Choices

Recently I read an article about a person who died from COVID-19 who had previously proclaimed the pandemic a hoax. My heart hurts for this person’s family who is having to deal with their grief while also dealing with the public’s “I told you so” fingers as if they had not already learned this lesson in the hardest possible way.

I understand wanting to believe that the numbers, the narrative and the projections are overblown. I admit that in the earliest days of the virus I had my own doubts.  I questioned whether the measures being instituted were necessary, until I dug deeper into the research. For those facing loss of income, bankruptcy and an uncertain future, I fully understand the urge to push back, but viruses do not discriminate. They do not care if you believe in their power or not. They continue to do their job.

The alternate narrative continues to take lives and provide fuel for a movement that dismisses science and wisdom for wants and wishes. While polls imply that most Americans have come to accept the current threat, that old version still acts as a lifeline for a smaller group of people. People pressured by economic impacts. People who do not trust the media. People who do not trust science. Those in doubt point to a lack of testing combined with inaccurate testing that would support a much broader spread rate and therefore a much lower mortality rate. They continue to compare this virus to the flu. Between Feb. 1 and Apr. 18, 2020, there were 5,474 deaths caused by the flu and 21,050 deaths caused by COVID-19 in our country. (Dr. Milton Greenberg sourcing  https://www.cdc.gov/nchs/nvss/vsrr/COVID19/.) Regardless of the lack of accurate testing data, these numbers do not support that comparison.

Over the last few weeks, we have begun to see images of demonstrators gathering across the country protesting the restrictions. A few governors have bowed to that pressure and are relaxing measures against the advice of medical experts. These decisions may cost lives as they jump ahead of the strategic roadmap set by the experts for re-opening and, instead, race toward possible new hot spots.

As the country starts to reopen our doors in the face of this type of conflicting guidance, you still have a choice. You have the choice to listen to the medical experts and continue to follow their guidance. You have the choice to continue practicing social responsibility. I truly hope beyond hope that the next few weeks prove our experts wrong, but until the NIH, CDC and epidemiology experts bless lifting the current restrictions, are you willing to bet someone else’s life on choosing differently?  

Until We Meet Again

My dad and mother divorced when I was a sophomore in high school. Other than having to acknowledge their altered legal status, my day-to-day life really did not change. My dad was an Army officer who had spent much of my childhood deployed or stationed in remote areas that took him away from our family. When he was home, he spent his free time with a mixed drink in one hand and a book in the other as he did his best to hide from the demons that followed him home from Vietnam. By the time my parents separated legally, I had become used to life without Dad.

My sophomore year was also the year he decided to fight his demons. He gave up alcohol and cigarettes for Tab and licorice. He put in the hard work, created a better life for himself and somewhere in that process renewed his relationship with God. During my junior and senior year, we were able to start forging a new and improved relationship. 

And then I left home. I attended an out-of-state college just shy of my eighteenth birthday and married just shy of my twentieth. Over the next 26 years while my husband remained on active duty, I lived in 17 different homes spanning Georgia, Texas, Germany, Arizona, North Carolina, Kansas and Virginia. 

Our newfound relationship became victim to distance, time and life. Visits home often aligned with moves, but we found very quickly that a week did not go far when trying to spread our time across three sets of parents, extended family and hometown friends. At some point it became clear that if we were to spend more time together, Dad would have to come to us. We had been married about ten years when we started a new tradition. Dad began joining us for spring break visits every couple of years. 

Our last spring break visit together was Easter 2016. Within an hour of Dad’s arrival, I was called to the ER with my daughter. It was the beginning of a rapid decline that led to her diagnosis of moyamoya disease. It was also the beginning of my Dad’s slow decline. He had injured his knee a few years prior. The doctor advised him that he needed a knee replacement, but he had been putting it off. By the time we saw him that Easter, he was unable to walk farther than a block. Knee replacement surgery could not be put off any longer.

