#lettersfromthepandemic

[lettersfromthepandemic]

Letter Seventeen: I’m alive and healthy.

2020. What a year. Each day that passes seems so slow and never-ending… and then before you know it, another month has passed. Time keeps going even though our world is crumbling at an exponential rate. Today, marks 6 months exactly that I was last in my day-to-day routine. Oh, how I miss it.

I’ve been reflecting on, “what have I done this pandemic?” I mean, first of all, that’s a really fucked up thought to begin with. We are in a pandemic! A dual pandemic at that. I think being alive and relatively healthy should be at the top of the list. Social media has a way of making you feel like you are a slob if you decide to just pause during this time.

I’ve gained about 10 lbs since March. I feel it, I don’t like it, and I’m also trying to show myself compassion. My mind and body have been through the ringer this year. My mental health has wavered and hit some really low, lows. But I’ve been able to pull myself out of bed each day and put one foot in front of the other. Again, the most important thing should be that I’m alive and healthy. 

I’m alive and healthy.

~ Author, Harleen Singh

[lettersfromthepandemic]

Letter One - Of Pandemic Times; May 25th 2020

Dear Future Generations,

Chances are you are searching through our Digital archive to learn about the Pandemic of 2020 for a history report. I’ll bet your text books paint a perfectly hind-sighted picture of what truly happened on earth when Covid 19 swept across it. 

From where I sit now, things are not so clear. It’s been two months since we’ve entered lockdown and the best we know is that a vaccine will bring this to and end. Realistically, it will be years before the world is safe to visit human beings again and the reality is that for many of us, it will never be the same.

My first letter is a long one. I thought of this while I was dancing in the rain after a thunderstorm. You see, no one walks outside when it rains. I found my freedom in the dripping of water from the clouds. My neighbors think I am nuts. But I laugh it off. The warm summer rain forces everyone inside and I can walk the streets in peace, barefoot and wet without coming across a soul.

I live in America, in a large city. This pandemic has been terrifying. For all the reasons I loved living here before this started; they are now the reasons it is scary. I’ve lost everything I love about being here. I’ve never questioned my choices of city living. Without all the culture, education and entertainment options open. With my industry completely shut down and without work - there is no reason for me to be here. Take that all away and Covid times have got me thinking of buying a house in a small town in the middle of nowhere and starting over.

There is no escape from people. We are packed in too tightly. The sidewalks are too small for walks without bumping into someone. There is no way to control your neighbor and everyone deals with the fear and preparations of keeping safe differently. There is no space to breathe without someone walking through it. A large part of the population won’t wear masks.

You’ll learn as you read different perspectives, how different the experience is for each person living through this time in history.

That’s exactly why I am writing to you today. I want you to know what the journalists, governments and history books won’t tell you. What the social media feeds will fail to demonstrate. I want you to know how it feels to be here. Now, in this time. In hopes that this message in a bottle finds you in a better world.

In America, it’s a politically divisive time. While it’s worth mentioning that I am a feminist that believes in social justice and equality. I can tell you that the fall out from our politics has divided us sharply. The last big fight for equal rights is happening as we evolve and the disenfranchised voice is becoming louder. Still, it is not fast enough. In my lifetime I went from reading and watching mostly cis, white, heterosexual male stories to seeing America begin to more fully represent its peoples. There are more women in Congress now than there ever was. We have a shot at seeing a female president in my life time.

This is no where near the representation we’d like to see, but it's a start. This movement has unearthed the underbelly of racist, sexist, privileged people who are rising up in opposition. They require sharp education, myself included, at reconciling and acknowledging privilege to undo the hurt of our beginnings. These peoples think they are starting to be “oppressed,’ as they become the minority. But they use that word and don’t understand what it means. It’s a time of reckoning for our countries beginnings. Progress has been too slow for the mistakes we made directly keeping down slaves, indigenous peoples and immigrants that didn’t come from a white European country. Colonization and the effects thereof are everlasting. Even hundreds of years later.

That tension feeds our media. They, the media, stoke the fires into great sweeping rage and dissension for the price of advertising dollars. Social media has allowed one to curate information that suits a point of view. There is no longer debate. Academics are pitted against “common sense.” Pick a side and draw a line in the sand. Choose your battle ground.

This backdrop, is the stage to which this pandemic is played out in America. The division is not helpful when in crisis we need unity. Our Covid numbers continue to rise sharply. American capitalism fails when the lower class can’t or won’t work. So they are putting us back to work, knowing that we will be sacrificing lives.

This truth is sharply debated by many but I believe history will show it to be true. We know this virus will spread easily until we have a vaccine and yet we are sending people back to work with bandaids on gaping wounds. We are scared. We are fighting over why a person should wear a mask. We are uncertain of our futures and we are watching our structures crumble underneath us.

That said, it’s been a hundred years since the last pandemic swept the earth. Our advances have allowed us to work from home and digitally connect. Technology, I have no doubt saves many lives.

I wonder what will save your life in the next hundred years. Studying history, it seems we have a new virus or plague that rotates through the populations within that time. You’d think we would have been better prepared. It will come to light that our government knew this risk was imminent. Perhaps you are writing your report on that very thing. We knew. We did nothing. I wish I could report to you that we prepared all we could but it is not the truth. We chose to ignore that risk and carry on. Our experts have been warning us for years. I live in a time where we question our experts and don’t believe them. All that enlightenment and learning and still, our people fight science.  

Granted, planning for every scenario of apocalyptic doom would be impossible. But I believe us to be smart intelligent creatures capable of evolving ourselves and therefore think the greater of us. Most of us were busy building our lives distracted. We elected leaders to prepare and protect society. They did not. While blame is not useful to move forward. I hope that from where you sit, society feels more responsibility for each other. At this time in humanity, our populations are booming. Our “media,” only reports the bad stuff but the truth is we were, up until this point, living in the most peaceful time in human history. You wouldn’t know it by reading one of our newspapers. We haven’t evolved past our fascination with the darker parts of life on this rock. Blood, discord, disaster and fear sell advertising and products.

Even for all our faults, we are making progress as a species. Its a lovely optimism to adopt. But alas, I am also a realist. Our dark sides are ever present at work too.

The pandemic of 2020 has heightened our inequalities. They existed before this, but today they are even more present. In America, we are calling our essential workers “heroes.” In reality, they are only called that because we are sacrificing them to the virus for the “good of society.” Our food producers, housing and healthcare professions are under a great deal of strain.

Our meat production plants are currently struggling to operate as many factories and plants that have been in operation since this began are now having large parts of the population become sick. In America, our poverty stricken populations are often the ones on the front lines serving others and at the highest risk.

I can tell you that I feel powerless to stop this machine but I want to. I’d like to find ways to fight this injustice and demand better for our people. Before all this, I was lobbying for universal healthcare in our country and free college education for everyone. This pandemic has only confirmed the need to work together and provide for one another. Though we fight over what that looks like. I know in our hearts, we want to do better.

I’ve only spoken to three humans in person from a distance, once in 78 days. Everything else is digital. Currently, I have enough budget to have all my essentials delivered. That privilege affords me other luxuries too. I can control who I see and who I don’t. This control is something that I do not take for granted. Though quarantine is hard, I’m not forced to interact with others at the moment. I’ve adapted my work to this new reality and am working at every angle to keep dollars coming in the door.

Even so. Emotionally, we are a mess. It’s a wild ride of feelings from one moment to the next. The quiet safety of our homes lulls us into a dull reality. We limit our news. We limit reading about the virus. It has forced us to live more in the moment and focus on the tasks in front of us rather than too far ahead. With so much uncertainty, that has helped with the stress.

I recite these things to myself to soothe my weary soul: We are smart. We are capable. We have survived this before. We can solve our own issues. We can do better. We will do better. I am smart. I am capable. I have survived hard times. I can solve my own issues. I can do better. I will do better. It is my daily prayer. It doesn’t always help.

I wonder what life is like for others as I stare out my window every day. I miss the outside and bird watch more than I ever have. Digital life is helpful for survival but often feels empty. As excited as I get for interaction, I often close the laptop after a meeting and feel sad. This reality has me questioning everything.

I hope from your position in the future, we figured this out. That my faith is humans has merit. For now, it all feels so uncertain. The numbers are still climbing. While we have people recovering there are many that are suffering terribly.

I don’t understand why our country isn’t in mourning. Perhaps the numbers are too big to fathom. I cry almost every day reading the death tolls. The news hurts. I mourn each addition without knowing them but only for the few seconds I can allow before dusting myself off and getting back to my own work. I worry about the stacking of issues we’ve ignored as climate change heats us up. In a pandemic the natural disasters make life even harder and we are seeing that play out already. Floods, tornados, fires, storms and drought all adding up to challenge our lives. We too chose to ignore them.

I vote for reform on climate change at every chance I get. I’d like you to know that many of us are trying. We also know it’s a problem and that if we don’t invest in the future of our planet, that it will become your problem too. This issue hasn’t hit its match point. Too many people are still worried about day to day living. That keeps us from being able to plan ahead. A theme of our demise. 

It’s the privileged who have the time and resources to work on prevention. These are the hearts and minds we need to work on changing. They are the hardest to change. Once a person has more than they need, I think the fear of loosing it forces them to ignore others. At least, that is how I summarize the issue.

Myself, I came from humble roots and spent many of my formative years in poverty. I understand what it means to have nothing. I also have the peace of knowing that even in my poverty, I had happiness. Perhaps this has kept me sane during the pandemic. Knowing I can survive.

As the summer heats us up in America, I worry what lies ahead. We are itching for a release and I fear Covid will spread faster come fall. I write to you in hope. That you are reading this from a place that is safe. Where we survived and we did it with less loss than the previous pandemic.

What follows will be a collection of letters. Stories. Tales from the times. It is all the more important to make sure that the voice of our past is human. In my time, the text books didn’t teach that. We send you this time capsule. Please learn what we didn’t. I trust you will.

[lettersfromthepandemic]

Twelve days ago I spent an afternoon with my favorite person in the world face to face, or rather mask to mask. I was in a quiet park in one of my favorite places in the US, a trip made possible by access to  vaccinated earlier this year. 

I spent much of that trip alone, exhibiting the same behaviors I’ve had for the last 14 months: staying home, masked even when it wasn’t required of me and no one was around, acutely aware of the effect my actions had on others everywhere I went when I did step out. 

Meeting up with my favorite person was the first time I experienced a genuine sense of safety and happiness in a year and a half. Between frequent silences we joked about awkwardly about recalibrating socially as society revitalizes. We shared what reliefs we are beginning to experience and what ways we are reluctant to confidently move forward. 

