COVID and Brain Fog

 

MARK HAYTER                          936-537-0918                            hayter.mark@gmail.com

 

Hayter article for September 18, 2022

“COVID: Weird Virus” 

        You wanna know what you’re going to say after you read this article? You’re gonna say, “Finally, Hayter has come up with something helpful!” You may not use the exact same words, but it’ll be close.

        Today, I’m talking about brain fog. You, your spouse, and one or all of your kids may have fogged brains. I’ve had one for a little over a week. My fog is related to COVID-19. Do you know what “COVID” stands for? The “V” stands for “virus”. You’ll have to look up the COID part because I don’t give a rat’s rump. Hey, I’ve got brain fog!

        Over the course of two years, I’ve had four COVID shots. I should’ve taken the fifth. Not the amendment, the shot. -- Work with me here. -- The thing is, a few months back I quit wearing a mask when I noticed my doctor wasn’t wearing one. If your doctor doesn’t care, it must be safe. The thing is, my doctor caught COVID three times, and he’s had all his shots. Of course, doctors get COVID all over their shirts and pants. Then they’ll pull their masks down to scratch their nose. Gotcha! COVID is tricky as all get out.

        I should’ve kept up with my mask-wearing. When I got a couple of the symptoms of the virus, I gave myself the COVID test. I was negative. Kay told me I didn’t probe deep enough into my nose. Granted, I didn’t keep pushing until I hit my ear canal like the four other nincompoops did when they tested me. They don’t stop until they hit something that hurts.Three days later, I had several COVID symptoms. But, my nasal passage is unscathed.

My first symptom was weird flashes of nausea. I’d never heard of ‘em. I’d be watching TV and all of sudden I’d have a deja-vu moment. I’d think, “Hey, I’ve been in that detective’s room before.” All of a sudden I’m looking for a trash can to catch my stomach contents. But, the feeling goes away. 

Sometimes my feet don’t feel right. I think I’m wearing socks when I’m not. That scares me into thinking I’m going to have another déjà vu experience. Eventually my nose started dripping worse than my backyard faucet. That evening I’m taking a migraine pill. 

One of the symptoms is loss of appetite. Not a “lost” appetite. A “loss” of appetite.  When I do eat, I eat stuff I wouldn’t normally like. – “Kay, do we have any butter beans and green olives?” She accused me of being pregnant. I think she was joking. With brain fog, you can’t always tell.  

I dealt with this for three days, and then the next morning, I felt normal. That afternoon all my symptoms were back and I had to add getting dizzy to the list. It’s the craziest sickness I’ve ever had.

        The good news is that something from “Consumer Reports” popped up on my computer and it should help us all. The title of CR’s article reads “Brain Fog: what is it and how to clear it.” When CR delves into brain fog they’re going way beyond cars and vacuum cleaners. I thought maybe they were rating the symptoms of COVID. You know, comparing the effects of brain fog to that of a runny nose.

        That’s not the case.  CR discovered that there are six types of COVID-19. I’ve got parts of ‘em all, but I’m closest to one, three, and five. By the end of this week, I’ll likely catch some more.

        But, let’s cut straight to the brain fog -- now referred to as “bf”. According to CR, bf is “characterized by one’s difficulty focusing, sluggish thinking, and memory lapse.” It adds that bf can be attributed to other things besides COVID:  insomnia, depression, a bop on the head, drugs, stroke, neighbor’s cat…

 “People (with bf) may report problems with multitasking, articulating words, or finding things around the house… -- “Finding things around the house!” Don’t get me started. Granted I’ve had those problems for most of my life. I can still remember when Dad said, “No, Mark, I didn’t hide an egg on top of the telephone pole. You’re 17 now, son. You should know that!” 

But, now, my fog is much worse. I’ll be watching TV and Kay will say, “Mark if you turn the TV on, you’ll be able to see it better.” I’ll say,  “You mean I’m not watching  ‘Bonanza’?”

The CR researchers claim that COVID can cause inflammation of the brain that will damage some of the small blood vessels. If you can’t get enough blood in your noggin, you’re liable to forget which leg goes into your pants first. 

No matter how bad your fog is, CR offers hints on how to handle it. 1) Stop drinking alcohol and don’t take medication that makes your brain foggy. – That’s ingenious!  2) Improve your sleep by using good sleep “hygiene”. -- Oooookay. – In other words, don’t stay up late, turn off the TV an hour before bedtime, and sleep in a dark room that’s cool. (Something people in third-world countries have worried about forever? –Another symptom of COVID can be depression.  3) Since you can’t trust your brain, start making lists. -- Great. Now you’ve got to find something to write with. 4) Exercise, but not alone. – I suppose that’s because you might run into something, or try to lift the TV.