Delaying knee surgery exacerbated hip and back issues. Knee replacement surgery was followed by hip replacement surgery. Each surgery seemed to sap Dad’s strength further. Six months after his hip replacement, he contracted a bad case of the flu that landed him in the hospital. It was during this hospitalization that they discovered he had stage four liver cancer. Over the next 18 months, I traveled back and forth to Florida as Dad’s health continued to decline. It was not lost to either of us that we had spent more time together in those final months, than we had in the previous 20 years. 

Dad gained his angel wings this past August. Since his passing I have found myself marking many firsts. My first birthday without Dad. My first Christmas without Dad. My first trip home without Dad. My first Easter without Dad. Each first is accompanied by a new wave of grief. 

I was feeling that wave this morning when I decided to join my mom virtually for Easter services. The minister began the Easter message by telling a story about a son who had just lost his father to COVID 19. His dad had been admitted to the hospital 13 days before. Due to current restrictions, he had not been able to accompany his father to the hospital. Throughout the hospitalization, he could only call or text his father to see how things were going.  He could not be with him, as I was with Dad. 

As the days progressed, he could hear his dad’s decline. Confusion set in. On the tenth day his father stopped answering the phone and responding to texts. His son continued to send texts anyway. On the thirteenth day, he received the news that his father had passed away. Despite his grief he was able to also share his gratitude. Gratitude that he knew his Dad was reading his final texts in heaven. 

And there they were. The pieces I had allowed myself to lose sight of in my own grief. Gratitude for the time and relationship we did have. Awareness that my dad may have left this world, but he had not left me. Understanding that we are forever connected through our relationship with Christ. Relief that I don’t have to regret the conversations we did not have. Peace that I don’t have to feel sad about the conversations we are not having. Assurance that in God’s perfect timing, we will start the conversation again.

  

Happy Easter, Dad. I will carry you in my heart until we meet again.

Connection

We were on the way to find a Steak and Shake for lunch when my daughter received the call that would change life as we knew it. We had spent the morning at the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville, Florida, completing brain imaging tests. We had a two-hour break until her next appointment, so we decided to take advantage of being near one of our all-time favorite burger joints. 

We received the call shortly after we left the clinic. This was the first time any of us had ever heard the term “moyamoya disease.” Our neurologist went on to explain that this was a rare disease impacting less than one percent of the population. It causes narrowing and occlusion of the internal arteries to the brain.  As the brain becomes starved for blood, it starts to grow a collateral network of smaller, fragile veins to overcome the reduction in blood flow. This collateral network of veins appears like a puff of smoke on imaging. The word “moyamoya” means “puff of smoke” in Japanese, which is where the disease was first identified and named. 

When I first heard we had a diagnosis, I was filled with relief. We finally had answers. With answers we could build a treatment plan. With a treatment plan we could deal with the problem. Once we dealt with the problem, we could get our daughter back to parenting, back to work, back to life as she knew it, before life as she knew it changed. 

Three months earlier, Chelsey had been working full time, parenting an 18-month-old and was in the throes of purchasing her first home. Two weeks after closing on her new home, she took a five-day cruise to Mexico to celebrate her 25^th birthday. When she returned, she could not get rid of her sea legs. Sea legs progressed to severe vertigo followed by headaches, confusion, double-vision, debilitating fatigue, balance issues, tremors and movement issues. We spent weeks bouncing from one specialist to another. After she started having garbled speech and numbness in her left arm, an ER doctor at the Virginia Hospital suggested she might be having transient ischemic attacks (TIAs) or ministrokes.  She wanted to admit her for additional imaging, but the on-call neurologist dismissed the ER doctor’s concerns and instead pointed to her age, her sex and her history of anxiety. The ER doctor felt strongly she was on the right track and suggested we get a second opinion.  It was at this point we decided to drive ten hours away to Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville where we felt we could expedite the diagnostic process. 

This proved to be a good decision. Within two days of her first appointment, we had a diagnosis. When we hung up with the neurologist, we started high fiving each other. We had validation. We had a name. There was a sense of victory in the car. 

And then we started googling. It didn’t take long for relief to turn to fear. Over the next two weeks as we marched our way toward her first brain surgery, our emotions were all over the place. Up was down, down was up. We flitted between hope, calm, terror, grief, faith, fear, expectation and the surreal feeling that we had woken up to find ourselves in the middle of a Lifetime movie. 