I look forward to next time, when perhaps we will feel brave enough to show our full faces to each other, to let our laughter fill the air, to witness each other’s smiles. Maybe we’ll even share a hug. As two fully vaccinated people outdoors with plenty of space, according to the  guidelines we could have, but there’s what we’re permitted to do and what we’re ready to do...

I am not ready to abandon the behaviors that helped my neighbors stay alive and safe, those near and across the globe. I’m slow to release the habits of my hyper vigilance. The world is still healing and the pandemic is still happening. That surreal experience of feeling truly safe and happy in someone else's company…I want the most vulnerable to have access to that. More than that, I want them to have access to surviving the pandemic and the recovery. We are not yet out of the woods.

[lettersfromthepandemic]

Dear writers and readers,

It has been a year since Covid-19 turned our lives upside down. What a year it has been. I set out with a goal of collecting and curating stories to capture and preserve this moment. The submissions we have received are beautiful, vulnerable and heartfelt. I enjoy seeing what comes in. 

That said, I’ve uncovered the difficulty of putting pen to paper in this moment. We have a lot of readers but not enough writers. As I talk to people who have expressed feeling guilty for committing to create something for this project but found themselves stuck - I realize how deep we are still in it. The experiences we are having; are enormous. I want to honor that. 

Thinking of the anniversary of entering lock-down myself in March, I am feeling the heaviness of where we are, how far we have to go and what I’ve learned along the way. I am frustrated with collective cooperation, tired of fighting for others to care about their neighbors and anxious for what comes after this. 

I have joked that I am not excited to experience the collective explosion of energy after this is all over. But I mean that. I keep thinking about people climbing Everest. They say that the hardest part of the climb is after reaching the summit. It’s on the way down. I have an inkling that we are all hunkered down to “make it,” to the “return to normal,” but are not planning for the integration of what we learned while we are here now. Holding on to all our emotions to “get through,” and once we reach safety the emotional explosion will happen. I have heard of friends breaking down after they have received the vaccine. Exclaiming that they didn’t realize how deeply they have been living in fear. That really struck me. 

Part of doing this project was to allow myself the space to write, feel and process this experience. To open up the space for others to do the same. The response has been wonderful and yet gathering letters is hard work. I think we are all here in this space. Juggling our worlds, holding it together, finding the joy while working through the upset. 

I have enjoyed slowing down. I have enjoyed unplugging from the grind. I have learned a lot from the interruption. I have spent the most time with my husband this year, then I have all of our marriage. We have grown by leaps and bounds because of it. I want to see the lessons integrated as we emerge from this virus and I fear that society will forget. I am worried we will forget that we are all connected, that my action or inaction effects others. That our society is built to support businesses and the wealthy few, not the collective people. 

At the same time. I am aware that the fear I have been working through is ever present in my body and I have learned to adapt to it. With the vaccine light at the end of the very long tunnel. I wonder how I will come down from this mountain and am doing the inner work to prepare for how I want to emerge from this. 

That’s where I am now. Submissions are still open and will stay open. I invite you to join the 26 people who have submitted. To dive into this space with me and make the time for yourself to write and create. We publish everything and perfection is not required. 

[lettersfromthepandemic]

Letter Twenty: Is there even a pandemic?

It’s the ninth month of March in 2020. Election jitters abound. Social Media plastered with BBQs, restaurant nights out, birthday parties and travel of others. We’ve been limiting anything indoors but seeing others doing things we were warned not to do: Is there even a pandemic?

This from the same social media that brings conspiracy theories, promotes hate bots from other countries sewing discord and TikTok 5D ascension instructions for the starseeds.

I don’t know what to think anymore.

The 234,000 that have died in my country are barely a footnote. The 100,000 cases in a single day eclipsed by the election. While Europe announces 3-4 week lockdowns to save the holidays - Americans give zero fucks anymore. I don’t know anyone in my first hand circle that is sick but my “know someone who knows someone,” group is starting to show signs of Covid-19 and deaths. 

It feels like it’s getting closer.

I count all my interactions with others in two week increments. I breathe a sigh every time it passes and I am not sick. Hoping that means we are doing it right, but it’s hard to know if it’s time to relax some things. We are no longer washing our groceries, we can take walks without anxiety, travel with precautions no longer feels like a chore. But still not comfortable in crowds or indoors.

Still, I get so angry to see others disregarding the rules. Without clear data on what is actually safe, I feel frozen to make decisions. Soothing anxiety is a full time job. I’ve decided to listen to the doctors and nurses and forget the politicians. I only want to know what to do from the people who are fighting this disease. 

Winter scares me.

This whole thing has brought out my relationship to my own fear and needing to control my environment for safety. The historic pains of my poverty still showing their scars even though I am safe and cared for despite these challenges. Interesting that it never goes away.

[lettersfromthepandemic]

Letter Nineteen: Dear Future Generations - October 29th 2020

Dear future generations, It’s six months since I last wrote you. In that time, 44 million cases have spread the world. In the US alone 500,000 new cases just last week. The news of over one million deaths spread with a whimper. I am not the same person I was when this started. 

I have done all I can to follow the advice of the WHO. Mask wearing, distancing and no one inside our home that doesn’t live there. To be honest, I don’t dislike the space to be myself outside the pressures of society. While I miss friends, movies and concerts - the release from the grind I was in previously has been rewarding. A gift.

That gift has not been without a cost. As our city is closing restaurants, bars and limiting events for a second time. I fear the next round of closures to small businesses. While I agree that indoor’s without masks is dangerous and closing spaces that pose risks is right, there has been no financial support for those closed spaces since July. I fear for my small business friends. I’ve been quietly sending cash to friends who are out of work, what little I can send, without saying anything. Hoping that it would help among the darkness. Unemployment benefits are 168.00 per week. I don’t know any one with a family that can live on that.

The racial unrest pulses underneath everything. Another man was killed by police this week in Philadelphia, sparking more riots and protests in that city. Here, the neighborhoods hardest hit by Covid are those who have the least among us. Those neighborhoods kept small through decades of discrimination, redlining and racists practices.

In my city, there is no police reform. There have been protests everyday. Peaceful, beautiful outdoor gatherings where people have danced, read poetry and gathered to fight for change. They are not covered on the news. Only the riots. Because everyone wears masks, the spread from these events has been safe. It’s the events without mitigations that have spread the virus more fully.

The president had Covid and recovered, it has vilified his position that the pandemic is almost over. Scientists disagree. The drug he used and is claiming success with is not a cure but a bandaid to save lives. There are only 500,000 doses of that drug available. They will go to the privileged first. To them, it will feel like it’s almost over.

We have settled into our little routines and rituals at home. Setting boundaries with others has been difficult. Family in particular. This situation has forced me to examine how I concede my own boundaries when faced with conflict. I’ve had to learn the art of giving zero fucks.

It’s the first time in my life where I have been forced to defend my health in this way. Where the consequences of staying silent are greater than those of not speaking up. Also a privilege not lost of me. That has been both liberating and exhausting. It’s meant cutting people and events out of my life for safety and nursing my own hurts when bullied for being too strict.

All the while a large third wave is sweeping our country and our hospitals are crying out for the population to listen. This time, there is no campaign to “stay home, stay safe.” People are over it. They have accepted that they might die. The worst, is that acceptance will cause more pain for others. There is no national rally cry. For those like myself, who are cautious - it’s easy to feel gaslighted into lowering standards to peer pressure.

We are fortunate, and have not lost anyone due to the disease but as I study past pandemics. I know that we are in for a long journey. 2021 will be lost to limbo as well. In 1918, it took five years for the virus to run through the population. It wiped out millions before it was over. I think we may be on target for the same. So I am preparing myself to be in Covid purgatory till 2025.

As we prepare for winter, we have purchased a treadmill and begun thinking about how to keep ourselves sane. We’ve bought snow suits to be able to visit friends outside without freezing. My pandemic puppy sits at my feet. She’s certainly kept our minds healthy. I’ll likely start baking bread as it gets colder, I think with a laugh. This evening we are doing a drive through haunted house experience. Because fun and silliness is what gets us through. As the holidays loom, scientists and doctors are warning us that we should not host large gatherings. I can’t see the majority of Americans behaving, so it’s likely by February we will have another spike. 

Living like this is hard but it’s crazy to me that more and more people are willing to roll the dice. Perhaps I will survive the virus, but I could spread it to those who won’t. That simple fact is what keeps me cautious. I care. I remind myself of that while I see friends getting on airplanes and flying away for vacations - to the three countries our passport works in - dining inside at restaurants, hosting parties, working events that have maxed restrictions, kids playing sports with no masks and family making fun of me for wearing a mask at my grandmothers funeral.

It’s hard work to care. When others won’t. It’s hard work not to judge others either. I know there are people like me out there. I think the loudest are those throwing caution to the wind, feeling confident they are making the right decision. I know real life is more nuanced in decision making. I take comfort form my doctor and nurse friends who tell me that as long as I use my PPE properly, wash my hands and keep my distance - I will be safer.

And so winter begins. I continue to live in these strange times and pray to not loose loved ones.

To those reading this in the future, looking for answers if you are experiencing the next 100 year virus. I can tell you that life in this space is all about expressing ones feelings and learning to find joy in the smallest places. In the warm furry baby laying over my feet as I type. The candle filling my space with warmth. The comfort in virtual coffee with a friend. A walk in the park. In the tears over the death counts every day. In the fear and anger that swells me a write, dance and paint. In finding small freedoms and spaces to breathe deep, fresh air. In laughter. I fear we are doomed to repeat history over and over until we decide to behave differently. But if you are in a time where there is no global unity and it’s every person for yourself, like it is for me now, know you can find joy. Even when the world is falling apart around you.

[lettersfromthepandemic]

Letter Eighteen: I have been sick since March.

It’s now October. The doctors are tired of me. The brain fog is deep, I am having a hard time typing this. I got Covid after vacationing in Florida. I was one of the “it’ll be fine,” spring breakers that thought my young body would save me. It didn’t. 

  I’ll be paying the price for years to come as a “long hauler.” At 25, I can no longer walk without a cane. Some days, I can’t think. Others I can’t breathe. My body aches, like I have never ached before. I don’t feel like myself anymore. Before this, I was never sick. 

  I gave it to my roommates when I came home. They gave it to their family and a grandma passed away because of it. They had to say goodbye over FaceTime. I’ll never forgive myself. 

  Winter is here and I am scared for the country. You don’t want this. Wear a mask. Don’t do your big indoor family gathering. It’s not worth your lives or worse - it’s not worth becoming the zombie I am. 

  I am the statistic that says “recovered.” But I am far from it. I have no answers. I have no treatment. There is no reporting or numbers that represent my experience. I am a lost Covid soul. Stuck in recovered purgatory.

I’ve been sick since March.  

- Anonymous, male USA 25 years old  

[lettersfromthepandemic]

Letter Sixteen: The things we sacrificed; the things we gained.

