It's been a strange couple months since I blogged. How is it that it feels like just a moment and an eternity at the same time? Living during a global pandemic has brought out the best in people, and sadly also the worst. Instead of celebrating that our efforts to socially distance have worked and the curve is flattening, it seems like many are buying into the theory that it's nothing more than a flu. The heartbreaking stories coming from places hit hard are proof enough to me that we did the right thing. Everyone is eager for life to get back to normal, but I worry that their impatience is going to cause heartache and tragedy. Maybe not for them but for someone. I'm not saying that we can live in lock down forever, but simply wanting for something to be different doesn't change reality. If that were the case, I would have simply "wished" for our crazy cancer life to go away. 
I often wonder what those who lived during the 1918 Spanish flu pandemic would think today if they watched the news. Germ theory was still fairly new back them and I think how grateful I am for all the advances that we've had in medicine since then. All of the resources being directed at this novel virus is likely paving the way for even more advances. While at some times the information is overwhelming, I'm grateful to be living in a time when information is so readily available. That information I believe has been power that has spared us from even greater lives lost. 
With all the news of COVID and people being hospitalized, I know the heartache of seeing someone you love on a ventilator. Watching him struggle to breathe, his eyes pleading with me to help. Only to be pushed out into the waiting room in the wee hours of the morning, waiting for hours to know if he was OK. Then several days later watching him be emergency intubated...again. As tough as it was to watch, it was comforting to be able to see the care of an entire team of nurses and doctors as they did so. I don't believe I ever talked to Dr Dorsey, who intubated him, but I've thought often of him in gratitude for the skills to provide such a difficult task not only once but twice. There are so many people working so hard to keep everyone safe, and I can't imagine how difficult this has been for them.
Because of the virus, current hospital regulations won't allow visitors. We understand the logic behind it, but it causes a lot of anxiety, sadness and stress for both the patient and the caregiver. As I dropped him off for his last chemo, I wished for nothing more than to be exactly there, sitting beside him in the hospital at chemo. Leading up to it he was worried. We talked frequently about how and what we could do to make the day better. I however knew that the nurses would take care of him and that things would be fine. However the tables were turned that day. As I dropped him off at the entrance, the security and precautions had changed drastically from the previous time and I felt like I was sending him into danger... alone. Someone near him as he walked in said they thought they had Covid, and then a very memorable patient next to him near the end of infusion made for an extra anxious chemo session (perhaps he'll blog about that one sometime). I walked back to the car and drove away in tears, overcome with what I knew were irrational feelings. We would only be apart for a short time, and I'd be able to pick him up later that day. I tried to avoid thinking how impossibly hard it would be to drop him off for an inpatient stay of any kind. I also thought ahead to this week and what I could do to distract myself in the event I wouldn't be able to be with him again. I hoped the visitor policy would change by now, but sadly it hasn't. Since going to lunch or other things with friends or family is better avoided, I'm thinking I'll find someplace pretty and go for a walk or perhaps drive around singing some songs.
I am doing everything I can to be as safe as I can, but it's hard to put the safety in the hands of others. I have avoided going out as much as possible. I wear a mask all day at work, then shower and change when I get home. Masks can't prevent things completely, but they can significantly decrease the risks when both parties have them. This weekend my brother asked if he could come for a porch visit. We've been very careful about visitors, and likely will until this is over. Cancer has caused us to self isolate to a degree even before all the current situation, and I told him about my concerns. He, his wife and even my cute 3 year old niece came with masks on, and we hung out outside, carefully distanced from each other. When he said "Keeping Chris safe is our first priority also" I wanted to hug him... but I couldn't. As things in the state have decreased in risk level, for us they remain elevated and will be likely for quite some time very potentially into next year. We will avoid going out as much as possible and limit those who visit, asking those that do to take extra precautions. As much as we would love to hug those who help us, we will do our best to refrain. We are so grateful for those who have helped us to stay safe and fed by bringing groceries. For those who aren't in the high risk category, I encourage you to not forget those of us who are not only trying to survive a pandemic but also fighting other battles that put us at even greater risk. Being asked to wear a mask may not be convenient and it's not a guarantee, but it does reduce the risk. Many people you may be interacting with as you go back to shopping are themselves at risk or have someone they care about that is at risk. It's a small act of humanity that you can gracefully give.
We Love you and pray for you daily asking the Lord to strengthen you and Chris. We love you both.
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