Guest post: A note to the ACDIS editor on remote work

by Howard Rodenberg, MD, MPH, CCDS

Dear Linnea,

Thank you for your kind note about working from home. I’ve been in a similar fix, having been working (and we use that term loosely…see below) from the house for the past several weeks, and it looks like I’ll be here for the foreseeable future. In addition to me, the hacienda is stocked with the Beloved Dental Empress (BDE), who is out of work and filing for unemployment as our Governor of our fair state has banned all non-emergent medical or dental procedures until mid-May, my 22-year-old son, whose spring semester of college semester has been cancelled, and her 14-year-old boy who is doing online classes until the inevitable cancellation of his school year as well.

For now, we’re all getting along because everyone has their own rooms to hide in. The BDE and I have reconciled ourselves to the fact that we will not be seeing our children except at mealtimes, when they deign to favor us with their presence, emerging like pale wraiths from their pitch-black bedrooms where they sit, hours on end, staring at their screens, morphing into Charter Members of the Growing Mass of the Great Unwashed, reeking of Hi-C and Pringles. Meanwhile, the wage earners lament their loss of social mobility and continually resolve to do all those house things we were supposed to do last spring, and the spring before that.

I think your suggestions are valuable, and that all of our ACDIS colleagues would do well to take heed. I felt that it was important that you know we have taken your advice to heart and found ways to put these principles into action.

Take walks. We do a lot of walking in our house. About half our walking occurs from one room to another, motivated by the need for escape. (Refer to children above.)

Another 30% of our activity is related to “Senior Moments,” like when you could carry two plates from the table to the sink but you just sort of forget one, meaning you have to go back to make a second trip.

A final 20% is goal-directed, most often to let the dogs out, let the dogs in, take a lap around the house wondering where the dogs are, trying to lure the dogs away from the tree where they are barking at a squirrel, or heading for the Cabinet of Adult Beverages to fix the headache which results from the treeing of the squirrel.

Did you mean walking outside? We were going to try that, but just as the pandemic hit our new patio furniture showed up. And since it would be wrong to waste money on things that don’t bring us joy, we make sure that the patio furniture does. The treadmill in the garage? It’s been here for a while, so the newness has worn off, and it most definitely is not a purveyor of joy. That being said, most days I try to use it for at least a half-hour while watching an old BBC comedy called “Are You Being Served,” for which I have recently discovered that all the original actors are dead. Which sends me back to the Cabinet, and the patio furniture, to nurse my sorrow.

Write things down. This is excellent advice. Every day we write down a list of what we’re going to accomplish that day. And every day, as sleep fills our eyes, we resolve to look at that list again tomorrow. My list includes making New Years’ resolutions. It’s now April.

Cook or bake something new. Linnea, my friend, we’ve failed on this one. The closest I’ve come is trying to make grilled cheese sandwiches with challah bread. Two days running the local supermarket had run out of everything except pumpernickel (an abomination amongst bread, much as asparagus is Satan’s vegetable), and finally on day three, I found a single loaf of challah left in the bakery section.

If you don’t know, challah is a braided Jewish bread made with eggs, and while it can be used for deli sandwiches it’s more often associated with home celebrations like Shabbat. But as it was the only non-pumpernickel option I had I bought it, and while I felt closer to my people it turns out it imparts a weird flavor to the three-cheese mix. So maybe that counts?

The boys are putting strange combinations of food into their stomachs, like pieces of beef jerky topped with Cheetos and washed down with colors of Gatorade not found in nature, but that’s kind of always what they do.

Connect with loved ones virtually. Unquestionably a good thought, and I do keep in closer-than-usual contact with family via phone and text. But what about a virtual loved one? How does that work? The BDE virtually loves Derek Jeter and I have a certain admiration for Gal Gadot, but we don’t have their phone numbers or e-mails. Referrals appreciated.

Be kind to yourself. This is probably your best piece of advice. Forgive yourself trespasses, like wishing that your kids, whom you love dearly and lament how fast they grow up and whom you will miss when they’re gone, would get out of your house for just an hour, or at least pick up their room so the dogs aren’t scampering after roaches.

Do something for yourself, even if it’s doing nothing. I’ve already mentioned the key role of adult beverages and patio furniture in our “Pandemic Survival Kit.” But you’ll need more. The BDE has found refuge in some kind of Nintendo game called Animal Crossing, the exact nature of which I find unfathomable because she says I lack imagination.

For me, it’s my motorized, radio-controlled LEGO Trains, which zip around the couch where she lays with her game controller in hand. When you run out of sets to build that you have at home, you can order more from the LEGO store. When you run out of new sets, you can go to Bricklink.com and buy older, retired sets, and custom models from all over the world, which is why I am now awaiting delivery of a red heavy-haul cargo train from Belgium.

And while you wait for your train to arrive, if like me you’re a person of a certain age, there are nearly endless opportunities for Platonic reflection and musing about everything you should have done that you didn’t, about how you could have changed the world if only it hadn’t been more fun to watch reruns of WKRP, and now you’re 57 and never became an astronaut or a well-thought-of writer or even a Kansas State Senator, but instead wound up with two ex-wives and the prospect of working until you’re dead. Doesn’t that sound like fun?

So that’s how we’re using the “Archibald Confinement Protocol.” However, I would like to add the following suggestions:

Pants are optional. Really. You keep hearing from folks about how it’s good to keep a work routine at home, to get up at a certain hour, get cleaned up and dressed like you’re going to the office, and that doing these things will put you in the right frame of mind for a productive day. They are, of course, wrong. You can follow this advice, or you can sleep an extra hour and at the last possible moment careen yourself into your desk chair. And be sure to keep the webcam OFF.  It’s a great thing.

Play lots of board games. I emphasize this to people with children, as it’s the only way you stand a chance of winning. It’s an age thing. You’ll never win at collectible card games like Magic and Yu-Gi-Oh because the type on the cards are too small to see, and the chances of winning a video game are similarly impaired by the lack of dexterity of the adult-sized fingers and thumb. And this isn’t just first-person shooter games like Overwatch. We’re talking Mario Party.

However, with a board game—especially older ones like Monopoly and Risk—the chances are you’re the only one who’s ever read the rules and has the attention span to play. Plus if you’re losing and the game gets “accidentally” knocked over, it’s a lot easier to blame the dog, from whom you’ve hidden a cookie just under “Go,” than to try and concoct a way to get the dog to hit the “Reset” button at just the right time.

Find an outlet for your frustrations. For example, whenever you feel the urge to stab a loved one, watch The Tiger King. If you are feeling malevolent towards a fellow COVID captive and you binge watch this Walt Disney true-life adventure, you’ll instantly feel better about your friends, family, and the world at large, no matter how damaged they might be. But make sure there’s no meat grinders in the house just to be sure. Oh, and it’s probably a good idea to hide the pruning shears and hedge clippers. I’m just saying. (You KNOW she fed him to the cats.)

What’s that, dear? The dog ate the pool noodle?

Gotta go. Enjoy your quarantine.

Sincerely,

Howard Rodenberg

Editor’s note: Rodenberg is the adult physician advisor for CDI at Baptist Health in Jacksonville, Florida. Contact him at howard.rodenberg@bmcjax.com or follow his personal blog at writingwithscissors.blogspot.com. Advice given is general. Readers should consult professional counsel for specific legal, ethical, clinical, or coding questions. Opinions expressed are that of the author and do not represent HCPro or ACDIS.