New Day

We are learning so many things. The cute little mice that inhabit this part of the country (of which, we hear, there are 10 different types) have infested our beautiful little adobe rental house. We first quarantined the den when a mouse died in the ceiling, and the owners allowed the property manager to move the television to the living room. Then the master bedroom started smelling funny. Well, not funny, really, but bad. Very bad. So we moved to the guest room. The guest room smells sweet. And the window there has an exquisite view of the mountain.

We still had 4 rooms out of six. Not bad. We don't need more than that.

But I have continued to be more and more compromised and especially unable to get enough air at night. It is frightening to awaken feeling as though you have been holding your breath a long time and need to get some big gulps of air in a hurry. And it kept getting worse.

This house has ceilings made of latillas. The mouse droppings and bacteria fall through the cracks between the small pieces of wood. The pest man came yesterday and said we have a medium infestation here. He set traps outside the house for the mice to go into when they leave the house in the day time to get food and water. These traps are filled with poison and should kill all the mice they trap. Then, after a few days of this, he will return and fill all the holes in the outside walls through which the mice are entering the house.

It is all beginning to have a rather surreal quality about it.

So John asked a friend who has lived here a long time for a doctor recommendation. He got one and called only to be refused treatment. "We don't take Medicare." they said. "Most doctors in Santa Fe do not." So for people 65 or over, the option is a walk-in clinic or the ER. Many people in this country are unable to receive adequate medical care. People over 65 are just one group of them. But even for people who have been aware of the problems and adamantly in favor of healthcare reform, like us, it it shocking to suddenly become the ones who are marginalized.

Just now, we have returned from spending an entire day at a clinic where you sign in and wait. We waited the entire day there for the doctor, the lung xray and the blood test. We need to rule out Hantavirus which is spread by mice through airborne bacteria. You can't spread it human to human. It is a very serious illness and kills around half of its victims. We probably don't have that one. But there are a myriad of illnesses caused by this same problem.

I became very faint at the clinic after several hours of waiting. When I told the young doctor that I was feeling faint and my knees felt as thought they would buckle when I stood up, he asked if I thought I needed physical therapy. If I had felt any shred of confidence in his ability before that, I certainly had none of it remaining. He sees an old woman. I am describing a symptom that is very frightening and to me a sign that something is seriously amiss. He apparently assumes that it is just an age-related problem that I have chosen to bring up as long as I have an appointment with him.

There is no triage. People get in line. First come, first served. There also are appointments but they fill up. And that is a return to the walk-in line.


The story is longer. I am afraid. I think of myself as a vigorous woman who rarely sees a doctor. When I do need one, I think I should be treated with respect. Where is it I got that idea? I am learning that it is not the way of my new age group, the elderly.