Two days later I was checking him into the hospital with a proven case of influenza. In spite of both of us having submitted to a flu shot just a few weeks prior, it turned out we shared type B influenza less than a week apart. For five days he suffered poking, prodding, and overnight vitals checks in between entertaining nurses and harassing case workers. To enter his room required that a visitor or staff member follow hospital protocol and put on a respirator mask and sanitize hands to protect from the virus.
Upon his return to the senior living center, where he enjoys his visits with other residents in very nice and relaxing common areas and the dining room, he was asked to quarantine in his nice, cozy apartment for three days. As the instigator, I felt badly for him, as he wasted more than a week nursing himself back to health.
Little did I know it would all be a dress rehearsal for the possibility of a far more insidious virus that would grip the entire nation and the entire world. Now hundreds of thousands are quarantined for two weeks or more. Most if not all travel, entertainment, bar and restaurant venues are completely shut down, and parents are begging for patience while negotiating with confined and bored children at home. Since visiting Dad is no longer an option, and since as vulnerable seniors we'd been warned off of spending time with grandchildren, Bonnie and I decided to take a road trip to visit with my sister Evelyn in Dallas.
Locked in the cab of a pickup truck would surely keep us from any potential risk of contamination, right? Except for the late-night stay at a quiet Hampton Inn, perhaps. Smart phone technology allowed us to reserve, check in, pay for and enter our room all without even speaking to anyone or touching anything. Of course once in the room was a different matter. It's interesting how this whole new environment makes you conscious of surfaces and articles that might have been touched by hotel staff prior to your arrival. The number of times I caught myself first handling a glass, moving a chair, or punching the buttons of a t.v. remote, and then touching my face to scratch an itch was a bit alarming.
The safety of the truck cab was also violated with each stop for fuel or food. The most important part of those stops was the visit to the restroom, none of which seemed to be supplied with paper towels, only with those anemic hand dryers. I'm just glad there was no camera to document my dilemma in searching for a way to keep from touching door handles after washing my hands (20 seconds). Watching an old guy try to stick the toe of his boot into the handle and then, without falling over, pull the door open would have provided anyone good entertainment.Paranoia can set in even when social distances can be measured in yards rather than feet. What about the trucker that handled the fuel nozzle just before me? Who knows where he's been. What about the cashier that just handed me change for my soda purchase, or the take-out server that just put my bag-o-burgers on the counter for pick-up? What about the fellow in the toll booth.... alright, stop already.
On the return trip we tried to visit the same restaurants we used on the way down to stretch, use the restroom, and grab a bite to eat not had doors locked with notices of window service only. We kept thinking of all the people who were no longer needed to keep those restaurants, and the many businesses like them, operating. And all the offices we passed with empty parking lots, and shopping malls with darkened store fronts. Or the fact that we zipped right through Kansas City at or above the speed limit during rush hour. My things sure had changed since our last road trip. Even since the day before.
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