There have been a lot of themes over this last week. The whole “Stay Home” thing has really taken off. Of course, it has gotten more colorful as people have gotten more frustrated. “Stay the (Cuss) at Home” was actually trending for a while as a hashtag. I have seen medical staff on Street Parking bringing in their broken hearts to our closed group boards absolutely devastated by their days treating people who did not take things seriously or seriously enough.
The people coming into ER’s right now in America were people who two weeks ago looked at the concerns being pushed and did not trust the politicians or the doctors or the news. They didn’t want to trust them.
They didn’t have to.
We at my house have spoken at length about how we would have handled anything any differently.
If it weren’t for cancer.
It would have probably taken some serious concern convincing to get me to stay the cuss at home before.
But it’s our reality now. I mean, seriously, I would never have considered church on the TV on the couch if it hadn’t been for starting out at Cross Timbers when we first got to Texas and watching Toby rock the message on the pre-recorded system.
I have been working on my patience because other people are on a learning curve that we already surfed. We surfed this one a little more by ourselves so there wasn’t really much of an audience and definitely not a trendy hashtag.
We have quarantined our house before, so it’s nothing new to scrub everyone down as soon as they get home.
I have to admit.
I’m beginning to lose patience with people who are not taking this seriously.
And it’s mostly because of what we are experiencing.
Desiree and Leo went in to have his normal treatment.
They both have coughs.
Neither had a fever.
Nurses had to completely gown up in full safety array, to include those goofy sneeze guard face masks because they were there to treat multiple children that day who had compromised immune systems. These children had to leave their clean homes and risk that their nurses and doctors might physically contact someone carrying the virus.
Any virus, really.
We’ve all had that horrible news given to us that our children have had normal ripped from their lives forever. We’ve all had to watch as they lost the joy of eating their favorite foods. We’ve seen them separated from friends and even from family for weeks, some even months, at a time. We wince every. single. time. they are stuck with a needle, and I died a little every time I had to hold my little boy while he was sedated and felt his little body go suddenly lifeless and limp.
I waited in a waiting room for him to come out of surgery which only took four hours, waiting for tragedy to stay the cuss at home while waiting for my time to sit by his side again.
And if he catches this. It’s two weeks, bare minimum, of medical isolation and it’s iffy about whether or not one of us gets to be there with him. But it is most certain that we would never be allowed to leave the room until the two weeks had passed symptom free.
And that’s the rosy version where he doesn’t have to go on a ventilator.
And if my wife or I catch it. It’s two weeks of no longer being able to juggle work and their school. Our toddler doesn’t understand the basic concept of “don’t interrupt brother while he’s doing school work” and “no you can’t have a third glass of chocolate milk.” How is he going to understand why the door is locked to the room where mom or dad is quietly hoping they ride out the symptoms and not have to spend days in the hell of the hard part of the covid 19 torture?
What if it’s both of us?
Know why I have been talking so endlessly about how to deal with fear?
It has been with me non-stop for four straight weeks.
I have been desperately trying to assure that it’s not fear that dictates my language to people about taking things seriously. There are more lives than ours being lived right now.
But please. Consider our lives. The lives of all of us who did not have the choice to live this life. Consider all of the at-risk people whose strength is unfathomable. Consider people with MS, CP. People who have lived more decades than you take breaths to order your favorite coffee. Consider the single moms and dads who can’t afford to not work their essential jobs and definitely cannot afford to get sick.
Perhaps consider those things before you decide that you don’t take this seriously enough.
Because I guarantee you that I am working hard at pushing hatred away in my heart.
And when Leo’s fever began to rise last night, two days shy of his birthday, and the prospect of another hospital visit became real, I look at you wanting to have a short hang out with your friend. Or friends. Or, but it’s under ten people, so it’s fine. Or, but I’m not at risk so I’m fine. Or, but the government’s order never said. Or, this is all a power grab from the illuminati.
I look at you being cavalier about the whole thing trying to look brave, but really just looking like a ten year old kid who just found daddy’s combat boots and is clomping around the house in them.
And I wonder why it just feels like you hate us.