BRAINWRECK

Covid-19 was at bay leading toward complete lockdown in AL. Only residents, essential workers, and screened personnel for emergency needs were allowed in. Meals were delivered and temperature and oxygen readings taken daily. It was quiet, and I felt safe from the outside world. But inside my apartment something bizarre was revving up. Since my medical trauma, I questioned every oddity. Are these occurrences real? Or is it me. Am I no longer quite right? Other strange incidents manifested at the same time, further casting a shadow over my reasoning. Waking one morning, I felt something stuck to my lower lip. Small and hard. I removed it and put it aside to examine after breakfast. You eat. You brush. A few brushes into it, I realized something gritty was in my mouth. I spit. Out with the toothpaste came what seemed to be beige insect egg cases. More of the tiny things were wedged between the toothbrush bristles. With disgust, I washed them out and flushed everything down the sink. Bad move. I should have saved them. Still, the lip specimen remained on the counter. Also, excess dust was collecting on the floor at bedside, around my upholstered, rib-clothed recliner, and in wheelchair tracks.White dots appeared there also. Infestation? I sensed something was in and under my skin. Very unpleasant. Covid-19 was proliferating, so maybe it was a fecund time for who knows what else. Living on the top floor with a bathroom air vent opening to the crawl space under the roof, and bird nesting going on up there, I had to ponder the possible entry of tiny, unwanted trespassers. I called the AL director, who was also a registered nurse, to advise me. No response. I called facility staff to have an apartment inspection or have the contracted exterminator come in. No response. Late on a Friday afternoon, well over a week and a half with no one paying attention, I called my daughter to air my aggravation. She inquired whether I might like to call a regulatory agency. I was reluctant. People were dying during the pandemic. How big a deal was this? But I was paying a hefty sum for assisted living and getting unassisted living. Finally, becoming more distressed, I called the Agency for Healthcare Administration (AHCA). They listened to my rambling grievances and asked if I had called the Florida Ombudsman. "No, do I have to tell this story again?" "Yes," was their reply, so I called on Monday spending a troublesome weekend of woe is me.