As months have passed and the reality of this pandemic stretches in time, it has become clear to me that time is our most valuable currency.

With it, we are sacrificing a great amount to save lives.

For those of us following the rules, we have missed funerals, birthdays and graduations. We have given up careers and businesses, vacations and dreams. We have left jobs that put our lives at risk and risked our lives for jobs that help others at risk.

A great cost to as those who have been forced to delay fertility treatments, surgeries and life saving cancer services. Our aging parents and grandparents are lonely and aching for hug.

For those of us doing our part to lessen the burden of lives lost, we will never know how many we actually saved. For Americans, I think this concept is harder. We like to win and see how much we are winning.

On the flip, the things we gained were also counted in time. 

For those that could transition to working from home, we got back time. Something I think we may fight harder to keep.

We learned how to hold boundaries. Between families that would not obey the rules and those who did. We learned how to fight for what we valued and we're reminded that our lives are not about how much we “do," but our being. We learned how much we need each other to live, that we are connected. 

We learned the value of radically accessible healthcare, living wages and the importance of childcare and teachers. As the virus brought us to a grinding halt and asked us to surrender to the hard sacrifices, it also gave us lessons. It is forcing us to reconcile what type of humans we want to be on this earth going forward. That in shedding some of our weight, we gain a lightness of perspective.

Quantifying loss in this pandemic would be nearly impossible, but I think we must try. We must try to feel it fully to do better next time. To honor our sacrifices and celebrate the things we gained.

[lettersfromthepandemic]

Letter Fourteen: Ghosts

In the first few weeks after the lockdown, Chicago was like a ghost town. 

Not in the way we think of abandoned cities, with boarded up windows and torn concrete slabs, but silent, quiet, and still.  

I had taken a job delivering produce, and in the first few weeks I could still see my breath outside, leaving like a ghost and floating through the empty air towards the tops of the residential buildings. Buildings I had always passed by with scattered lights making patterns in the windows at various times throughout the day, now made glowing towers in the early evening as more and more people stayed indoors.   

The streets were barren, I had never traveled from one end of the city to the other so quickly at these hours.   The first few weeks I drove a van that didn’t have a radio that worked, so I would just listen to the soundscape of an empty city punctuated occasionally by one or two other vehicles and the constant droning of ambulance sirens.

In our orange safety vests and masks, those of us who traveled in the outer world would give each other knowing silent looks. There was never anything to say, we were just the ones who traveled between buildings, between neighborhoods of this ghost town leaving boxes for the people who stayed inside.  We’d give a head nod to each other and sometimes speak a few words to give advice for a tricky delivery even if the other delivery person was from a different company.  

The only people I ever really spoke to in the ghost town were the doormen of the downtown buildings.  We’d check in on each other every week, they’d ask about the outside world, and I’d ask if they were safe in the building.  In one building the residents left supplies for the delivery people that the doorman handed out: toilet paper, hand sanitizer, etc.  These were the survival supplies and contraband currencies of the ghost town.

One night I had to pass McCormick Place several times.  In the early days of the pandemic they were converting the giant convention hall into a massive hospital, and in the silent van ride I watched the hulking structure peer over the ramps in front of the streetlights casting an eerie shadow onto Lake Shore Drive.  I was struck by how many people might be housed there soon.   Another night I delivered to the apartment of a nurse who was working on a Covid floor.  My boss had sent along an extra bag of food for her and wrote “Thank you for all you are doing on the front lines” on the bag.  I usually never interacted with or saw the customers, I would leave the delivery, text the customer, and leave.  But on this night as I was starting up the van to leave I saw the nurse come out of the three-flat she lived in to pick up the delivery from the front stoop.  As I began to pull away I saw her on the barren step, only illuminated by the streetlamp.  She picked up the bag, read the note and burst into tears.  The sound of her crying the only other sound that filled the cold dark air besides my van guiltily leaving this private moment of grief and exhaustion and frustration and whatever else only someone who works on a Covid floor of a hospital would know.

Now it’s several months later, and as the people start to come out of their homes again, I feel like the ghost in this town. 

I move through streets that are now filled with people who don’t seem to notice me anymore as they jog next to me, or crowd the sidewalks not wearing masks while I stay anonymous behind mine. I feel like a relic from another time.  Not the old days of the old world from the beginning of the year, but the in-between looking-glass world of the early days of the pandemic when no one saw each other and when there was a certain kindness extended between people.  Now I have a radio that works but I also hear angry horns when someone doesn’t like the way I’ve double-parked.  McCormick Place is no longer being used as a hospital, and I’m able to think about that as I sit stuck in traffic outside of it.  

The ambulance sirens have already blended into the soundscape of summer: cicadas, the subwoofer in the car next to me, and the constant roar of fireworks. The buildings no longer solidly glow, the old patterns of random lights through the windows have returned. I know this is because more people are going outdoors or back to their jobs. I also know that some people who were alive in March when I started this aren’t here anymore.  

For a week when there’s a curfew in the city and the downtown bridges have gone up we’re told we’re “essential workers” and can show our papers to move through the checkpoints, or at least the boxes of vegetables in our vans.  Once a week I leave a box on the stoop where the nurse lives.  The once barren step is full of summer plants and flowers but also a small sign that a neighbor must’ve made indicating that a health care hero lives there. I always make the drop quickly and leave right away, moving like ghosts through a world slightly askew.

[lettersfromthepandemic]

Letter Thirteen: We buried her in the garden.

April 17th was the date we purchased this land and April 17th 2020 was the day she died. We buried her on that same purchased land, as if it was meant to be. 

Miele was part Lab and part Redbone Coonhound. She ruled the household and loved to lie in the sun and eat fruit. She traveled cross-country with us, along with our other dog at the time, Lucie, in a 2007 Buick in 2014: from East Hampton, NY to Vashon Island, WA. She was super-sweet but very bossy. Her stomach clock never failed; when she was hungry she demanded to be fed. She would stare you down and whimper until she got what she wanted. 

On April 17th the US added 27,000 cases of Covid to it's overall tally. The news headlines all discussed when we would be “opening back up.” We were just about to start our pandemic Victory Garden when we lost her to old age. So, we buried her in the garden because she loved to eat fruits and vegetables right off the vine and dig holes in the earth and lay in them. We wrapped her in her favorite blanket to bury her. 

We felt fortunate that we had her with us as long as we did, as she developed arthritis almost a year before she died. On July 17, the 3-month anniversary of her death, we had a short ceremony where I read the poem “ Taking My Old Dog Out to Pee Before Bed ,” by Ellen Bass and the US added 67,000 new cases to it's tally. Our remaining dog, Ori (short for orecchiette - he has little ears) misses her but his personality is starting to shine through now that he's a single dog.

^ Miele in the garden

[lettersfromthepandemic]

Letter Eleven; It’s only been 6 months. July, 13, 2020

Dear Future Generations,

I’ve been asked to write you a letter to give my account of life during the year 2020. I’ve spent a month trying to write these letters to you, unsure of where to begin and end. The first half of this year has been so tumultuous it’s hard to accept that it’s only been 6 months. A letter that was started assuming that we would see an end to this pandemic before the year is over, now feels overly optimistic. This may well drag on into next year—the year after that? I can’t even begin to imagine what you be told about this moment in history. There isn’t much that people can agree on these days, but the one thing that most can at least agree on is that good or bad history is being made. Buckle up kiddos, this is a long one.

The months in the “before-time”

COVID-19 January: 9,846 cases 213 deaths

When society counted down to midnight on New Years Eve, everyone was celebrating the beginning of a new decade. There’s always an unspoken amount of hope that lines the beginning of new milestones. It’s why new years resolutions, and birthday celebrations have always been such a staple of the human existence. By celebrating the passing of time, we’re also looking forward to the promise of what the future brings. The past ten years have been hard. Many of us were ready to wash our wounds of the past decade and move forward. I stood in a crowded concert hall with hundreds of other people. I ate, drank, danced and sang my way into the new year as I have many years past. I had my own list of hopes for the upcoming year. As I made my way home through the city that I’ve lived in my whole life, I too clung to the hope that the imaginary line we had just stepped over would, in fact, be the beginning of bigger and better things to come. I had no idea.

We are slowly beginning to learn the story we are now living through actually began in 2019. I, myself, had my own concerns following a smattering of news headlines about how particularly bad the flu season has been the past couple years. These headlines caught my attention because these strains of the flu had proven particularly deadly. I wondered how it could be possible, with all of our technology, that we haven’t gotten better at fighting off something as common as the flu. I worried about the vulnerable amongst my own social group. Cold and Flu season is a part of midwestern life when the weather turns frigid. We do our best to practice healthy habits to stave off infection. We get bombarded with yearly reminders to get a flu vaccine. Our prime time TV is littered with commercials in which gross blobs of talking snot are fought off by cold medicines promising miracles. It’s our modern day snake oil salesmen brought into our living rooms nightly.  After making it through most of this season with everyone I knew unscathed, there started to be rumors and rumblings of something else happening. Something more. But it was somewhere else. Far away. So it didn’t concern us. It was the problem of foreign people in foreign places. Why should we worry?

As of right now it is widely accepted that the COVID-19 outbreak originated in China. What is not agreed upon is exactly when, where or how it began to infect people. According to the official WHO timeline China began to document clusters of Pneumonia in December 2019. By January it was then identified that those clusters were actually a new coronavirus - what we now know as COVID-19. I remember talking to family members about the images we were seeing on the news coming from China. Doctors and nurses in hazmat suits tending to patients. Other people in hazmat gear spraying down streets and buildings with disinfectants. It was something out of an apocalyptic movie. But it was still all the way over there. Across the big ocean. Far away.

Before the disease had been publicly confirmed of spreading outside China — we were already pointing fingers and placing blame. In what began as an effort to explain where it came from, people began to pick apart the customs of those that lived on the other side of the world. We blamed the population density of their cities. We reacted in disgust at their cultural practice of buying live animals for food at street markets. We spoke about the people as if they were dirty, barbaric, uneducated and superstitious people who held onto old world beliefs. We painted the entire country as the proverbial leper that we wanted to cast out of society. Political leaders insisted on referring to the disease as the Wuhan virus in order to make no mistake who was at fault for the outbreak. Wuhan, China.

For me it was infuriating how quickly a human crisis became a political agenda. Prior to the outbreak our country’s relationship with China was on rocky ground at best. American’s distaste for Chinese politics was a hot topic. Our President had been waging a trade war on China for the better part of a year. We were told they were taking advantage of our country. We were told they were stealing our jobs. Most importantly we were told that they couldn’t be trusted. In true American fashion, the virus outbreak was an opportunity to further attack and humiliate our adversary. So while the world watched in fear as hospitals became overwhelmed and people died by the dozens, the narrative here removed the human element from the story. We didn’t respond with concern. We stated numbers and statistics. We accused and criticized. Socially, we people poked fun —calling the virus the “Kung-Flu”. We didn’t look to see the faces of the people that were living through a nightmare. After all it was the problem of foreign people in foreign places. Why should we worry?

