my post at dawn yesterday, I realized I didn’t feel that great.  As soon as I hit “publish” I sat back on the sofa, took a deep breath and...

And realized I couldn’t.

And when I tried again, I had chest pains.

I can’t even begin to describe the panic I felt so of course what happened next was I slid into a full fledged anxiety attack.

It wasn’t even 6:00 a.m. and Gary was upstairs sleeping.  I stared at his useless flip phone on the dining room table.

I couldn’t breathe and I couldn’t move.  I was terrified.

I was *this close* to typing HELP on Facebook.

Because I guess dialing 911 would have made too much sense.

I sat there frozen for several minutes until I could at least breathe a little and get to the stairs a few feet away.

I just wanted to get upstairs to Gary.  I so didn’t want him waking up to my cold dead body downstairs.

I don’t know how I made it but I did.  I stumbled into our bedroom and gasped “Gary” and luckily he was in and out of sleep and heard me.

Jake, who was sound asleep next to him, knew something was wrong right away.  I fell on the bed and Jake immediately crawled on his belly over to me.

Poor Gary.  That made twice in a couple days I scared the hell out of him.

“Rob!  What’s wrong?”

So I told him about the chest pains and shortness of breath and he leapt out of bed and started getting dressed.

“Where are you going?” I asked confused because now I had sweat pouring off me and I was entering the chills and goosebump stage of my panic attack.

If you ever had panic attacks, you know what I’m talking about.  You get shit in waves.

“We’re going to the hospital,” he said.

Gary is the worst at waking up normally so having to wake up with me all sweaty and gasping and dying was not a perfect scenario.

I rolled into my spot on the bed and tried to take a breath. It was jagged but I didn’t have pain.  I hugged Jake and tried to sound normal.

“I’m not going to a hospital during a pandemic.  I’m okay. Panic attack. I just can’t catch my breath. I don’t have chest pains any more.”

Of course he argued and tried to get me to go, but as soon as I was in bed talking I knew for sure I wasn’t having a heart attack and so did Gary.

But it was the mother of all panic attacks.

Gary has witnessed them and he’s been my treating physician for the

past fifty years so he stopped trying to get me to the hospital and instead made me tea.

I still have the residuals this morning.  It’s worse than a tequila hangover but similar.  

I made a video appointment with my doctor just in case.

I just took my temperature, half expecting to have a fever because I am really feeling out of it but I don’t so I’m taking deep breaths, which I can easily do now but I still feel awful.  Like I just want to go back to bed and sleep for around twelve hours.

Working is going to be challenging today.  I don’t know if I can do it.

Ugh, god damn you, Trump.

I’ve been so damn worried about everything.  I thought I was handling it all fine but apparently not.

Anyway,  after the smoke cleared yesterday, I finally made some decisions.

Stay tuned.

Oh, and Happy Tuesday.

Day 184

Day 184, self quarantine:

Monday, September 14, 2020

Welcome to the start of month seven, with no end in sight.

This Friday night is Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, and Gary plans on making a full holiday dinner as if things were absolutely normal.  He thinks it’s important and I know he’s right, and hey hey, it’s an excuse to eat the food of my people made by my gentile husband who makes a better matzo ball than my late Jewish mother.

He bought these tiny organic sweet potatoes that he’s going to roast and mash.

I guess it’s the first quarantine feast of the holiday season.

Sigh...the first of many, huh.

Guys, I gotta be honest, I’m struggling with content here.

As we approach the most important election of our country’s history, it feels trivial to write about the daily silly quarantine trials and tribulations of Robin and Gary.

Lines for free food in this country stretch for miles and I’m here talking about organic sweet potatoes.

200,000 Americans are dead and we haven’t even begun to face the worst of what’s coming and I’m sulking at yet another holiday meal without my kids.

But, all that being said, it’s not my job to be a political reporter and I really shouldn’t do it here.  I’ve hopefully culled my social media friend list so that everyone reading knows what’s going on and is both appalled by Donald and sympathetic to what I’m feeling.

It’s just that so much depends on this election.

Our whole way of life is on the line.

But we also have to take deep breaths.  It’s important to stay sane and healthy.

So, that being said, I’ve decided to keep on keeping on.  If I have funny stories to tell, I’m going to tell them.

This journal has been therapy for me on a lot of levels.

It doesn’t mean that I’m not acknowledging 200,000 dead Americans or thirty million Americans out of work.

It just means I am still alive and trying to keep it together the best I can.

I’m trying for any normalcy I can find.

Holy hell, the next 50 days are going to be INSANE.

Let’s just hope we all get through them unscathed and we are soon on a path to healing.

I don’t want to think about the alternative.

I’m exhausted.  

I really want to be able to retire and see my kids.

Really really really.

Is that too much to ask?

Wow, the things we all took for granted.  

Everything from walking down the street breathing the air mask free to hugging our friends and families.

Yikes.  It’s really too much to wrap my head around today.

Okay, enough.

I’m gonna try and be cheerful.

And try to summon up the Angel of Death for you know who.

In the meantime, enjoy this pic Gary took yesterday of Li’l Julie, the baby cardinal who now lives in our yard and never stops yapping ❤️.

Happy Monday!