Teledoc, Legacies, Moose and Mishaps
- Prof C
- Dec 24, 2023
- 10 min read
Wow, what a week. I wasn't sure how much I'd have to write about, since we've been out on Christmas break all week. I guess I should have known. Remember last week, when I wrote about how Emily's toe had finally reached a turning point, and it appeared that all was going to be well? I kid you not, the very next morning, a new blistered area appeared, and the redness started to spread. I was simultaneously angry and afraid. We did yet another soak, put more antibiotic on it, and then watched it throughout the day. By evening, my fear got the best of me and I got busy figuring out how Teledoc worked with our new insurance. The first leg was relying on our patchy internet to create an account with Teledoc, and then attempting to schedule an appointment with their 24/7 service. I joined their virtual waiting room, and then waited. And waited. At about 1:00 a.m., after almost an hour of waiting, I decided that sleep would be better for us all, and resolved to try again later that morning.
Upon waking, I started the whole process again. I once again uploaded pictures of her toe, giving a description of each angle, as well as what we had done to treat it up to this point. After filling all the information out for the second time, the app wouldn't let me join the virtual waiting room, giving me an error message each time I tried. So I found the number to call, went through the automated menu to talk to a real person (isn't this an infuriating time for customer service?!), all to determine if my appointment request was showing on their end. The very nice gentleman on the other side of the call assured me my request was good, and that even if I couldn't join the waiting room, I would receive a text shortly before a doctor was ready to see us. I thanked him, hung up, and nervously hoped that I would in fact receive that text, with our patchy wi-fi.
For the next 3 hours, I sat by the phone, constantly tapping it to make sure I hadn't missed the text. At last, the effort was rewarded, and we were connected with a very tired looking Dr. Buchanan, who listed her credentials for me before our conversation even started. Then I gave her the rundown on Emily's toe, positioning the phone camera in every angle possible, to give her an idea of what we were dealing with. I will say this: all through the COVID pandemic, when Teledoc became more of a staple, I ridiculed its validity, saying there's no way a doctor can possibly diagnose something virtually. And while I still say in-person yields the best results, for something that isn't life-threatening, the virtual appointment was rather effective. Not just because I was able to provide an active visual for the doctor to see, but also because I could evaluate her facial expressions and intonation, to gauge how serious Emily's infection was. I was relieved to see that she wasn't all that concerned. She told us it was a basic infection that oral antibiotics would take care of in no time, that we were doing well with our home treatments, and that we should continue doing that until the infection was gone. She put in a presription for the pharmacy I had set up in the app, asked for any final questions, and then ended our 10 minute visit. Three hours for 10 minutes: about what can be expected even in a real waiting room, back in Texas.
Thus began the second leg of this adventure: how would the meds get to us? Not having done this before, I had no idea what the process was for getting a prescription from Fairbanks to us. The prescription mail service that is listed on our insurance card ships meds within 7-10 days; not a viable solution for our situation. The next pharmacy listed within our insurance options was the grocery store chain that we get our food from, except it was a different location than our usual. I called the store's pharmacy to ask what the process was for shipping medication, and once again went through a lovely automated menu. Doing my best not to yell at a computer, I asked to speak to a real human, who then kindly told me that they don't mail medications. I was told to contact the other location, to see what their process was, and that the prescription could be transferred, if needed. Great. So, I called the other location, who obviously uses the same endearing automated menu, and found out that they also do not ship medications. That was not good news for my already frazzled nerves.
Fortunately, one of the teachers, with whom we work, is staying in Fairbanks for the holidays, and she had told us if we needed her to pick up anything, to just let her know. I contacted her, told her the situation, and by that evening, she had already picked up the medication, and had dropped it off at Wright's (the puddle jumper air service,) to be delivered as soon as possible. My mind began to ease a bit, but there was still the question as to when the medication would actually ship. And sure enough, because it's the holidays, the plane for the next day was too full of passengers and their luggage, so the medication did not get prioritized, and remained in the queue. We waited yet another day, still treating the toe as we had faithfully done, hoping that the antibiotics would arrive on the next plane. During all of this waiting, I was able to reflect a lot on my level of patience, my emotional response tendencies, and of course, logging new information learned about living out here. And although the logical side of me held on to the doctor's underwhelming response, and the knowledge that the medication was on the way, the other side of me, the Mama Bear side, was really hard to contain. That's the part of me that is nothing but unbridled energy and emotion. I fully understand the analogy of human mothers and their likeness to their ursine counterparts. Fortunately, the medication arrived the next day, and the bear was put back in her den. Ems has been dutifully taking the medication, and the toe is on the mend. **The photo below is not for you if skin issues make you squeamish, but Emily wanted me to share....