Two nights before the surgery, feeling particularly restless, I decided to create a private Facebook group. I had been struggling to keep everyone who loved Chelsey updated. Instead of having to make multiple calls and texts, I could simply post one time in one place and get the updates out quickly and efficiently. 

Little did I know that one act would be a defining moment in our journey. We had left home expecting we would only be away for at most a week. Three weeks later, we were still facing brain surgery and a hospitalization before we could begin to think about going home. Our family and friends were strewn across the country with the closest two hours away and the farthest a country away. Our normal support network was far from reach. But as soon as our Facebook site went live, messages of hope, faith and healing swept across our Facebook feeds. People started offering hotel points, places to stay, meals for when we returned, information and connections. We were pointed virtually to another family that had been diagnosed with this disease through a mutual friend. They pointed me to an online support group that has become our single biggest resource. Out of this virtual community, I have forged deep relationships. These virtual friends have grown over time into my moyamoya family, despite the fact I have never met most of them in person. 

In the last few weeks, our country is waking up in the middle of their own Lifetime movie. It is difficult to see the happy ending. “Sheltering in place” and “social distancing guidelines” are separating us from our usual support groups, but that does not mean we are alone in this. “Virtual” connection platforms like Facebook, FaceTime, Snapchat, Messenger, Zoom, Teams and other 20^th century technologies allow us to engage with each other in ways our forefathers could only dream of.  It is through these platforms that we are still able to walk “hand in hand” while remaining apart. While I am the first to admit that “social media platforms” come with their own set of problems, I am still exceedingly grateful that during this time of mandated separation, connection is as close as my keyboard.

Love Thy Neighbor

Several recent news articles have reported that people’s views around COVID-19 risks, mitigation measures and the government’s response seem to fall largely along party lines. This isn’t necessarily surprising, but it is concerning in the face of a pandemic that is blind to political affiliation. 

Over the last 12 years, we have seen a growing divide along political fault lines fueled by the 24-hour news cycle and social media grandstanding. Those fault lines widened dramatically over the last four years as more and more friends, families and strangers started jumping into the political boxing rings of social media during a polarizing election. These private and public matches left permanent scars as our political positions became more important than the person behind whatever “post” we were challenging. People started prioritizing politics over relationships.  There became an increasing perception that our country was irreparably divided.  

But in the heart of this crisis, actions bely what these articles and social media would have us believing about America and each other.  Neighbors are helping neighbors. Grocery store clerks, stock boys, cashiers, drivers, shippers and mailmen put their own safety aside and continue to show up every day to ensure that our supply chain holds. Nurses, doctors and medical assistants keep reporting, in some cases “unarmed,” to the trenches to care for the weakest among us. Communities are coming together to feed children. In the face of empty shelves, good Samaritans are sharing supplies with those unable to stock up themselves. Large and small businesses are stepping up to the call with donations of masks, gloves and other equipment they realize can be repurposed for a better good. Patrons are continuing to support their local restaurants by ordering in. These people belong to every political party, and they are working together for a common good. 

Last night brought word that social distancing measures will remain in place at least through April 30. For some, that news brought a sense of relief to worries that these safety measures might be lifted too early. For others, this news is the last thing they want to hear. The need to continue to isolate in the face of a real and present public health threat clashes with the need to get people back to work in the face of growing economic impacts that pose a danger of a different kind. The pressures from these two opposing forces will slowly start pushing us towards opposite corners of our rings again. But what if instead of taking up positions this time, we choose differently. What if we choose another way? What if we choose God’s way?

Love your neighbor as yourself. There is no commandment greater than these. (Mark 12:31)

This time let us decide to step away from the ring and step toward each other. Let us leave party politics to the politicians. Let us choose respect instead of judgment. Let us call out leaders in our own parties, not just criticize leaders in the opposite party.  Let us praise our leaders when they get it right regardless of party. Let us always treat each other with humanity whether in person or over a posting, text or email. Let us choose to remember there are two sides to every story. Let us always remember that the number one party we belong to is the human party. Let us love our neighbors.