By the end of January the virus had been confirmed to have made it’s way to the United States. The city of Wuhan in China was under strict government mandated quarantine. We continued to watch on our televisions and think to ourselves how we’ll never let it get as bad as it was “over there”. That denial even existed within the White House amongst the people who should have been preparing our country for worse case scenario. They simply weren’t. I wish I could offer you a good explanation as to why. I honestly don’t know. From my point of view, it appeared to be simply American arrogance that allowed our leaders to think that our country would be safe, that we were somehow better than those foreigners from across the ocean. They failed to see that the virus doesn’t care if you’re Chinese or American. At the end of the day the virus infects human beings. In spite of how different we may all seem…we are all people just the same.

COVID-19 February: 75, 287 cases 2,012 deaths

In February I went to have dinner with a group of friends in China Town. It was eerily empty. I saw people wearing medical masks in the streets, something up until this point I never really experienced in this country. Many of the restaurants were closing early for a Friday night. It didn’t occur to me until after we parked our car that people were afraid to go there, thinking that they would catch the virus from the Chinese Americans that frequented the area. It made me sad. Not long after I began to hear in the news about Asian Americans being the victims of hate crimes. In one case, a man stabbed a woman and her two children in a Sam’s Club while screaming that they should go back to their country. They were all born here. He said he did it because he thought they were Chinese and didn’t want them to spread the virus. This is just one example of the type of fear and hatred that was born out of our 24 hour a day news coverage - it perfectly illustrates the dangerous side effects of the narratives we chose to push and the words we choose to say publicly.

The following weeks can only be described as chaos. Nations began closing their borders to outsiders. Flights were getting canceled at rapid pace. People were getting stranded in countries away from their own. Cruise ships were being denied access to ports and were becoming hot beds of infection. Xenophobia was being excused if not encouraged as no one wanted their country to be responsible for increasing the spread. Governments were sending rescue planes to bring people home and then quarantining those people on military bases and in hotels. It was on March 11th that the World Health Organization formally categorized COVID-19 as a pandemic. I wish I could tell you exactly everything that happened between January and March. Truthfully, so much happened that it’s hard for me to keep it all straight. What I can say is the situation escalated very quickly.

Clorox Wipes, Hand Sanitizer and Toilet Paper - Oh My!

COVID-19 March: 175,282 cases 7,399 deaths

By the time March was around the corner, many people had a strong hunch that we would start to see disruptions to our every day lives. No one was quite sure what that would look like for Americans. We certainly didn’t think that we would be under a strict quarantine like what we were seeing happen in other countries. None the less, that seed of fear had been planted and so Americans did what we do best —we went shopping!

It started off slowly with people buying up cleaning supplies and hand sanitizer. It was an honest response to the fear of a virus, and I can’t say it was entirely unreasonable. I personally took stock of what I had in the house and felt that I had more than enough to get by. The talking heads on the news encouraged people to make sure they were well stocked in home essentials. Soon enough, whenever you’d go to the store there were no cleaning supplies. Gone were the days when small pocket sized bottles of hand sanitizer could be found in almost every check out lane. The shelves that typically housed the Clorox wipes and lysol spray were bare and adorned with signs from store management apologizing for the low stock “due to high demand”.

The most talked about phenom of those early days is still one that I can’t comprehend. People went out in droves, they stood in long lines, they got into fights, they trampled one another all so that they could stockpile and hoard…toilet paper. The paper good aisles at big box stores appeared as though they had been ransacked. The prices of toilet paper skyrocketed online. People were posting packages of toilet paper on E-bay for 3x what it should cost. It was the butt of the joke for every late night talk show, and the subject of a million memes on social media. I’m not sure what it says about Americans that one of our biggest fears during a global crisis is not having enough TP to wipe our rear ends with.

I did my best to do a reasonable amount of shopping for whatever “just in-case” scenario might happen. I was starting to believe with every day that passed, we were heading closer to a situation in which we would probably need supplies to stay at home for a while. I made a couple of trips to the store. In one such trip I was standing in line behind a woman who had grabbed one of EVERY kind of over the counter medicine the store had to offer. I giggled to myself as I wondered how useful 4 different kinds of laxatives would be against COVID. At the grocery store people were swarming the fresh meat section and stalking the store clerks to find out when they would be stocking more. I shrugged my shoulders and moved along to buy canned beans - I had been a vegetarian for 5 years, a meat shortage was the least of my concerns.

I had heard the term “shelter in place” thrown around a few times, and hearing it kind of scared me. When I think of taking shelter I think of going to the basement because a tornado is coming, or heading into a bunker because of a bomb. I didn’t know what sheltering from a virus would be like. My brain pictured a scene from a TV show in which men in dark clothing and gas masks drove giant trucks down quiet suburban streets spraying radioactive looking green fog. Suburbanites peered through their windows terrified that they were being poisoned. I wondered if that was the dystopian future we were headed for. I shook off the nightmarish visions that had been floating around my head only to then think that reality might not be much better. The world was going to shit, and the new currency was toilet paper.

COVID Confusion

One of the hardest things for me to personally navigate during the pandemic has been the misinformation, and the blatant lies told and the disagreements this shoddy stream of information has fostered. I’ve done my best to fact check the information I’ve included in these letters because I even doubt myself and the information I believe to be true. That’s how confusing this has all been.

After the genetic sequence of the virus was determined by scientists in China, scientists from all over the world began to study it. At this point we weren’t even sure what kind of disease it was. Even now there is still some debate about if it is a respiratory virus, or possibly a blood vessel virus or maybe both. One of the earliest objectives was to discover how the virus spreads. Is it airborne? Does it live on surfaces? Does it survive in bodily fluids? These questions were then answered, and then sometimes re-answered. Information was being shared before it could be 100% confirmed. And then mis-information was having to be redacted, but the damage had already been done. There was such a frenzy to feel like we were going to beat this thing quickly that the typical scientific process, which is inherently slow, was being tossed aside and anyone who seemed even slightly qualified to speak on the matter was given a platform to share their opinions, findings and speculative thoughts.

-We were first told that the virus could live on surfaces for over 14 days. This lead to people not wanting to accept their mail, leaving their shoes outside their homes and refusing to handle cash amongst many other things.

-We were told to sanitize everything that came into our homes, including our groceries. There were youtube videos and TV segments about the most appropriate ways to sanitize everything from your countertops down to your car keys. The CDC now states that the virus can survive on certain surfaces up to 3 days, a far cry from the terrifying two weeks they were shouting about before.  

-There were some reports of people catching the virus from their dog. This then caused people to abandon pets en-masse at shelters that were already stretched too thin. As a result new outlets ran stories saying it was highly unlikely for a pet to transfer the virus to a person, however I’m not sure if this was ever proven or not.

-They said that children were not at risk of getting infected. As of this writing, THOUSANDS of children have been diagnosed with COVID-19. Fatalities have been low, but children have died as a result of this virus. In my opinion, one child fatality is one too many.

The list of conflicting information feels endless. The back and forth created a lot of confusion and fear as to what the best safety practices were. A lot of people experienced anxiety as a result. Others simply felt it was easier to give up on what seemed like a losing battle. The “powers that be” were just as scared and confused as we were. They stirred the pot so strongly that it created a roaring ocean.

We were instructed to wash our hands and not touch our faces ad-nauseam. We were told that average citizens who were healthy did not need to wear masks. This would be one of the most damning lies told early on. News outlets and politicians repeated this misinformation over and over again. The truth was that our government had no where near the supply that they needed to ensure that all hospital workers could have the protection they would need to treat the number of patients they were anticipating. They had already seen how people were hoarding other household supplies, and knew it was only a matter of time before the same happened with items crucial to our healthcare workers. So they lied, and told us that washing our hands would be enough. This month long crusade to dissuade people from buying PPE would then become a sticking point for others later on, but we’re not there yet. We still have a LONG way to go.

A Broken System

We’ve been arguing about healthcare in this country for a long time. I have to be honest. Our healthcare system is broken. The only thing it is truly good at is bankrupting the poor and helping greedy corporations make more money. We are the only developed nation to not have some form of universal health care. THE ONLY ONE. How the hell did we let that happen? I’m not arguing that other countries are perfect. But that’s the beauty of our situation- we have so many examples to learn from. We can ask tough questions, and then to come up with our own plan that works for us as a nation. Instead we’re too busy living in fear that taking care of our people would tear at the fabric that built “the American way”. That’s a bunch of bullshit and we’re now reaping what we’ve sowed.

Here’s the real kick in the pants - we’re in the middle of a pandemic that is not only putting our health at risk, but it’s also affecting our economy. Unemployment is at an all time high. More people are getting laid off and furloughed every day. On top of that, prior to this economic down turn, a vast majority of people in this country were part time workers whose companies denied them full time hours in order to avoid providing benefits. Many of the people who are not eligible for workplace healthcare simply cannot afford to purchase their own plans. The point is: a person’s access to health care should NOT be tied to their employment status. Think about it, this virus has caused MILLIONS of people to lose their jobs due to no fault of their own and therefore their access to health care.  An already bad situation has been made devastating by how we’ve chosen to structure our health care.

Adding to the problem is the financial impact that this will have on those who get sick. The President said that private health insurance companies had agreed to waive all co-payments and extend insurance coverage for COVID treatments. That was a lie. He also stated over and over again that any person who wanted to get tested for the virus could. That was also a lie. There were not enough tests to go around. In truth, the Insurers agreed only to absorb the cost of coronavirus testing—waiving co-pays and deductibles for getting the test. A bill passed by Congress later mandated that COVID-19 testing be made free. The federal government has not required insurance companies to cover COVID treatments. The costs of other non-coronavirus testing or treatment incurred by patients who have COVID-19 aren’t waived either. We know that COVID is particularly brutal for people who have existing medical conditions. These people are very likely to end up with hospital bills in the tens of thousands if not millions. Mitigating the cost would require the cooperation of hospitals and insurers. Insurance companies have never been willing to cooperate or do anything in the best interest of a patient, they’ve always chosen profit over people.

