We all agree that COVID-19 has brought true devastation and trial to everyone. It seems that no one has been untouched by it physically, financially, or emotionally. In many ways it has changed the face of our culture, from employment structure to the way we gather and interact socially.
However, while going through some papers the other day I came across a notebook with diary entries from two years pervious, 2017. Here was proof that malady existed before Covid. Please don’t misunderstand me. I am not trying to downplay the pandemic, but at the time these events were pretty catastrophic at our house.
The entries were as follows:
February 1, 2017
I have felt really good for quite a long time. Today, however, I think I’m coming down with something. the flu maybe. I feel feverish and my body aches all over. Russ is working today, the first day since Christmas. I’ll call him and have him pick up some cold and flu medicine on his way home.
Caden (my grandson that I keep two days a week) has been sick for about a week. I guess I have caught his bug. I won’t be keeping him tomorrow so I will just lie around and get over this, whatever it is.
It is about time for Rachel (my daughter-in-law) to pick up Caden when Russ arrives home. He comes in and then goes straight back outside to take hay to the cows. Rachel and Caden are leaving as he returns to the house.
He comes inside and starts telling me how bad he feels all of a sudden. He stretches out moaning on the couch. I am very offended. How dare he come in moaning and complaining on my sick day!
As the night progresses, his symptoms and complaining become more pronounced. Finally, I give up. He is much sicker than I ever hope to be. So…..I just get out the Tylenol and try to get him through the night so he can get to the doctor in the morning.
February 2, 2017
The doctor says he can see him at 1:30. We get there around 1:00 in case he can work him in earlier.
The swab test confirms that he has full blown flu. Doctor says, ” Go home and stay in until Monday.”
February 3-4-5
Three days of soup, Tylenol, Motrin, cough syrup, coughing and spitting. Shivering and turning up the heat. Marathon daytime TV. I have memorized the lineup–Perry Mason, Matlock, Diagnosis Murder, Gunsmoke, Death Valey Days. Plots are all the same: Murder, suspect, climax, wrap-up.
By day three I think he is better. We get cleaned up and go to McDonald’s for breakfast. Russ gets a haircut, and we go by Wal-Mart.
When we get back home Russ decides we need to go check on the cows and give them some feed. We have a new calf.
He pulls the Gator up to the back door and I climb in. When we get to the fence, he drags himself out of the driver’s seat to open the gate. I haul myself over to the steering wheel and pull through the gate. Then, Russ fastens the gate and gets back in, and we take off across the pasture.
At the barn Russ goes into the stable and fills a bucket with feed. The cows, in great anticipation have followed us across the pasture and wait impatiently. He pours the feed into the trough and the cows dig in.
He gets back into the gator, and we decide we need to drive around the perimeter of the pasture to check if the electric fence is working ok. He drives along, stopping at intervals to break off a low hanging tree branch or disentangle the electric wire from the barbed wire. All at once he starts through a tight space between the fence and a huge log. Sitting on the side farthest from the fence, I see right away that we are too close to the log and are going over it. And we do. The front wheel goes over, but the frame hangs on the log with the back wheel still on the far side of the log. I am pretty upset. Anybody blind should have seen that log.
In our post-invalid state, we get out and survey the situation. He looks around for a pole or something to use as a prize bar to dislodge the gator. I say, “Why don’t you get in front and push, while I put it in reverse and engage 4-wheel drive. Maybe we can get it back over the log that way.”
I get in on the driver’s side as he puts his back against the front of the gator. I put it in 4-wheel drive and pull the gear shift into reverse. Looking back over my right shoulder I jam the accelerator to the floor.
I’m not exactly sure what happens after that. Next thing I know I am on the ground rolled up like a sausage between a tree and the front wheel of the gator. Russ is lying prostrate not far away making horrible gasping noises. The sudden dislodge of the gator has laid him flat of his back knocking the breath out of him. He finally regains his respiration and scrambles to his feet to find me tangled in the tree, the fence, and the gator.
“Help me! Get me up! Get this thing off me!” I scream.
He starts firing questions at me— “What happened? Did it run over you? Are you hurt? Did it break anything? Can you get up? What happened? Are you ok? What on earth happened? Say something! Are you alright?”
Believe me, a rock and a hard place has nothing on the front wheel of a gator and a barbed wire fence. I lie there for a minute, then gingerly try to move. Nothing seems to be broken. Russ is still firing questions. What a time for interrogation! “Just help me get up!”
He pulls me to my feet, and I limp a short distance from the scene of the accident and try to access my condition. He continues with his line of questioning, “Are you alright? What happened? Did it run over you? How did you end up on the ground?”
“Be quiet a minute!!” I scream. Everything starts turning kind of gray and I know I won’t be standing upright much longer. “Bring the gator and pick me up!” I am only about 6 feet from the vehicle but at this point I Know I will never make it that far. He jumps in the thing and pulls up beside me. I somehow haul myself into the seat beside him and we head across the pasture back to the house.
By the time we reach the house the gray feeling had passed, but I still am not sure how serious my injuries are. I go straight to the bathroom to check my condition. My right shoulder feels like someone has hit me with a 2 by 4. I pull down my pants to find that the barbed wire fence has left its signature scrawled in multiple rows across my back side and the upper front of my left thigh. Otherwise, I seem to be intact.
Well, it is all consistent with my luck. I can’t have the luxury of being sick all by myself. Someone else always has a worse case of the ailment. And now, having been involved in such a serious accident my injuries are such that I can’t even share them with those who may be sympathetic with my misfortune.