It is probably nothing.

I woke up dreaming that I was coughing only to find I actually was coughing. Suddenly I went from groggy to wide awake. I had a slight itch in my chest.

“It’s probably nothing.”

But try as I might, I could not get back to sleep. My thoughts started racing....” What if.....? What if this is NOT “nothing”? What if this is SOMETHING?”

Fourteen days ago, I was still working in the office. I had an offsite meeting midday with another company that had four people in attendance. We were still in the awkward “Do we shake hands or bump elbows stage?” Two people waved, one person bumped elbows and one person shook my hand and pointed me to the hand sanitizer afterwards.

Conferences had just started to get shut down earlier in the week. The term “social distancing” had only been in the news for a few days. The government and CDC were recommending no gatherings of over 250 people. Companies were being encouraged to move to increased telework.

Both of my daughter's and their families came to the house for our regular Thursday night dinner. My older daughter concerned she might go into labor before her sister's birthday dinner brought a honey bun cake for her sister.to wish her an early happy birthday. 

Thirteen days ago my youngest daughter’s house went up for sale. Because of her medical challenges, we decided that she and her family should move in with us for the weekend. This way she could be isolated from buyers while the house was being shown. It seemed smarter than cleaning her house after every showing. We knew we needed to be careful, because of her medical issues, but even then we were debating if that was necessary. 

Twelve days ago, we held the official “birthday” dinner - Thanksgiving in March. We skipped inviting “Army family and friends,” because we were “social distancing,” but both daughter's and their families were in attendance. 

Eleven days ago, DoD halted all travel for troops. They started recommending no gatherings of more than 100 people. My daughter sold her house and moved back home. 

Ten days ago I spent a full day in the office. I made the decision to move to full time teleworking. We were not able to install my VPN that day, so I would need to go back in the next morning one more time.  

Nine days ago, I spent half a day in the office and stopped at Wegmans grocery store on the way home. I made an Irish dinner for my youngest daughters family. I learned they would induce my oldest daughter the next morning. 

Eight days ago, my first granddaughter was born. No visitors other than one support partner could go to the hospital. Recommendations for gatherings had dropped to 10 or under.

Seven days ago. I only saw my husband. Parts of the country were instituting shelter in place injunctions.

Six days ago, my oldest daughter came home with her baby. The doctors said to keep visitors down, but family could see her if they were not sick. We went for a short visit. I held the baby. We ordered in dinner from our local restaurant and two army family friends joined us. We didn’t hug as we normally would. We kept space between us.

Five days ago, I watched my granddaughter all day while my daughter was back in the ER.

Four days ago we started ordering groceries to be delivered.

Three days ago my husband moved to full time telework.

Since then we have teleworked, waved to neighbors and taken long walks outside to get fresh air and a change of scenery.

In the light of day, it became clear my cough was just my allergies, but the experience brought a different level of awareness to the issue for me.

A person can remain asymptomatic for up to fourteen days. During that period the person can shed the virus. None of us at this point can know without a test that we are not already infected. 

And that is exactly the point. Who have YOU exposed in the last fourteen days? It is probably nothing, but what if....

How Long?

"How long Lord? Will you hide yourself forever?" Psalm 89:46

This is a verse I have wrestled with off and on since my daughter's diagnosis as we have hit road bump after road bump and complication after complication. Today, I hear echoes of it across my Facebook feed as the world keeps asking, "How long?" 

How long before life gets back to normal? How long before we can go out again? How long before we can go back to work? How long before my kids are back in school? How long before my business has to close? How long before I go bankrupt? How long?

There is a cumulative pressure that builds when living day to day in crisis management. Each new pressure takes on a different weight than the one before it. If I am honest, I will say, " I am tired." I want to be the person who is endlessly optimistic in the face of challenges, but I confess that  I can still allow life and heartache to get in my way.  