Only in the past few weeks have testing sites been opened up to the general public. Early on when the president claimed that everyone could get tested, tests were only available to the elderly or people who had a doctor’s note because they were showing symptoms or had been directly exposed. There was so much confusion about how to get tested. There were insanely long lines that stretched down city streets of people sitting in their cars hoping to get tests. Many people were denied tests and turned away, thus increasing the possibility of those people infecting someone else. The tests were vastly ineffective in the beginning. There were many reports of people getting false positive results. At once point large batches of tests were mishandled and the wrong results were given to the wrong people. Our early numbers were also incredibly skewed because of lack of tests, and ineffective tests. In spite of those failings there were those who still wanted to use those early numbers as proof that the infection rate was low. It was an easy way to manipulate public opinion using real numbers as long as you were willing to omit the inconvenient truth that the data was incomplete because the method of collection was incompetent.

Perhaps watching these politics play out on the TV daily hurt so bad because of what my generation has already experienced in our adult lives. It’s no secret that my generation got fucked in the “living the American dream” department. I was in High School when September 11th happened. Our country then spent ungodly sums of money on a war that was never about what they told us it was. We took advantage of a tragedy and ushered in a generation of loss in more ways than one. Our country prioritized a war because it meant big profits for an elite few.

Then I graduated college in 2009. During the recession. There was no work. Those first few pivotal years out of college in which I should have been building a career were spend barely scraping by. Millions of people were like me, taking any job they could find. I got to use my fancy expensive college degree to work at Blockbuster, The Gap, and run Children’s birthday parties for $9.00 an hour while rent was $1,200 a month and my student loan payments were more than that of a car payment. I worked multiple jobs, I babysat on evenings and weekends. I forewent going out, wore clothes with holes in them, didn’t travel and lived off of canned and packaged food. I worked through holidays and missed family get togethers. I never went to the doctor for preventative health screenings, and had to “tough it out” every time I got sick. My peers and I daydreamed about getting married and having families just like our parents did, but the notion seemed idiotic when we couldn’t even dig $2.50 out of a change jar to get on the bus. Many of us still live with the wounds of that time. Many are still digging out from under student debt, still trying to save up enough to own a home or start that business or chase after a dream. A middle class life with a home, a functioning car and  a yearly vacation is a pipe dream for many people my age. And no - it’s not because of avocado toast brunches and Starbucks coffee. It’s because of the hand we were dealt when we came of age. It’s because of the broken systems we inherited that we now need to fix.

People might like to poke fun at Millennials and say that we’re an entitled, whiny, lazy generation looking for handouts. It couldn’t be farther from the truth. We’ve learned a thing or two from the bullshit we’ve lived through and we’ve worked our asses off to barely get by. Here we are, a little over ten years after the last economic crisis and we’re right in the middle of another crisis. Enough is enough with bad policies. Once again we are light years behind other developed nations that have mandatory sick leave policy, living minimum wage, guaranteed maternity leave, flexible work hours, childcare benefits, mental health initiatives and more. The current Pandemic proves why so much of this is important.

According to one survey, 69% of Americans said they had less than $1,000 in savings in 2019. Most Americans were one emergency away from wiping out their savings completely. The age old advice that you should have enough cash savings to sustain yourself for a few months in case of job loss or illness is not a realistic goal. For most U.S. workers, real wages have barely budged in decades. When you take into account inflation, the reality of what people are actually earning vs. what it costs to live is bleak at best. We now have policy makers issuing $1,200.00 COVID relief checks to individuals claiming that it should sustain them through 3 months of joblessness. The ultra wealthy in this country are so out of touch with the actual value of a dollar that they fail to realize that $1,200.00 doesn’t even cover the rent, let alone buy groceries or keep the lights on. If we want our economy to be robust we need to pay our people better. If more people had savings they could dip into right now, we might not have 22 million people clamoring for unemployment benefits while they wait to find out if they will still have a job when this is over.

The argument that we could bankrupt our country trying to restructure healthcare and taxes to favor individuals is a lazy argument at best. The US just gave a contractor with a history of GOP donations $569 million to build parts of the border wall. They decided not to use the money to produce more ventilators, or secure more protective gear for our health care workers. They didn’t divert that money to help cover the costs of treating the sick or to pay our furloughed doctors to come back to work. Instead our government thought now would be an appropriate time to spend money building a border wall. That GIANT sum of money only builds about 18 miles of wall. On average our government has paid $20 million dollars per mile to construct the wall (although for this segment we’re paying closer to $30 million). We have 1,954 miles of land that borders Mexico. At 20 million dollars per mile that’s $39,080,000,000.00 (thirty-nine billion eighty million). This is just one example of the many ways in which politicians have chosen to spend our tax money chasing personal agendas rather than investing in the things that really matter: education, infrastructure, healthcare and public services.

We were so ill prepared to handle this virus it would almost be laughable if it weren’t so sad. Experts both inside and outside the federal government have expressed their concerns many times in the past decade about the potential for a devastating global pandemic. We’ve had plenty of dress rehearsal situations. SARS, H1N1, Ebola. In spite of the fact that all of these diseases hardly impacted America- it revealed how greatly unprepared we were to handle a full scale pandemic. But nothing was done. We didn’t replenish supplies, we didn’t put systems in place, we didn’t secure funds, we didn’t come up with a unified plan. We stuck our heads in the sand and leader after leader kicked the can down the road for the next guy. When the dust settles from this disaster- if we don’t do anything to be better prepared for the future, we’re setting ourselves up for massive failure. Because it’s not a matter of IF this happens again, but when?  We have to do better than this. I hope we do better than this.

Shelter In Place

I know up until this point my letter has been quite impersonal. That is because up until this point in the sequence of events, it wasn’t personal. In February I began to work for a very small company in which I only come in contact with 3 other employees throughout my day. I had very little concern over exposure. Aside from watching the news or talking about the virus conversationally, my life was unchanged. That is, until March 21st. The governor of Illinois declared that we must shelter in place until April 7th. All non-essential businesses were to close. You were only to leave your house if you worked in an essential job, or had an essential errand to run such as grocery shopping. No gatherings of any kind were permitted. This, we were told, was what we had to do to save lives.

The concern with how rapidly the virus was spreading was largely in part due to how ill prepared our hospitals were to handle the huge influx of patients. We were told we needed to “flatten the curve”. A phrase that turned into somewhat of a battle cry to describe lessing the amount of new cases. Such that if you were to graph out the virus, the line would stop going up, and would simply sustain a straight trajectory or even better go down. This cry became even more important as we watched our government and hospitals scramble to acquire supplies that simply weren’t there. We heard doctors from other countries talk about hospitals being so over run that they had to make life or death choices about who they would treat and who they would not. Our nurses and doctors would post on social media and do interviews pleading with the public to not put them in a position in which they would have to do the same.

The day before Illinois stay home order went into effect my husband and I stood in our kitchen telling each other our “quarantine wish list”. I had been laughing at him pretty hard when he declared that he would use his extra time to learn Norwegian. I had told him I wanted to clean out closets and finish some digital photo albums I have been putting off for years (as of right now I have not completed a single one of those tasks). We talked about things around the house we could try to fix ourselves and how we could better prep for the projects we planned on completing once life went back to “normal”. I was naive to think that normal was anywhere near by. We were still in the cold and gloomy grasp of March which helped keep us content with quiet evenings at home. I’ve dealt with hardship and uncertainty before. It wasn’t that difficult for me to adjust to this new reality of sheltering in place. I think we settled in a lot easier than most people that we knew.

COVID-19 April: 2,248,329 cases 162,436 deaths

We were some of the lucky ones. I was furloughed from my job, but my husband was able to work from home. He is the primary earner for our family and was still getting paid, therefore, we weren’t worried about missing mortgage payments or not being able to afford groceries. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that we got to ride this out at home, safe, healthy and with our finances intact. My husband and I made a point to remind ourselves often of the gratitude that we felt. We were acutely aware that we were better off than a large portion of the population who were simply devastated. That’s not to say that this virus hasn’t affected me or that I wasn’t struggling. I just did not feel that I had the right to complain all things considered.

I had made the conscious choice to be as cheerful as possible about this insane thing we were experiencing. Even on social media I stuck to sharing live stream concert info, pretty landscape pictures, and cute animals. I knew that my family and friends were exhausted by the over abundance of bad news being broadcast 24 hours a day. I did not want to add any more weight to that burden. However, there were quite a few times where I’d retreat to my room and cry quietly while my husband rubbed my back. The first night we were officially placed on lock down— I woke up around 4am in a full blown panic attack. My husband had to hold me down while I sobbed hysterically because my fight or flight response was making me want to run circles around our bedroom. In his concern he asked if I needed an ambulance, which then set me into a completely different type of panic. In-between hyperventilating and crying I was able to say that there was no way in hell I was stepping foot into an emergency room. I can look back at it now and laugh, but at the time it was scary. I hadn’t realize how much I had taken all of the bad news to heart.

I quickly began to look for ways to make my days feel useful and important. Some days that meant cleaning the house furiously. Other days it meant visiting deceased family members in the cemetery and tending to their gravestones. I found a sense of purpose and peace in long walks alone. Even in the cold or the rain, it made sense to keep moving. The world was a sleeping giant and people were nothing more than eyes that would occasionally peer through window blinds. I walked my neighborhood daily acquainting myself with the houses, the flowers and the trees. There really is no way that I can think of to describe what that was like. A city that is normally boisterous and deafening was quiet and still. There were no children playing, no commuters commuting, the bars and restaurants were dark. Some days it felt like the world had ended and I didn’t get the memo. The only sign of life was the constant blaring of sirens from the ambulances that went to and from the hospital that is four blocks from my home. Each time, the sirens would make you stop in your tracks you wondered if there was a COVID patient inside.

Impatiently Waiting

One of the unspoken consequences of COVID is the effect it has had on people like me who need help from their doctors to start a family. Two years ago, in April 2018, I suffered a miscarriage at 12 weeks pregnant. Arguably one of the most devastating moments of my adult life. We didn’t tell many people because it’s one of those things...people just don’t know how to talk about it. Currently, the accepted statistics are that 1 in 3 pregnancies end in a miscarriage and 1 in 8 couples suffer from infertility. I would argue that those numbers are actually much higher, but the taboo nature of the topic makes it difficult to record with accuracy.

It took me almost a year to physically feel normal after my loss. It was a slow process that I found tedious and exhausting. Then, in Sept 2019, I suffered a second loss of what is commonly known as a chemical pregnancy. This term describes a pregnancy that is lost very early on. I think a part of me will always separate my life into the before and after. Before I was blissful about starting my family. Afterward, I will always be aware of how I’ve changed. It’s this ever present pain that makes me burst into tears in public when I hear a baby cry. It’s anger, and rage and grief that come and go in waves. I find it interesting that I have compartmentalized my mind into the before and after regarding my loss. That is what many people have done in regard to the virus outbreak. Many people will call the time before COVID as “the before-times”. No matter the trauma, we all seem to respond the same way. Whether it be a global pandemic or a deeply personal loss…we all feel the need to try and make sense of a situation. Even if there is no sense to be made, we are at least connected in the aspect of trying.

