A Year Ago

 It was on this day one year ago that I ended up in the Urgent Care because of chest pain. They didn't find an immediate cause for chest pain, but did a routine covid screening test, and it came back positive. I had not had covid yet, and I was trusting it would be a mild case and geared up for the obligatory quarantine. I had been focused on my 2 oldest starting college, and all the logistics that involved - one going to Georgia, another nearby, and planning how one parent could be in one location, and I in the other. It was going to be a stretch to attend parent orientation, and try to take in all the upcoming changes. Our family was suddenly going to be shrinking. I didn't seem to have time to think about it or prepare for it. I didn't know how I'd feel settling Priscilla into a dorm room, watching her connect with friends and shift her focus from home to school and social events. I had already had a year without Caleb as he had been at a gap year program in Wisconsin. But Priscilla had spoiled me the past year, often driving kids to and from school for me, running errands, cooking meals, going shopping when the younger kids needed something. I was facing an increase in my work load in sending her off to college! Even though she is close, her life has demands that don't leave room for being my right hand helper.

And there I was, newly diagnosed with covid, and now parent orientation was out. I would not be going to any events. I would not be meeting other parents. I would not listen to inspiring talks about the excitement of these years. I immediately saw the silver lining, and fully expected to endure a few sniffles at home. I had no idea what was coming.

The symptoms were quite mild at first. I was surprised the test had come back positive. But slowly, my symptoms got worse. A friend insisted I have an oximeter, and she delivered it along with fruit and other sustenance. It became the monitor and gauge of my declining health. I saw my oxygen dip a few times, and refused to worry. But when it got under 90, every single part of my body ached and seemed to cry for help. It began to be cumbersome to get up to walk 5 steps to the bathroom. I would urge myself to take deeper breaths, but that only brought my oxygen up to 92 or so. The effort it took to breathe was monumental. My focus quickly shifted from the loss of college experience with Priscilla to getting through each hour. It dawned on me that this was no mild illness; that people had and do die from this Delta variant. I became utterly dependent on others, for almost everything.

My younger kids stayed out of my room. Friends, acquaintances, and family showed up with meals, vitamin C, other interesting remedies, advice, support, care, prayers, and offers of help. My kids were driven to and from school somehow. People ate and nutrition was dense. I was completely bed-ridden, and life went on around me. I didn't cook, clean, drive, talk (speech required too much breath). I entered a surreal time-warp as my fever began to rage. I entered a number of delirious states where I couldn't tell if I was awake, asleep, in reality, in dreamworld, in another world, or in my pseudo-right mind. I felt my weakness with every breath. I woke up with drenched clothes clinging to me and wondered who had dumped all the water on my bed. It turns out, I had hit an intense sweat in my sleep and my hair and clothes were soaked. 

I tried to distract myself from the pain. I picked some lame show that barely kept my attention and tried to watch it. But then I would drift out and forget what was happening in it. So I switched to listening to Psalms. I fell asleep during those times too, but I could remember the last one I was awake for and go back. I began to reflect on life. I thought I might not make it.

Now, I realize that can sound melodramatic. I remember in the worst throes of labour thinking, "I'm dying! This poor child will never know me!" There have been a handful of times I thought I was dying. I got a vaccine that rendered me unconscious, and as I floated in my stupor, I saw that bright light and was sure I was coming to see Jesus very soon. The strange thing is, in these times of facing what I thought was imminent death, the physical strain of breathing or surviving seems to take all energy and the fear and sadness just seems like a floating cloud that I can't quite touch or reach. A year ago, I laid on my bed thinking, "I may never get up from here. And I guess that's ok. I should probably be sad or something, but right now, I need to take another breath." It is a surreal feeling, like a regret at not being able to commit energy to sadness. 

During this time I was thinking a lot about Priscilla, how she would be starting college and I wouldn't be by her side. I delegated the parent-job to a good friend and I was so grateful she could have a Mom-like person there for her. I'm amazed at the amount of care, support, and help I received at this time. I began to list them all out one by one. People sent me gift cards for pizza for the kids ("Yay!" they all cheered!). People asked where we like to get take-out from, and we had to come up with something as we never get it. The kids were spoiled! They loved it! So many people stepped up and cared for us. We are so grateful!

But back to Priscilla. There was this part of the parent weekend where they had asked us to write a special letter to our child, to give them to launch them into this new season of life. I had not informed Priscilla that I was so sick. She knew I tested positive for covid. But she didn't know the degree of my illness. I intentionally shielded details from her because I didn't want to cloud her excitement with worry over me. Whether I lived or died, her worry would not have helped me. So I thought it best to keep my impending demise to myself. (I did tell her much later, and that was a lot for her to take in). 

I thought to myself, "If I write this letter, it may be the last thing she reads from me." My mind was so fuzzy. I couldn't think straight. I could hardly gather my wits or thoughts - my mind was murky as a mud puddle. And I had no passion. No sentiment. No feeling whatsoever. Sadness required a certain kind of energy. I did feel sad for my kids, and gave a cursory thought that 'oh, this might be hard for them.' But I knew I needed to write a letter to Priscilla. I didn't know what I should say. I didn't want it to be a goodbye letter, as I didn't want her to think I was in serious peril. I simply wanted to give her some guidance for her coming year, and some of the most important things I wanted her to know. 

My oxygen had been dipping, sometimes to 89, then 88 and even lower. I worked to breathe so I could think and type. Handwriting would have taken too much energy. I clumsily worked through writing a few thoughts to her that my friend could print out and give her. 

I look back at a year ago and realize it was the beginning of one of the most difficult years of my life, ever. I have done much soul work in the past decade, and I believe God used this to prepare me to face incredible challenges. At any other time, any single one of these major difficulties would have done me in. I have suffered in my flesh, spirit, family, society. I guess my dogs didn't die, so that's good. 

A year ago began a year of trial, of loss, of pain, suffering, growth, and the sustaining grace of God in and through it all. I've often wanted to write what I was experiencing, but there was no capacity. My soul was breaking under the strain. There were no words. I intend to reflect and recount all that went on here - maybe the distance of a year will help me bring into focus all that simmered within me during those trials. Some of the trials were so burdensome I cannot explain them in detail out of kindness or respect to others. When others cause us suffering, we may still exercise the covering of love (it covers a multitude of sins, you know). 

I'll share what I wrote to Priscilla in the next post. She said she wouldn't mind if I did.