There are a couple more, but they’re stupid. Perhaps some of these will help, when and if you get COVID. My hope is that if Kay gets this stuff, I’ll be as patient with her as she’s been with me. If I was her, I would’ve made a tent out of a bed sheet and stuck me in the backyard. I’m not saying it didn’t cross her mind, though. -- I’m telling you, this is one weird virus.

 

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hayter.mark@gmail.com

 

           

 

 

 

Hayter article for September 11, 2022

 

The Demise of the Scream and other stuff

            I don’t talk to nearly enough people anymore. I listen a lot, but often have trouble finding an appropriate moment to put in my two cents, which is sad, because my two cents is valuable, you ask me. But the person speaking seldom asks me anything.

            On the other hand, I’ve got family and friends who are repelled by conversation. Most responses are one to three-word replies. “Yes” -- “No” – “Whatever” “I don’t know.” Comments like that leave an awkward moment of silence. Apparently, awkward only for me. Filling awkward silence is tough. I too often end up saying something like, “So, how are your socks feeling?”

            And, that, my friend, is why I enjoy writing. This column has become quite therapeutic for me. Since I write in first-person, I can pretend that you are not only listening, but you’re paying attention. – Beg pardon? Ah, you turned me off after the second sentence. You remind me of me.

            After establishing the writer/reader relationship I can now introduce a topic that will end up with me meandering all over the place. Or I can go with multiple topics that only appear to be going all over the place. I think I’ll do that last one.

            First off, I’d like to talk about screaming. I was thinking about it earlier today. I have noticed that there is not nearly as much screaming in movies as there used to be. I was watching a detective show. There are lots of ‘em. Anyway, a cleaning lady opened the door to a hotel room, and immediately, discovered a bloodied body lying on the carpet. She grimaced and then turned her face away, but didn’t scream. I was so proud of that woman. And the screenwriter.

            Used to be, if a lady saw something bad, she’d scream. Only the women screamed when they saw something. Men only screamed when they were being tortured. That’s because men wrote most of the screenplays.   

I don’t recall ever screaming at the sight of something. As a kid, my crying could become scary. If Dad was giving the spanking my crying was almost indistinguishable from a scream.  If Mom was whipping me with one of her thin, wide, plastic belts, I just pretended to cry, It was my way of saying, “I’m sorry, Mom. You need to stop now before you wear yourself out.”

            Up to now, I’ve never been hurt badly enough or so scared that I screamed. (knock wood) I’ve mentioned more than once that Kay can’t scream. I’ve given her no cause to, but she has hurt herself on occasion that would make a screamer scream, but she wouldn’t do it… or couldn’t do it. We dated for over two years and have been married for a little over 50, and I have never heard Kay scream or even raise her voice. She could almost say that about me. I’ve never raised my voice to her, but she has heard me raise my voice over something. Generally something I’m working on. I once threw one of those oil-filter wrenches across the yard. 

            My sister Jill? That girl is a screamer and a half, yet, her favorite movie genre is “horror”. When we were kids, Jill would be exiting the bathroom or her bedroom and Dennis would be waiting there with his hands raised against the door. He was a patient kid, my big brother. Well, the nano-second after Jill opened the door there would be a scream heard three houses down on both sides of the street. Odd, but Dennis never did that while Daddy was home.

            Speaking of detective shows, there are a bunch of them out there. I like detective movies but I am not a fan of detective series; the type where a murder occurs in episode one, yet they don’t find the killer until the end of episode nine.

I don’t like to get dragged around for nine hours. I don’t mind nine separate cases with one case solved each hour. But one solved over multiple hours is akin to a nine-hour movie. That’s a waste of my time.

            Let’s move along. Since the advent of cable TV, I hadn’t seen a commercial, until lately. Now they’re popping up on Netflix, Amazon Prime, Hulu, and even YouTube! YouTube will stop a video segment right in the middle of something and add commercials. They’ll stop doing that for a price. Do you know how many commercials pop up during “The 100 greatest plays in football history”? Barry Sanders is running toward three defensive linemen, and before he can juke them, there’s a commercial for Progressive Insurance.

            Have you noticed how insurance companies have pretty much given up on explaining the value of their policies? Progressive shows Flo sitting around a group of people when up walks Jon Hamm who has a crush on her. They’re apparently trying to sell a name instead of their product. I assume their product stinks on ice. What else am I to assume? So, they can offer motorcycle and auto insurance in one package. What’s so great about their insurance? The fact that Flo and Jon Hamm are touting it?

            Then you’ve got the lizard insurance. The thing is cute and intelligent, yet, I don’t know why their policies are better than most. Do advertisers have no respect for us? I’m asking. Do advertisers— Oh, forget it.

            I guess I’ve meandered enough. Right now, I would like to thank all three of you for hanging in there with me. I’m feeling so much better than when I started this thing. So much so, that I’m going to leave you with a heartwarming thought. Ready? – “The happiest creature on the planet is a goldfish, because it has only a 10-second memory.” Ponder that for 10 seconds and then get back to me.