After it became glaringly obvious that we still needed help conceiving, we decided to start our fertility treatments in June 2020. It was a long wait, but I really needed the mental and emotional break. I took this time to really try and get my shit together— for possibly the first time in my adult life. Mentally I was in a really good place. I finally landed a job I loved, I had the space in my home for a family, my health was consistently good. It seemed that a little bit of the fog of my “life-after loss” started to lift. I was finally ready to move on. However, COVID had other ideas.

Once doctor’s offices and hospitals were mandated to suspend all unnecessary procedures, the fertility clinics had no choice but to shut their doors. All appointments for the next few months were canceled and were to be rescheduled at a later date. No one knew when that later date was going to be. No one was even able to make an educated guess as to how long we would have to wait. It was out of everyone’s control and there was no choice but to just….wait…

We’ve been trying to get pregnant for three years and waiting can be a torturous game. After getting word that the fertility clinics were closing, I sat at my computer with tears streaming down my face as I read about women who were half way through their IVF cycles and were unable to complete them. This meant they had used up their very expensive supply of drugs for nothing. They had no way of getting reimbursed for them either. I read other stories about women who only had one chance left because of their age, or a lack of healthy eggs or a lack of funds. They all ran into the hurdles of being somewhere in the process and then were suddenly forced to come to a screeching halt. The only comfort I had was that we hadn’t begun. I hadn’t wasted any of the precious fertility drugs that would eat away at our budget. I wasn’t close to aging out of treatment nor was I at a risk of running out of viable eggs. These small comforts were enough to keep me from falling apart, but they were just that— small comforts. In a big way my heart still worried and ached over the big question; when will it be safe to begin?

As of my writing this I still don’t have an answer. Doctors offices and hospitals have slowly started to reopen their doors for what they consider elective procedures. The fear that impedes me from rescheduling my appointment is the whispering that there will inevitably be a second wave of contagion coinciding with our usual cold and flu season. Many people believe that in the fall, unless a vaccine or cure is discovered, we will have to enter another period of sheltering in place. The stories of those women I read about are in the back of my mind like a cautionary tale. I do not want to start the process only to be forced to stop at a pivotal moment. What many people don’t realize is how long of a process IVF actually is. You don’t get to just walk in the door and a week or two later have the procedure. It’s weeks worth of tests, and meds to work up to the actual procedure. It all has to be perfectly timed and carefully orchestrated to have the best possibility of success. The success rate in the IVF world sucks—it’s less than 40%. Even if I were to begin now, I most likely wouldn’t be ready for the procedure until the fall. That timing couldn’t be worse.

I tried to keep my eyes on smaller prizes— small things that I can look forward to. But one by one those things went away. Concerts were canceled, vacations were called off, everything was shut down. The more time that went by the farther away we seemed to get from the end of COVID. Even as things have slowly started to reopen, I know it could be a game of one step forward and two steps back. It’s no longer a matter of pep-talking myself through the next few weeks. It’s allowing myself to accept that a whole year will be lost whether I like it or not. 2020 is not going to be the year that I thought it would be and I have to be OK with that.

We’ve all had a price to pay in COVID times. I think that the thing you’ve had to give up certainly dictates your perspective on the pandemic. So while socialites and suburban moms whined about not being able to go to brunch or get their hair cut, I cried about the extra room in our house that was meant to be a nursery. For me, this time has been an epic lesson in patience as I impatiently wait for the one thing I want most in the world.

Moving on to the “new normal”

COVID-19 May: 5,021,115 cases 342,311 deaths

I think everyone has been ready to go back to “normal” way before it was actually possible. Where I live, our original stay home order was extended from the two weeks that it was intended to be to an additional month. We were now going to be staying home til the end of May. I’m not going to lie, at this point it started to feel pretty helpless. The numbers at the hospitals were grim. Our situation acquiring supplies hadn’t improved. Health care workers were being asked to wash and reuse their protective gear - an idea that would have sounded like pure lunacy prior to the pandemic. But this is where we were at. We had to make the most of what we had to just keep trying to push ahead. What else could we do?

Because there was nothing to do and nowhere to go, the groceries stores were always packed. People shopped and filled up their carts day after day because it made them feel like they were doing something.

I didn’t want to be out there amongst the crowds, but when I had to, I would. I’d put on my mask, strap my hand sanitizer to my purse and would subconsciously pray that I’d see an empty parking lot when I’d pull into the store. As soon as I’d be forced to touch anything in a public place: a door handle, a shopping cart, a credit card machine, my hands physically felt dirty, as if I could actually feel the germs. Every chance I got, I would scrub my hands sometimes to the point of bloody knuckles. I know it was all in my head, but it felt real and washing my hands obsessively made me feel like I was doing something.

I got called back into work in early May- technically before the stay home order was lifted. We were able to create a schedule in which only one or two people were in the office at a time. I would go in to the office early in the morning and work alone for a few hours until the next person would come in. She would work in the back and we hardly saw each other except for perhaps shouting a question through a doorway every now and again. Those first few days back didn’t feel real. I commuted on an empty highway and practiced in my head how I would make my job sound essential if I got pulled over. I would sit in the parking lot of my office building and stare at the door making sure that I wouldn’t run into anyone on my way in. It was the same routine every morning - put on your mask, check no one was coming, sanitize your hands, run from your car into the office, close and lock the door behind you, wash your hands, sanitize the desk, the phone, the keyboard and mouse, take off your mask. After a day or two of this routine —when I realized that I wouldn’t be interacting with anyone, I was able to relax. I was actually grateful to be back at work. I enjoyed working in the quiet office. In spite of how strange everything seemed, at least it felt like a small step towards progress and I was OK with that.

I was hesitant to tell anyone that I had gone back to work. The social etiquette that has been created during this time has been weird to say the least. There are a lot of feelings of guilt every time you possibly bend a rule, or push a boundary. There’s guilt in those actions because you can be a carrier of the COVID-19 virus, but show no symptoms. For reasons that still baffle scientists, some people become deathly ill, some people, although infected, do not get sick at all, and others experience something in between. So even if you don’t feel sick, you can pass the virus on to a loved one and potentially be the reason they end up in the hospital. Because of this—there is a lot of self righteous judgement about how people have chosen to conduct themselves. No one wants to be the silent carrier that brings illness, but everyone is quick to point the finger at someone who they think might be putting them at risk. I didn’t want anyone to feel that I was making poor choices. I was being as careful as I could be while still living my life. I would hope that no one would judge me for that, but considering how sensitive everyone is right now…I just couldn’t be sure.

I have said many times that you could almost pin-point the exact moment when everyone started to give up. It was shortly before memorial day weekend. The weather was starting to get warmer and everyone was agitated and restless. I started to see more and more people gathering in back yards, and parks. More people going out to do things that were not essential. Traffic was getting heavier. People were breaking quarantine and posting on social media about the friends they saw or the people they allowed into their homes. Prior to this shift, everyone had been championing “flattening the curve” and “staying home saves lives” but after a while it seemed people were more willing to wave their white flags of defeat made of toilet paper and say “fuck it! I can’t do this anymore”. Earlier in the year, I’d go for my evening walks and wouldn’t see a soul. Now, I’d go for evening walks and have old women scoff at me and say I looked like a bank robber in my mask, and teenagers would fake cough in my direction and laugh loudly about how they gave me the virus. It was no longer cool to be cautious. I was no longer seen as being courteous to my fellow neighbors. I might as well been wearing a tin foil hat and ranting about aliens as crossed the street to avoid sharing a sidewalk with strangers. It felt awful to be trying so hard to do the right thing when everyone around you couldn’t have cared less.

This is also about the time in which people in other states started to show up at government buildings to protest the shutdown. They demanded to be allowed to get their hair cut, to be able to go to a tattoo parlor, to be allowed to get drinks at the bar. Some states caved and began opening up their businesses too soon (something they would pay for later in spikes in infection rates). Other states, like mine stayed the course. People were demanding their lives to go back to normal, consequences be damned. In truth, I don’t think things will ever go back to how they were before. How could they? This is one of those life changing events that influences policies to try to prevent it from happening again. Look at how much airport security changed post 9-11. Same idea, different type of catastrophe. I wish I could tell you what our new normal is going to look like, but we’re still in the thick of this thing so honestly, I don’t know.

The MOST Important Thing

COVID-19 May: 5,957,665 cases 367,405 deaths

On Memorial Day weekend, something unimaginable happened. George Floyd, a black man, was murdered by a white police officer during an arrest. The officer pinned George to the ground and kneeled on his neck for over 8 minutes. It played out in front of a group of onlookers who pleaded with the officer to stop and George himself cried out that he couldn’t breathe. There were multiple videos taken of the incident that proved that it was murder. However, the officers involved were not immediately disciplined or charged criminally for their appalling behavior. The videos taken spread on the internet like wildfire. It was an incident that illustrated the racism that exists in this country. It forced us to talk about something that’s happened too many times since the birth of this country — how people in positions of power abuse people of color. How police officers get away with murder because of a system that doesn’t care about black people. The lack of an appropriate response to George Floyd’s death set off protests across the country, and protests turned into riots.

COVID barely on their minds, people rushed out in numbers. In an expression of raw emotion, protestors burned down entire city blocks. In Minneapolis, where George Floyd was murdered, they burned down the police station amongst many other things. The rioting and looting lasted for days. In an effort to contain the unrest, curfews were issued and stores were closed. Business owners boarded up windows and stood vigil outside with their guns in hopes of protecting their property. Everyone stopped talking about COVID-19. There was something so much more important to talk about. What were we going to do about our racism problem in this country?

The first night that rioting broke out in the city, I as glued to my phone. I refreshed my twitter feed every five minutes to read the live coverage of what was happening. In the distance I heard sirens, helicopters and what sounded like explosions. I felt a lot of guilt for being home, safe in my bed. Should I have gone out there? Should I have been documenting this with my camera? I saw pictures on my feed of buildings downtown on fire. Police cars being smashed. I saw videos of children who showed up to protest with their parents being maced. Day after day, 2020 seemed hell bent on out-doing itself. It was the first time I had ever seen anything like that happen and it’s a weekend that I’m sure many of us will never forget.

After days of unrest, the officers were officially charged with the crimes they committed. As we swept up the glass and boarded up the broken windows—the rioting turned into marches, vigils and peaceful protests. However, the problem was far from solved and the debate continued to be on the lips of practically every person that lived in this country. Once again we were choosing sides. Racists were standing firm in their beliefs, while hoards of others were doing their best to humble themselves, acknowledge their privilege, educate themselves and become allies to the black community. For the first time that I can recall in my entire life people hit pause on their own dialogs to listen to the people of color in their lives—to let black people shout at the top of their lungs about the generations of abuse and hate they’ve been subjected to. It’s been an eye opening experience. Every time I think I finally begin to understand, I hear another story and realize that I have no fucking idea what it’s like.

