Real Talk
“Nothing bad will happen, right?” My daughter asks me every night. It’s the last pressing question she absolutely needs answers to before she will actually relax and try to sleep.
I try to reassure her, but sometimes I sound rather flippant about it.
“Yes, nothing will happen. Now GO TO SLEEP!” I say, then double back with, “I love you,” as if that will soften things a little.
The truth is, these past several weeks have been filled with panic. On March 4th, my adopted grandfather lost his fight with cancer. My parents visited him in hospice during his final hours. They held his hand as he fought inner demons, never gaining consciousness. My aunt, unable to reach my parents when he died, notified me of his death via text.
Then the schools closed, and we entered a lockdown in California on March 13th. The students cried before going home for the day. Some were afraid they wouldn’t see each other again. Homeschooling would begin the following week, but I had my own students to look out for. Some lost their jobs and have no income at all. Others are desperate for anything to distract them from the doldrums of quarantine life. I’m reworking lesson plans and chatting with colleagues who are in the same boat. For those who have lost their jobs, I am considering working with them pro bono, because it will be a very long time before they can work again.
My parents fell ill around March 13th, or at least that’s when they admitted that something was wrong. I come from a family of people who sweep their own personal health under the rug, unless it’s asthma. We’re the ‘NO NEWS IS GOOD NEWS’ sort. Admitting anything is wrong means that everything is on fire.
“It’s just a bad cold,” they downplayed. It was not a cold. The presumed cold was followed by visits to the ER and a gamut of tests. The lab lost my mom’s first Covid-19 test, and by the time the second test results came back, it had been over 14 days since the first symptom appeared. So, the test results were negative.
For weeks, I have worried that I would never see either of my parents alive again. I forgot about LJ Idol polls, at the cost of my daughter and husband’s entries, and appealed privately to Gary to use the Green Room as a platform to ask members to take Covid-19 seriously. I don’t regret this, because even my fellow rivals should be safe from this dreadful virus.
Friends began dying. Cause of death? Flu? Covid-19? Cancer? Heart attack? The answers are ever changing. One had heart failure, another had Influenza A, but no further testing was done. What was once a certainty now changes if the deceased had any Covid-19 symptoms.
Other family members began to fall ill, and their answers were the same.
“Maybe Covid? But who knows? There are no tests,” they would say.
“Nothing bad will happen, right?!?” My daughter asks before sleep. The question becomes more urgent with each passing day. “I don’t want Grandma and Grandpa to die!”
When the questions became more pressing, my responses became more flippant. Again, I had no answers, and neither did the doctors. Friends I’ve known for decades, all doctors on the front lines, shake their heads. They too, are fighting symptoms, and tests were nowhere to be found until April. Even now, the tests are elusive to many patients who need them.
My parents are slowly recovering, but this has been a hard fight. We’re not in the clear yet, and that is scary. Every cough, every sore throat or runny nose sends a jolt of panic to me when I hear it over the phone, via video conference, experience myself. Last night, my daughter pleaded with me not to catch the virus. I want to assure her that we are all doing our best with social distancing, but as an asthmatic myself, inner doubt lingers for me. Do I do enough? Did my mom do the same?
It is now April 13th, and my schedule revolves around distance learning, teaching my own students, fulfilling board duties with two separate boards, checking in on my family and friends personally, and trying to keep everything together. Our schedules are staggered to accommodate everyone’s work schedules, but two things remain constant. Dinner together every night at 8:30pm, and that one question my daughter asks before sleep.
“Everything will be okay, right?”
I honestly don’t know.
I try to reassure her, but sometimes I sound rather flippant about it.
“Yes, nothing will happen. Now GO TO SLEEP!” I say, then double back with, “I love you,” as if that will soften things a little.
The truth is, these past several weeks have been filled with panic. On March 4th, my adopted grandfather lost his fight with cancer. My parents visited him in hospice during his final hours. They held his hand as he fought inner demons, never gaining consciousness. My aunt, unable to reach my parents when he died, notified me of his death via text.
Then the schools closed, and we entered a lockdown in California on March 13th. The students cried before going home for the day. Some were afraid they wouldn’t see each other again. Homeschooling would begin the following week, but I had my own students to look out for. Some lost their jobs and have no income at all. Others are desperate for anything to distract them from the doldrums of quarantine life. I’m reworking lesson plans and chatting with colleagues who are in the same boat. For those who have lost their jobs, I am considering working with them pro bono, because it will be a very long time before they can work again.
My parents fell ill around March 13th, or at least that’s when they admitted that something was wrong. I come from a family of people who sweep their own personal health under the rug, unless it’s asthma. We’re the ‘NO NEWS IS GOOD NEWS’ sort. Admitting anything is wrong means that everything is on fire.
“It’s just a bad cold,” they downplayed. It was not a cold. The presumed cold was followed by visits to the ER and a gamut of tests. The lab lost my mom’s first Covid-19 test, and by the time the second test results came back, it had been over 14 days since the first symptom appeared. So, the test results were negative.
For weeks, I have worried that I would never see either of my parents alive again. I forgot about LJ Idol polls, at the cost of my daughter and husband’s entries, and appealed privately to Gary to use the Green Room as a platform to ask members to take Covid-19 seriously. I don’t regret this, because even my fellow rivals should be safe from this dreadful virus.
Friends began dying. Cause of death? Flu? Covid-19? Cancer? Heart attack? The answers are ever changing. One had heart failure, another had Influenza A, but no further testing was done. What was once a certainty now changes if the deceased had any Covid-19 symptoms.
Other family members began to fall ill, and their answers were the same.
“Maybe Covid? But who knows? There are no tests,” they would say.
“Nothing bad will happen, right?!?” My daughter asks before sleep. The question becomes more urgent with each passing day. “I don’t want Grandma and Grandpa to die!”
When the questions became more pressing, my responses became more flippant. Again, I had no answers, and neither did the doctors. Friends I’ve known for decades, all doctors on the front lines, shake their heads. They too, are fighting symptoms, and tests were nowhere to be found until April. Even now, the tests are elusive to many patients who need them.
My parents are slowly recovering, but this has been a hard fight. We’re not in the clear yet, and that is scary. Every cough, every sore throat or runny nose sends a jolt of panic to me when I hear it over the phone, via video conference, experience myself. Last night, my daughter pleaded with me not to catch the virus. I want to assure her that we are all doing our best with social distancing, but as an asthmatic myself, inner doubt lingers for me. Do I do enough? Did my mom do the same?
It is now April 13th, and my schedule revolves around distance learning, teaching my own students, fulfilling board duties with two separate boards, checking in on my family and friends personally, and trying to keep everything together. Our schedules are staggered to accommodate everyone’s work schedules, but two things remain constant. Dinner together every night at 8:30pm, and that one question my daughter asks before sleep.
“Everything will be okay, right?”
I honestly don’t know.