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hayter.mark@gmail.com

CPAP machine

Hayter article for September 4, 2022

God’s gift to snorers 

          I owe my Grandpa Teegarden an apology. Actually two apologies. One for my failure to remember if “Teegarden” starts with “Tea” or “Tee”. I just asked Kay, and she said, “I’m thinking ‘Tee’ because that’s how it’s spelled on his tombstone. Kay’s into ancestry.com. I’m more into Netflix.com.

          But forget that. What I need to apologize to Grandpa about is how much we used to laugh when we heard him snore. At some point, grandmother would say, “Oliver, turn over. You’re snoring.”

          During our visits to the Paradise known as Bristow, Oklahoma, all of the Hayter kids slept atop blankets on the living room floor. We heard the sound of Grandpa snoring and the sound of Indian drums somewhere down the way. The drum sound was actually made by one of those crude oil pump-jacks. I learned what they were called just a few seconds ago. “Pump-jacks”. I don’t recall ever hearing any Okies or anyone else calling ‘em that.

          But, let’s get back to the snoring issue. I thought snoring was just an old person’s problem. I never considered that I’d ever be the age of Grandpa, so I would miss the snoring phase of life completely. What kid ever thinks of being an old snorer?

          Kay was the first to catch the snores. One night I woke her and said, “Darling you’re snoring. One of us needs to go sleep on the couch.” She said, “Don’t forget your pillow.”  

To save our marriage Kay went to a sleep doctor who sent her to a sleep clinic where they hooked 87 wires, to her chest, legs, joints, hair follicles, and ears. I happen to know because it was two years later when she told me about my snoring. I had to go to the same sleep clinic that she did. That’s when I learned that I couldn’t sleep in a sleep clinic. 

Twice that night I needed to go to the restroom. The lady helped me out of bed, grabbed a giant wad of wires that were stuck to me, and followed me to the bathroom. Then she stood in the doorway holding all of that stuff as I tried to relieve myself. The reason I had to go twice was that I was unable to go the first time. You would think that a nurse would understand how men have urination issues. The second time, she managed to pull the door halfway shut. I told her to turn the radio up loud, but she thought I was joking.

          Kay mastered her sleeping machine quicker than I did. It’s called a CPAP. Its stands for something that I don’t care to look up. It comes with a mask like the one Chuck Yeager wore when he broke the sound barrier. A wide tube runs from the nose of the Yeager mask into a machine that shoves air inside the mask and up your nose. Both Kay and I are now full-fledged CPAP users. I cannot sleep without mine.

The machine has improved significantly over the years. Instead of a supersonic mask, I’ve now got two see-through cushions called “pillows” that are strapped to my nostrils. Pillows? The old mask covered an area all around your nose, allowing it to leak in several areas. With the pillows, it’s just my nostrils that leak. Each of our machines is monitored by somebody from somewhere in the Woodlands. Or, Tampa. I don’t know.

          I grew tired of the sleep-lady calling to tell me that I was leaking. Air. I’ve already had three sleep clinic experiences and neither the clinic personnel nor I care to experience a fourth. The important thing to note is that I can sleep without waking Kay. 

          The CPAP does have a couple of bad features. I have to wear a chinstrap to keep from breathing through my mouth. Snoring exits your mouth not your nose. With the CPAP when the air enters my nose my mouth would open, letting it exit with a snoring sound.

          The other problem has to do with the chinstrap leaving creases on my face. When I go to church Sunday mornings, my face screams, “CPAP user!” Jim Jackson or John Meredith will ask, “Hey, Mark how’d you sleep last night?” Most people just point and whisper. Somewhere in Leviticus, it reads, “…nor shall thou make fun of one’s sleep tendencies.” No need to check it out. 

          I’ve looked on Google for new inventions that keep you from snoring. There are a lot of ‘em. One is a wristband with a rather large disk attached Somehow the disk can tell when you snore. I didn’t know that one’s wrist could give away such a secret. When your wrist detects a snore, the disk automatically sends an electrical jolt up your arm that not only causes you to scream and change positions in bed. Ingenius!

          Another device has plastic rings that stick up each nostril. The wider the nostril the more air it can handle. Some of the reviewers found out that nostril insertions started hurting just about the time they were about to fall asleep. Oh, and there is the small strip of tape that you stick across the top of your nose. The brand name should be “Laughables”.

         Anyway, I say all of that, to say this. “Grandpa Teegarden, Elsie’s boy, Mark, is very sorry that he used to laugh at you for snoring. Dennis laughed more than I did, but I played a part. -- Oh, and while I’ve got your attention, did y’all call those oil pumper things “Pump-jacks”? No worries, Grandpa. I’ll ask you when I see you.

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hayter.mark@gmail.com