During all of the toe drama, I received some sad news from Texas. Ms. Reid, my childhood school librarian and my library school mentor, passed away. She had been a long time staple at Nolanville Elementary, and she had also been a good friend of my mother's. She was my first experience with a school library, and the magical being charged with its care. She was the guardian of my most prized childhood possessions: books. She brought larger than life people and creatures to our school, like famous authors, Clifford the Big Red Dog and Santa Claus. She always had the right book to recommend, even when you didn't fully know what you wanted to read. And she had the most amazing decorations in her library, most notably, a boxcar housing one of my favorite childhood series, The Boxcar Children. Even after I left the halls of Nolanville as a student, Ms. Reid kept tabs on me, usually through my own children, who roamed those same halls years later. When our youngest began attending school, I found myself in the transitional phase of being a stay-home mom with no children home during the day. I thought I would enjoy the peace and quiet, but found myself restless instead. I ended up volunteering both in my kids' respective classrooms, as well as Ms. Reid's library. It was so good to catch up with her, and to also work in the very library that had fostered and developed my love of reading. I loved the fact that the boxcar was still on the shelf, a literary preservation among the evolving trends of the 21st century. It was during this time, on an afternoon that had me working with students on research, that Ms. Reid very pointedly asked me, why I wasn't doing this for a living. She said, "As long as I've known you, you've always had your nose in a book. And watching you in this library, it's obvious that you love sharing that passion with children. You need to go back to school, and get your library science degree."
Back when I was a classroom teacher, the idea of becoming a librarian had crossed my mind once or twice, but was forgotten over the years of staying at home with our kids. I had already decided during my stay-home time that I would never set foot back in a classroom, due to the bureaucratic stress (Ha, never say 'never!'), but I had no real plan moving forward now that our kids were all in school. When Ms. Reid boldly stated her opinion, it was like a light bulb went off in my head. Why wasn't I doing this for a living? Combining my two passions of the power of literacy and working with kids? Ms. Reid also happend to be an official mentor for the library science program at UNT, and graciously agreed to be mine. Two years later, that bold opinion of hers became a reality of mine. I will always be grateful for the woman whose insight both preserved my inner child, as well as challenged the adult I had become. What a legacy for a librarian. I only hope I can do the same some day. I am incredibly sad that she is gone, and I will miss our back and forth email exchanges about how life has been treating us.
I will say that learning of Ms. Reid's death, Emily's toes, and missing Christmas with friends and family all hit pretty hard at the same time. And all of the sudden, once again, the decision to come out here seemed absurd. Everything we gave up came screaming back to me, harshly juxtaposing the small existence we are carving out here. I wanted so desperately to be back where things made sense. Where we could drive to Urgent Care in less than 10 minutes to take care of a toe that shouldn't ever have been a big deal. Where I could go to my friend's memorial service, and reminisce in person with others whose lives she had touched. Where I could see my nephew burst through our front door, like he owned the joint, and watch him play with all of our Christmas decorations, while laughing and talking with my brother and sister-in law. Where there would be an ongoing Christmas puzzle that my parents-in-law and I would fight over to put in the last piece. All of these thoughts loomed large this week, and really put a damper on what should have been a reprieve from the stress that the last couple of months have brought.
But then, a funny thing happened. Several things, actually. First, Emily's toe dramatically improved. Second, some of our holiday traditions we do back home with family were still able to happen out here: a virtual midnight shopping trip with Papa Joe and Mama Sue, an online grocery order to mimic the Target sibling exchange, and several facetime calls to our nephew, who always excitedly shows us all his new toys and verbal phrases. The third thing that happened was most unexpected, and yet very much needed. On one of his many trips to the airstrip, to pick up mail and freight, Philip and Avery were on the road, and in an attempt to clear a spot of snow off the front of the machine, a slight veer to the right took the snow machine off of the safely packed snow in the road, and into the feet of fluff on the bank. Philip chose to bail, to make sure that the machine didn't roll over on Avery, and although they were both fine, the machine was stuck, buried in snow. As they were assessing the situation, trying to figure out how to get the machine out, wouldn't you know, a group of our students showed up. Not just any group, but one that contained all of our most troublesome students. Without missing a beat, they earnestly worked to get the snow machine dug out. Granted, they gave Philip a pretty hard time about getting it stuck in the first place, but their help was honest, and full of concern for someone other than themselves. It wasn't lost on either Philip or me, when the story was relayed, that of course it would be the top students we've had the most trouble with, who would be first on the scene. They showed a whole other side that transcended the parameters of school expectations. It was a reminder to us that despite our frustrations that we're experiencing in our classrooms and the school hallways, these kids have a core that wants to do good. There's a humane element with which we can work. For me, it was an inhibitor to the negative reaction that was happening in my brain; a foothold to refute the negative spiral of viewing our decision to come here as pointless.
And so, we press on. We're in the thick of watching movies, playing games, and watching the snow fall outside our windows. A highlight from this past week was that we finally saw a moose in real life! I was looking across the river one morning, like I do every morning, and I noticed a dark form that was different from the norm I'd come to know. And it was moving. A quick reach for the binoculars revealed a female, meandering across the way, tentively testing the river. She made it about a tenth of the way across before deciding to head back to the shoreline. It was thrilling to watch. We've been told that we'll see wildlife crossing over the river when it freezes, and we've been impatiently watching. The freeze is late this year, but the river is almost to a standstill, so we've read. As far as how it looks, it's been snow covered for the last few weeks, and so our view has been very white indeed.
Other pics from this week:
Also, I am posting any video footage to our YouTube playlist, which is linked through the icon at the top or bottom of any page on our site.
Well, that wraps the week in a lengthy nutshell. Today is Christmas Eve, and it's the first we've spent away from extended family. It feels different, but our six are together, and that's what matters most. We are looking forward to the kids' first white Christmas, and Christmas Day will be the coldest day we've experienced, thus far. Here's what's to come:
We'll be staying inside, by the fire, for Christmas.
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
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