5/5/20-Tues.- Personally and as a culture or even a civilization, we are living through interesting times. My wife's and my dog, Puff, is on her last legs, though she has lived for about sixteen and a third years. We must decide soon to have her euthanized. She still barely gets about, yet must often have help to get up, has lost most of her hearing, and sleeps much of the time. Still, she enjoys her neck rubs and special treats to eat. Starting in a more major way in March of this year, the U.S. began dealing with a corona virus, called covid-19. It began in China last year and by now, just in the past couple months, has killed over 70,000 in this country. Much of the world is in one or another stage of lockdown to help prevent the disease from spreading more rapidly. It is an open question which will be worse, the health or economic impact. Both will be severe. So far, only a small percentage of Americans have been infected, yet, as our leadership under President Trump is inept, and he does little or nothing to mobilize to fight this pandemic, meanwhile encouraging folks to go back to work even as the spread is increasing, many more deaths seem inevitable here, not to mention awful circumstances in less developed countries, in Brazil, India, or much of Africa, for example. Fran and I have been mostly sheltering in place, as it is called, for nearly two months now. The death rate among older men with risky prior conditions (like asthma, ischemic difficulties, or heart problems, all of which are in my medical history) is high, probably about 20% for those who contract covid-19. Yet many in our society are not taking things seriously, are meeting in larger than recommended numbers, and do so frequently without masks or gloves, inviting additional infections and deaths. Meanwhile, perhaps optimistically assuming we shall survive this episode, Frances and I are continuing with normal priorities, this past week, for instance, get two large live oak trees largely taken out. They were dying of oak wilt. Perhaps I shall use some of my extra time at home getting more up to date on these and prior entries in this journal or its predecessors. Online Zoom sessions or phone conferences are now taking the place of most in-person get-togethers. And so it goes. More later. 5/9/20-Sat.- Allergies and lots of sneezing. Better than having the latest corona virus. Wearing a heart monitor. My cardiologist thinks atrial fibrillation (afib) and clots that it might have facilitated might have been why I had a transient ischemic attack last year. After wearing this device for three weeks, I got a call from the doctor several days ago. He said no afib had been detected so far, but that my heartbeat is slow, in fact with up to seven seconds between beats. I figure for a few seconds I am technically dead, then miraculously come back to life each time. As there have been no related symptoms, such as fainting, unusual tiredness, or dizziness, he suggested simply finishing out the month of monitor wearing, and then we can discuss things. Have been enjoying a series of snake dreams, indicating suppressed emotions, fear and anger most likely, as I get used to the covid-19 circumstances. Then, the other night, I had a welcome new dream: there was a horrendous cloudburst, followed by a flashflood that washed all the snakes out of our little valley. Wish dealing with real feelings about our shelter-in-place situation, and chances of being badly affected by this disease, were so easily resolved. We are enjoying unusually cool weather, the low last night down in the 50s (F), high today in the 70s, whereas typically this time of year we would have a range about 10-15 degrees warmer. Taking advantage of this with lots of pleasant walks. 5/10/20-Sun.- When I was seven, I was taken to Walter Reed Army Hospital, near where we lived then, at 121 E. Marshall St., Falls Church, VA, to have my tonsils out. Ether, dripped through a little white cotton frame mask over my mouth and nose, was used to put me out. As the ether took effect, I had the feeling I was being slowly spun around on the gurney, which was of course on wheels, and then did not know anything till I woke up in a small bed, with high railings, on a ward late at night. Nobody was around but quiet, perhaps sleeping, other patients. Lighting was dim. I called for help getting out of the little bed. I really needed to pee! For a long, long time nobody came to assist. I was getting desperate that if I were just forgotten here I might have an accident and wet the bed. Finally, an orderly in a white uniform yet with dark skin came to find out what I wanted. After I explained, he came back with a metal pitcher, like for pouring water to drink. I told him no, that I wanted to pee first. Indeed, my throat felt really sore, and I was thirsty. However, he told me to go ahead and use the pitcher. I also wanted privacy. I had never peed in front of anybody for as long as I could remember. Still, as he did not go away and just held the pitcher at the bed's wooden bars for me to use, I finally peed into it. I think he later brought me a drink too, but cannot be sure. I must have gone to sleep again, but do not remember that either. The next thing I do recall, I was in my parents' car, and they were driving me home. I was in the front with both of them, all three of us squeezed together, me on the right. Dad must have been driving, since Mom did not yet know how, but I do not remember anything about him there other than that we were tight together in the front seat. Usually I'd have been in the back when they were both in front. I was hungry. Mom told me that, in honor of the operation, I could have ice cream and ginger ale when we got home. I was supposed to only have soft things to eat for awhile, till my throat was not so sore. That really made an impression on me. I loved both ice cream and ginger ale! The drive, in my memory, was long, but finally we must have gotten home and I must have enjoyed my drink and dessert. This was not the only time I had gone to Walter Reed. I was born with club feet, the soles turned up and toward each other instead of down toward the ground like most babies' feet. To get me to stand and walk normally, both as an infant and later when I was four years old I was put in casts that covered both feet and legs up to my hips. The casts were for kind of molding my legs and feet into more correct positions, the soles turned down. I don't recall the first instance, when I was only a few months old, but do remember the later time. I had friends by then in my Falls Church neighborhood. When they saw me outside with those casts up to my hips, they wondered if I had broken both my legs, if the casts were so the bones would heal back up. The casts went all the way down and around both of my feet but had little rectangular blocks, each about three-quarters of an inch thick, attached in plaster of Paris at the bottom, and I could walk with a stiff-legged gait, stepping and standing on those little blocks. I do not remember how I got around or if I needed crutches. I do recall too well our mealtimes, sitting at a table with my legs in pain from the twin casts sticking out. One might not think of this if just seeing someone in casts like that, but they were heavy. There was nothing to set them on, so I had to just sit like that with the pain increasing all through each formal mealtime from holding up the weighty things. It would have been a kindness to let me eat standing up or have another chair or a stool on which to perch those stiff white casts enclosing my legs, but that is not how it was done in our house. I had to keep the casts on for several weeks. When the time came to have them taken off, I was worried that the casts might have to be chiseled off or otherwise removed by force and if my legs might be hurt from that sort of treatment. When the time did come, however, I was taken back to Walter Reed. A doctor used a little battery operated saw, its blade just the right thickness, and he used it to cut the casts off as neatly as could be, up and down each side till the pieces were separated and could be easily pried off my legs, with no nicking or other injuries to my them at all. I still needed to use special orthopedic shoes for years afterward. I think someone told me they were the kind of boots paratroopers wore when doing jumps. They were strong on the bottom and sides and came up to above my ankles. I suspect my folks said they were paratrooper boots to make me feel better about them, but it worked. My mom did super caring duty for years later, massaging my feet nightly and so getting them to be turned more outward and downward than inward and upward. Eventually I was indeed able to walk normally. This became my favorite kind of exercise.

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