Worried about coronavirus? I’ve had other medical issues on my mind
Are we living in a medical thriller novel by Robin Cook or Michael Crichton? It sure seems like it
If we’re not panicking for real, we’re freaking out about not panicking, admonishing everybody else not to panic, sharing advice both sound and squirrelly, and scurrying around trying to be ready when whatever happens actually does.
Yes, I’m worried about the coronavirus pandemic — even more than I was about SARS, MRSA, flesh-eating bacteria and ebola.
But, quite frankly, I’ve had other medical issues on my mind lately.
On March 2, I went by ambulance to the emergency room of Sierra Vista Regional Medical Center in San Luis Obispo. That’s where I was diagnosed with sepsis, a large, errant kidney stone and other nasty-sounding, systemic ailments that were shutting me down.
After a week’s stay — spent mostly in a fog in the intensive care unit — my doctors finally sent me home with a temporary drain, antibiotics, stern admonitions to take it easy and a surgical appointment later this month.
Yeah, I was really sick, and recovery is slow. I still feel as if I have pudding for brains, an arrow in my back and overinflated balloons for feet.
“You could have died,” Dr. Kuntze told me later.
But, he added, “you look a hell of a lot better now than you did when I saw you in the hospital.” That’s encouraging.
Complicating things, our resident son Brian needed treatment for a diabetic emergency and took his own ambulance ride to the hospital on March 7.
Fortunately, Brian was able to come home the next day. He’s my co-caregiver for his dad, a stroke survivor and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease patient.
We got through it all with love and care from our youngest son, Sean, who dashed down from Sacramento for the week, and our dear friends Richard and Christine Greek.
While I was lazing around at the hospital (yeah, right), I read Tribune columnist John Lindsey’s terrifying but uplifting account of the severe stroke suffered by his wife, Trisha Lindsey.
We send them all our love and hopes for her speedy and complete recovery, along with my deep wishes that I could help them somehow, even though I’m still recovering.
I figured out that I might still be slightly helpful by sharing some culinary tricks we’ve picked up during our past six years of stroke recovery. Maybe these concepts can make life a little easier for the Lindseys; sometimes the smallest changes can have the biggest impact.
And, if someone we know does get COVID-19, perhaps these tips can aid in their recovery, too.
Tips for patient care
If your patient or fussy eater has trouble swallowing or is balky about chunky food, haul out your blender.
No, I’m not recommending that you serve pureed meat or poultry, which is like trying to ingest baby food stirred into spackle.
It’s better to puree the protein with veggies, broth and flavorings, creating a smooth, creamy hot soup (think bisque). Add a slice of bread or some rice, pasta or potatoes for a creamy texture without cream. (And if Husband Richard gets tired partway through a regular dinner, we just put it in the blender.)
For an easy-to-eat, east-to-digest full-meal, we blend banana, apple, berries, orange or tangerine, yogurt, rolled oats, ground flaxseed, chia seed and flavorings such as vanilla, ginger, cinnamon and almond for a high-protein breakfast smoothie.
Once the smoothie is silky, top it up with vanilla Boost, pasteurized egg replacer and an appropriate fruit juice. Then shake and serve.
Experiment. Be inventive. Try the smoothie with caramelized apples, cider, raisins, gingersnaps and lots of cinnamon. Or sautéed bananas, brown sugar and maple. Or add some nut butter.
Away from the kitchen and the house, Husband Richard requires regular treatments from relatively inexpensive electrically powered medical equipment.
So we bought a duplicate machine to keep in the van and power with the vehicle’s inverter. That way, he’s not tied to the house every four hours.
I hope these ideas are helpful. We’ve got lots of others, and we’re always happy to share them.
And about that Robin Cook novel? When someone you care about has a date with a surgeon, please, please don’t give her a copy of “Coma.” Or “Pandemic.”