This past week has been a rollercoaster of emotions. The joy of welcoming my newborn granddaughter to the world against the backdrop of guidance that left us questioning whether or not we should wait to meet her. This was quickly followed by a post partum emergency that left us struggling with what decisions that would have been quick and easy pre-COVID, but became more complicated in the face of potential exposure and transmission concerns.  

Who should take my daughter to the ER? Who should stay with the baby? What is the protocol when you are immune compromised but your child needs you? What is the protocol for two parents who have three children to care for? Should one stay home to reduce exposure? Questions we never expected to have to ask ourselves in the midst of an emergency were making it harder to decide on the next right step. We finally put a halt to overthinking and went with the solution that made our daughter feel the most secure. Her Dad and I stayed with the baby, so she could have her husband with her for support.  

Things are settling back down on that front, but this past weekend left me feeling "war weary".  When I am stressed ( and when I am not stressed), I rely on "quiet time" in the morning for readings and prayers to help center my day. It was during this practice that I came across this verse again. Even though the lesson was meant to assure me of God's perfect timing, I found myself focused on the part of the passage asking "Will you hide from us forever?"

It was in the heartache, I finally realized the lesson in this verse for me, is not in the waiting, but instead in the finding. Just because God does not seem to be answering,  does not mean he is not showing up. He showed up this weekend in an unexpected day spent holding and caring for my first granddaughter. He showed up in phone calls from friends and family at the just the right moment. He is showing up in the world around us as our front line "heroes" in the medical community, the pharmaceutical community, the service community continue to "show up" for their jobs despite safety concerns. He shows up in the video from a talented high school girl sharing a song from her heart despite an abrupt end to her senior year activities. He is always showing up if I simply redirect my gaze. If God is hiding, he is hiding in plain sight. 

In our season of waiting, we have a choice. We can choose to wallow or we can choose to wonder at the world around us.  We can choose to remain focused on the unanswered prayer or we can choose to focus on the GODness that surrounds us every day. We can choose to see God as hiding from us or we can choose to see God standing by us. Today, tomorrow and the next day, I will try to choose better. How about you? 

Statistics

I've had a good life. I met the love of my life at 16 and married him just shy of my 20th birthday. I travelled the world by his side for 35 years. During that time we had two wonderful daughters who in turn found their loves and gave us four amazing grandchildren.

We lost loved ones early in our marriage. My husband's father passed unexpectedly in a bicycling accident shortly before my first daughter was born. We lost grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles and a precious brother along the way. In between life, we've had the good fortune of jobs we have loved, friends who have become family and lots and lots of fun.

On September 11, 2001, our world was rocked by terrorism. My husband worked in the Pentagon. I waited six long hours from the time the plane struck to hear he was safe. We were fortunate that day. Others we knew, were not as fortunate. The event changed the world,  but for our immediate family, it also was the first time we brushed up against what it could mean to be on the wrong side of a statistic.

As the next few years unfolded, I started relying on statistics to calm my children's nerves. They had seen their safe world turn into something very different suddenly. Fears were closer to the surface. Statistics had worked in our favor once before, they would again.

When the DC sniper began terrorizing the city, our world turned scary again. My children were locked inside schools each day with armed guards patrolling their roofs. I would recite statistics to myself as I pumped gas and scanned the horizon trying to assure myself I was safe.

When their Dad went to war, I relied on statistics as well. I would calculate the percentages of fatalities to deployed personnel. I would calm my fears for my husband's safety using statistics. That worked well until we lost a soldier in his battalion. Statistics became less comforting in the face of someone we knew and cared for, but I still hung onto the fact that my love was still with me. Statistics were still MY friend.

When my oldest daughter was sixteen, she started having seizures. She was diagnosed with epilepsy. It was the first time, we fell on the wrong side of a statistic. Thirteen years later my youngest daughter was diagnosed with Moyamoya, a rare disease impacting less than 1% of the population. That was when it finally clicked, life is random. Statistics do not protect, they only comfort. 

Please do not use statistics to justify actions or inactions. Behind every statistic is a person - a person who is loved by someone; a person like you; a person like me. Statistics do not protect, they only comfort....until they don't.