It occurred to me this morning...

...that Dreamwidth would be a very nice place to come back to in this difficult time. How's everybody coping?

So far, my family and I are well, but I've got a nephew working in a big grocery store--I guess they're "first responders" now--so that's a little worrying. Mostly, we're trying to support my mom, who just turned 90, by getting her what she needs without actually getting closer than six feet. Loneliness is the scourge of the elderly at the best of times, and these are not the best of times.

I'm lucky. I've got an income that continues to come in, at least until the stock market eats it up. I'm able to support one sister, whose income has suddenly ceased. The weather, normally dismally rainy this time of year, has been perfect, so we can get outside. The death of car traffic is a blessing. People are out walking and rolling in the streets, greeting each other from a safe distance.

Every day seems to go from dark cloud to silver lining and back again repeatedly. It's impossible not to think about the permanent damage to society, and a challenge to consider what good might arise from the ashes.

So I wash my hands a lot, thank the universe for the internet-may-it-keep-running, and offer a blessing to you all.

My modern miracle

During my long absence from this platform, I noticed, then was a bit bothered by, then was slowed down by, and finally (and rather suddenly) completely incapacitated by arthritis of the hip joints. I began managing symptoms with ibuprofen, then cannabis (yay cannabis), and gradually forgot what it was like to go to sleep at night without drugs.

Last year around this time I committed to an August writing retreat in France. I knew my travel activities would be limited, but what I didn't anticipate was the degree of pain I would suffer getting from an airport to a train to an underground. I could not have imagined needing an entire day and night immobile in a hotel room (in the heart of London! What a waste!) just to recover enough to walk even a few steps. I never envisioned myself needing wheelchair assistance in airports.

But I did.

And that's what it took to get me out of fantasy land. As soon as I got home, I interviewed a couple of orthopedic surgeons, magically chose the one who, it turns out, practices the advanced method of hip replacement that Misha Collins benefited from, and booked myself in.

The left hip was replaced on November 1. In to the surgery center at 6:30 a.m., home in my own bed by 2:30 that afternoon, back on my bike three weeks later. The surgeon came in as I was waking up from anesthesia and with the most pitying look on his face said, "I don't know how you stood it. Your bone spurs had bone spurs."

I have named that new joint Titania.

The right hip was my Christmas present, December 20. Same incredible method, same miraculous recovery.

I call that one T2.

Three weeks later I rode my bike to the clinic to turn in my excess opioids (and boy do they prescribe those things in abundance!), and I've been sleeping every night since without any chemical assistance.

The COBRA health insurance I've been lucky enough to carry since retirement six years ago though-I-had-to-refinance-my-mortgage-to-pay-the-premiums has paid off.

My time of significant disability was humbling and eye-opening. This second chance is so wonderful that even in the midst of pandemic, I'm taking joy in my ability to stand in the kitchen long enough to cook real food. Go down my front steps. Walk to the store. Get on and off my bike. Get in and out of my bathtub.

If we ever fly in airplanes again, I'm kind of looking forward to having Titania and T2 show up on the scanner.

Oh, and despite everything, the writing retreat in France was wonderful. And I got to see ravurian in London.