For those who didn’t go out into the streets, there was activism happening on the internet. Places to donate money, places to get and share information, places to lift up black artists, black owned small businesses, and black organizations. It was a flood of activity in which people felt compelled to make a statement, make art, give opinions and have debates…just anything to feel like they were doing something.

What we all saw happen to George Floyd in that video is something you can’t un-see. It’s the type of thing that reaches inside and unsettles you at your core. What happened that day set off a shock wave and kindled the fires of a movement. It’s been 5 weeks since then, and it’s still on the lips of most people most days. The knee jerk passionate reactions may have died down, but the heart of it still remains. What are we going to do about our racism issue in this country?

Whatever answers we come up with will end up being the most important thing that will have happened this year. I wish that I had more to say on what should be done. I’ve been trying to wrap my head around the fact that I live in a country in which not all people are seen or respected the same. I live in a country in which white men feel they have every right to kneel on the necks of black men and take their lives. I live in a country in which people hate others because of their skin. I mean—FUCK, what do you even say about that?

Right now we’re seeing old confederate monuments being brought to the ground. States are changing their flags to rid them of associations with the confederate army. Companies are changing old racist branding that was once thought of as being innocent. Lots of small steps are being taken to create a more inclusive and sensitive world. However—the big stuff, the stuff that really matters. Those are the things that are still up in the air. The small things will only feel like consolation prizes if we don’t get the big stuff right. So now, as I wait for answers about when and how a seemingly unending pandemic will end, I also wait for answers about how we’re going to proceed when faced with a movement that should have happened decades ago. My typical inclination to search for a silver lining is being challenged heavily. It’s hard to see a silver lining when carrying the weight of such heavy things. 2020 is challenging the fuck out of us all and I’m not sure who we’ll be when we step out on the other side.

I’ve tried time and time again to think of an appropriate way to end this letter. There is none. There is still such a long way to go before we can look back on the pandemic as a thing of the past. I have no doubt that you’ll be reading more letters from me, and others like me, who are doing our best to make it through. If I’ve learned anything at all in my life, it’s that these big challenges are the things that mold us. These are the things that give us strength and perspective. We’re earning our strength in spades right now, and I hope that the perspective we gain from living through this will help create a better world for you in the future. 

COVID-19 To Date: 3,225,950 cases 566,355 deaths -Anonymous Writer / Photographer in the Southwest Suburbs of Chicago

[lettersfromthepandemic]

Letter Ten; Visual Maps. The emotional landscape of Covid19. Part One.

Visual mapping is a form of drawing that I use to aesthetically document moments. In these drawings and sculptures, I use visual language to document emotions felt at key moments at home during the Covid19 2020 Pandemic Quarantine. It works much like a journal, but instead of words, the visual language of line, shape, color, space, etc are used to convey the emotions and experiences. The rectangle is the boundaries of my house footprint. The placement of diagrams reflects the physical placement of the body during a specific moment.

There is a little history here to give this context. I’ve been working with my students in our class, "The Guerrilla Art Collective" at Curie HS on Chicago's SW side. Together with my colleague, Andres Hernandez, we worked with students to visually map our experiences during the Covid19 Pandemic. We actually started mapping our community before Covid19, but then we were concerned with issues of safety and freedom within the context of an unequal and disparate political/economic space. 

Now we are faced with a new world, a new way of living. We decided to use our mapping technique to capture our experiences facing this novel virus. What is like to be in our homes, to venture out into the world? What are our issues of safety, danger, freedom, and restriction now?

Intended to be an artistic way to capture data difficult to quantify, this process became a way of journaling for me in my own practice. I’ve continued to do the drawings as a way to see within and express the ineffable.

Artist: Valerie Xanos. StudioXanoi.com Social: @Nightbird888

[lettersfromthepandemic]

Letter Nine: Wake Up Amercia; July 9th 2020

I am 82 years old and have lived through some harrowing times. Born at the end of the Great Depression I got a view of what it was like to be really poor. People were desperate for work and many went hungry, standing in long soup lines.

Then came World War II, staring with the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Boys were drafted into the army and so many died. Everything was scarce. Families were issued “Ration Books.” You had to have a stamp for any item you wanted to buy.

We had no car, so we traded gas stamps for food stamps. We were trying to feed eight people. Back then people were very patriotic. There were no riots or demonstrations. Everyone just rolled up their sleeves and did what they could to help. All the men were missing so women took jobs for the first time that were considered for the men.

When I was about 8 years old, along came the Polio Epidemic. It was attacking children and there was no vaccine. Many died and many were deformed for life. I was not allowed to go anywhere, kind of like now, or play with friends.

Now, here we have Covid-19. I have been self isolating in my home for four months. The last time anyone was in my house was the first of March. I have followed all the rules:

Wearing my mask.

Keeping out of crowds.

Sanitizing everything that come into my house.

Everyone laughed at me!

I am so lucky to live in a rural area, a small town of 5,000. We had two cases in town. Both recovered and there are very few in the County.

I just can’t understand the mentality of people who refuse to wear masks and avoid crowds. I wonder: “What are they thinking?”

I am begging all of you to watch the news and see how the new cases are spiraling out of control. American has always been victorious in all the wars we fought.

Unless everyone pitches in like before and does their share, this “war,” may take down America. 

Author: Anonymous; Letter submitted through USPS

[lettersfromthepandemic]

Letter Seven: Bread and Milk; June 26, 2020

Bread and Milk, The Fear is Real.

Bread and Milk, I always attribute this phrase to the panic caused in Chicago, when snow was in the forecast. I assume it goes back to the blizzard of 1967, but it may have other origins. Chicago received 23 inches of snow in one day- paralyzing the city for about a week. 

I was six years old but remember it well.  Few people could get to a store, and those that could found them either closed or stripped bare of the essentials like bread and milk.  After that storm anytime snow was in the forecast, there was a panic in the city to stock up on bread and milk.  My family fared much better than most during the storm, because my Mother kept a stocked pantry. She always had Powdered Milk, baking supplies and other dry goods to weather any storm. She was a Missouri farm girl, from humble beginnings, laying in supplies was a way of life in those days, and she passed on the legacy.  I always had a strange nervousness if the pantry was running low on supplies. 

Stories from my Grandmother about limited supplies during the depression and the war only enforced my pantry anxiety. Because you never really know what may come your way, I always played it safe and was prepared to weather most storms.

I remember when the fears began, I was at the gym on the treadmill. I looked up at the TV and saw people in Haz-Mat suits spraying a white fog along a street in China. Then it jumped to the next clip of trucks driving slowly down the streets with the same white fog billowing out into the air. 

A little chill ran through me and a phrase from T.S. Elliot popped into my head “This is the way the world ends…” I laughed at myself and surmised I have spent way too much time reading Steven King.  Nevertheless, the seeds of fear were planted, if only to lay dormant in my sub conscious for the time being. 

Call it intuition or just a coincidence, I had just gone through my pantry and stocked up, but I felt the need to double up on everything. When my husband asked why I was buying so much more, I didn’t have an answer. I don’t think I knew why at that time. I continued to add to my supply, but was now focused on non-food items, laundry, kitchen, and baths.  We were finally fully stocked, and my pantry nervousness faded away.

The horror story continued overseas. We got a name Covid -19, no cure, no vaccine. Italy was now in trouble, as well as a few cruise ships. The number of deaths climbed. Meanwhile we heard “whispers” that this was sure to hit American soil.  

About the time America reported its first cases, my husband was reading a story and casually said, “Did you hear people are starting to hoard toilet paper”?  

I got this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as one of the dormant seeds of fear burst free and was recognized. This one whispered, bread and milk, it’s time to get the bread and milk, and you better check if you have enough the toilet paper. I realized subconsciously I had been getting ready for a “snowstorm”, which was to become the Pandemic of 2020 aka Covid-19.

As the real hoarding began across America, I was grateful to have followed my “intuition” and not have to worry about supplies. I continued to do my weekly shopping for fresh items but the empty shelves in paper goods and cleaning supplies was unsettling. The Bread and Milk fear in my brain asked…are you sure you have enough?  That night on the news they showed people fighting over giant packs of toilet paper, and I saw it in their faces, “Bread and Milk” had taken control of them. 

The reality of Covid -19 was setting in. This was getting real; the news was a ball of confusion as stations jumped on any story to be the first to break the news. Experts were just guessing about the virus no real data was available yet. This only heighten the panic for everyone.  America didn’t want to become the next Italy, but what could we do?  Then the talk of a “stay at home” order had begun. The first time I heard this “Bread and Milk”, popped up and said you’d better make one last run for fresh items, it may be your last chance. While at the store I had to Slap “Bread and Milk” down a few times. It’s one thing to stock -up a bit, but I wasn’t going to let “Bread and Milk” take me over to Hoardersville like the toilet paper people.  As I drove home from the store “Bread and Milk” was in the backseat whispering, “Are you sure you got everything”? 

When I got home my daughter called to see how we were doing and discuss the pandemic situation.  She had heard the rumors too and was worried about a shutdown of the city and the panic it would cause. She said, with a laugh, I ran to the store, you know, to get the bread and milk.   

I remember when the lock down started, like everyone else I had so many fears and concerns, everything was out of my control. There was nothing I could do but pray, hunker down, and ride the storm out. 

The lock down lasted much long than originally anticipated. What it was like sheltering in place, is a long story for another day. Coping with so much fear, anxiety and depression was a new challenge for me. One of the things I was grateful for was I had stocked up enough, so I didn’t have to go out into the Covid infested storm. I prayed for my Friends and Family, that they were prepared to ride the storm out safely. 

Finally, the day came when restrictions were lifted.  Armed with the Covid uniform of mask, hand sanitizer, wipes, & gloves, I drove to the store, and who did I see in the back seat? You guessed it Bread and Milk. He whispered: “This really isn’t over yet it’s just the first wave, you better get the bread and milk and pick up some toilet paper too.You know if you turn left at the next stop it will take straight to Hoardersville.”  

I send my deepest sympathy to those who lost loved ones during the Pandemic of 2020. I also wish to express my sincere gratitude to those who served and sacrificed so much to help others during this crisis. I pray that this nation and the world can heal from all the devastation and become stronger because of it.

Letter Author: Vaune Martens; La Plata Missouri USA  

[lettersfromthepandemic]

Letter Five: Put yourself in a 2020 nurse’s shoes

Dear future generations,  Put yourself in a 2020 nurse’s shoes:

We have all developed new rituals. 

It’s been 60+ days now, impossible not to. The alarm goes off not enough time for the snooze button. The morning routine is the most unchanged,  except for what you bring to work with you. Extra clothes, disinfectant spray and wipes, and my own p100 mask in case today is the day there are no more n95s. That’s the biggest fear at work, no more PPE. You’re a float nurse, but no longer bother to check the assignment for the day. You know where you’re going. The covid care wing, three separate units combined to make one large area for non-ICU Covid positive patients. One charge nurse, 50 plus beds, only two with negative pressure capabilities. You spend the day trying to be positive, for your patients, your coworkers, yourself.  You feel suffocated by your n95 mask that you had to fight administration to get and now are required to wear constantly. You wear your gown and your face shield and you never know this kind of hot before. You have to drink your own sweat off your lip inside the mask. 

Every cough, sneeze, and sniffle from patients or coworkers is louder than a bomb. 

You always end up staying in a room longer than you meant to and almost always forgot to bring something in you needed. Sometimes you have to feed your patient every meal or spend 40 minutes combing their matted hair because they are too weak to do it themselves. Some patients are doing ok, but you just can’t seem to get them off oxygen no matter what you do. 

There is always bad news from the ICU. You see the patterns of infection essential workers, poor, black and brown, un and under- insured. You try to think ahead, cluster your care, comfort your patients but manage their expectations. Provide them mental support when you need some yourself. 

You silently pray for your patients as they tell you about their other family and friends who are also hospitalized or have died. You think about your own friends, family, and coworkers who are hospitalized or have died. Some days, most days you get lunch donated. It’s nice to get food, the problem is finding time and space to eat it. We have to practice social distancing in the hospital too. It’s almost impossible. and completely impossible when it comes to your patients. 

Later on, time to go, but then the real rituals begin. You give report and collect your hospital backpack where you keep your face shield and n95. Wipe down your visor and bag. Your label and return your n95 for “reprocessing”. Grab a small trash bag and head to your locker. Remove and toss your shoe covers wipe down your shoes. Remove your hospital supplies scrubs and place in your trash bag. Wipe down all your exposed skin and change back to your own scrubs to go home. Put a plain surgical mask back on before leaving, its required of all staff while in the building. Trek down to the basement and trade your dirty hospital scrubs for a clean set. And then trek back up and over the bridge to the parking lot. 

Out the door and finally reveal your face and get unobstructed air into you lungs, on your skin. You get in the car. You make it home. Sometimes you cry on the way. 

Sometimes call home to warn them and to stay away from the door. Once home out of the car, spray with your disinfectant wipe down the wheel. Spray your work bag and everything in it. Get inside shoes off and sprayed again. Cleanish scrubs off and straight to the hamper. Shower on hot. Antibacterial soap head to toe. I personally shower in a separate bathroom that only I am allowed to use. I feel lucky to have that option. I wear a face-mask in the house too in case I run in to someone accidentally.  I stay separated even from the people I would usually see everyday. Hugging or touching anyone is out of the question! 

I go upstairs and never come down. Sometimes a plate of food is left at the bottom of the stairs for me and I’m lucky to have that too. Just in case one more spray or wipe down of the work bag and its contents and my jacket and keys. Then set up the bag and snacks and my morning breakfast smoothie all over again for the next day. Its alot of mental work constantly cleaning, spraying, wiping everything. Trying to think of and circumvent all the possible ways you might infect someone you love. You can never make everything perfectly clean or safe. So you stay away from the people who might give you the most support. 

Days off you are exhausted and you weigh the need to really leave the house. 

Only for necessary supplies. Being out in public where people may or may not be wearing a mask. Those who do, usually aren’t wearing it properly. Some don’t quite understand or respect the social distancing rules and you have to weigh being understanding or saying something to correct other’s behavior. You wash, spray, or wipe down whatever you brought home. You do your best to check in on people you haven’t heard from or you think might be struggling. You try to sign and share petitions about frontline workers whose situations are worse than your own. Or get involved in someone’s project to donate funds or phone chargers to hospitals for patients. 

You try to ignore the people claiming this is a hoax or a violation of their right to leave the house and you wonder why a haircut is more important than a hospital workers safety. 

You wonder what’s the harm in taking extra precautions especially in the name of other peoples safety. Wearing a cloth or surgical mask face covering while out and about is seriously NOT that hard compared to the N95, surgical mask, plastic visor and gown (or garbage bag) others have to wear for 12+ hours. You know it’s hard out there for people. You know others are struggling harder than you are. You are grateful you get to go to work and have a paycheck. But some days you wish you got to stay home too (and then feel infinitely guilty for even thinking of not going to work). 

 A nurses job is to think ahead, anticipate needs, have a plan for declining conditions, and to act fast when things go bad. But we can’t do it all. We need our support staff. 

Our doctors, our nurse techs, our house keepers, and respiratory therapists. We need to collaborate to get our job done. We are not the only ones trapped in a cycle of mental and physical work never asked of us before. What we need most is the collaboration and cooperation from our hospital administrators, our city state and federal leaders, and most of all our communities. We need everyone to do their part and wear a mask in public, wash your hands, social distance, and stay home when possible. 

Even once restrictions begin to lift we need people to stay engaged and be vigilant with the necessary precautions. 

We are not asking people to give up their freedom. We are asking people to modify their habits for the benefit of the most vulnerable. We can’t do it with out you. Nursing doesn’t work like that. The world doesn’t work like that. 

-You

P.S. If hearts and souls all over the world weren’t hurting enough. They have begun killing black people openly in the streets again. It has been going on so long and seems to have ramped up again. Each murder more egregious and arrogant. Beautiful black men and women all infinitely worthy in their own right, robbed of their lives by police. As if black people disproportionally dying of coronavirus wasn’t racist enough, police and white people around the country have taken it upon themselves to strike terror in the hearts of black people everywhere. There is so much disgust and hatred in your heart for these emboldened and brazen racist displays. That’s what they are, deliberately done for the world to see. You feel scared and hopeless, there is a constant pit in your stomach. However you are white. You have hardly an inkling of what a black person feels everyday, with every police interaction perhaps every white person interaction. There is not much you can do about what is happening. But there are a few things you MUST do. Be quiet. Listen. Learn. Invest your time and money to aid in black and antiracist causes. You need to stand up for, stand next to, prop up if necessary, and shield your black friends, family, colleagues, and strangers. There is no other way. You need to use your white skin as a defense for black skin that has been weaponized and criminalized everyday since 1619. Offer your support in actions first and words second. Examen your own privilege and bias and work to change. Take criticism of your words and actions humbly and not defensively. When you feel uncomfortable and challenged do not retreat or disengage. Know that black people are the best historians of their own stories. Find understanding and compassion in the events following the murder of countless humans and REALIZE that property will Never be more valuable than PEOPLE. BLACK PEOPLE.

Ruminate and repeat as often as necessary.

Letter Author: Kristin Perez; Chicago IL USA

[lettersfromthepandemic]

Letter Four, Peaceful Protest; June 7th

Dear future generations,

The riots quelled, the peaceful protests began. The movement between the two didn’t take long. In every neighborhood and street corner, protests were peaceful. The police still treated them aggressively dear reader and you’ll find plenty of images of abuse of power. We watched them protect rich neighborhoods and let the poor ones run wild.

While people started using their bodies as shields. They were less likely to hurt people with white skin. It worked.

Protests growing in numbers as the week went on. The largest world wide movement in history happened amid a pandemic before it was all said and done. 

I want you to remember that people gathered at great personal risk to their health. When you see the images of large crowds, let that wash over you and move you. The virus is still strong and in a few weeks, I’m so scared of what it means for the numbers. I hope I am wrong and love magically wins here. It will be an interesting test. Most protestors wore masks. The mass gatherings could tell us if they worked or not. 

This time the protests feel different. People are listening and interested in learning about their privilege and bias. Even so, many have unfollowed me for supporting black lives. Personally, having grown up in CPS and having many black friends myself - I’m happy to take on friends and family who I’ve struggled with before. I’ve had such a hard time advocating in the system I grew up in that my new education has given me the tools I need to go for it. Being a little girl, I was always shut down by the men in my family making racists jokes around my black friends. I’m white, but this movement of healing some old hurts for me too. Standing up to my family has often been a lifelong journey, it’s been nice ot see others joining and validating experiences. 

In my work, I’ve valued minority voices. Long before this movement and continued after. It’s not new to me. I’d been learning about my privilege for years. I grew up of humble means but in my school, I was the “rich girl.” I later learned that was my white privilege. People wanted to help me, I was never left out of anything I wanted to do and was welcomed at all tables. Financially, I’ve had a rough go. I experienced poverty first hand but my skin wasn’t a barrier. This wasn’t the case for everyone I was friends with. It took me a college education and then some to arrive at that conclusion. 

I hope from where you sit, things have changed significantly. That we used this moment to create equity. That people no longer support racist oligarchy. That the symbols of oppression have all been torn down. That we reimagined policing. That we took a hard look at wealth distribution. That communities of color are no longer disproportionately discriminated against. That there are as many black billionaires ever. That our words weren’t empty. I think the pandemic helped this movement reach a match point. All our distractions had been canceled. There was nothing in the way to keep people from joining.

Being out of work, out of school. Everything to look forward to in the summer, had been canceled. We’d spent months inside. If we were to break that quarantine - people did it with purpose.

As they did, I noticed a huge lapse in virus protocols. Less masks. More large gatherings over 10. The protests felt “normal.” 

I hope we never forget how much we missed each other. How much we need each other. I think being stuck inside has given us all a respect for humanity in the face of our loneliness and it wasn’t the virus that brought us together, it was black people.

That is fucking beautiful. 

It was the oppressed giving us all the lessons. Teaching us resilience. Lifting us out of our virus created comas with their cries for help.

At home, we protest on our block. I’m too scared to join the crowds. I don’t want to get sick. So I paint my entire block in support. I scream from my social media channels, I call my black friends, I send them tokens of support to lift sprits. I offer my home as a refuge if the riots become too much. I share the work of organizations I know and love. I share art. I sign petitions, write letters and make phone calls to lobby for change. I write. I cry. I listen to music. I feel alive.

If you’d like a visual illustration of white privilege, take a look at the signs from the protest to open states and the ones from BLM. It’s maddening and hilarious. White people stormed the capital  because they couldn’t get haircuts. The rest of us fighting for human rights for black people. All this is far from over. The pandemic, this movement, progress, economic fall out from the shut down.

The numbers are coming back from the states that opened up earlier. It’s not looking good. In Florida, 4,000 cases in three days. They have consistently been the most fluid with restrictions. With so much unknown, I feel this clock of dread on the horizon. As the numbers tick higher, my chances of being personally impacted by health or loss increase. With almost half a million now dead world wide and over 2 million cases in the US alone. 7 million world wide. I fear what’s ahead and am hopeful that from where you sit the triumphant end of this story is a good one.