What I Learned From The Pandemic

Truthfully, I didn’t learn much from being locked down for two years.  I suspect that I had the virus early on, before it was even on people’s radar back in January of 2020.  After flying through Las Vegas and the Guadalajara airports, we were in Chapala, Mexico, enjoying the warmth and a bit of street food. The symptoms appeared one night in the form of spiking fevers, violent chills and joints aching so terribly that I simply wept with no relief.  I was sick for two days and then it was over.  What did I learn from that?  

Not everything bad that happens occurs for a reason or to teach us a lesson.  I know some people think otherwise.  But I am of the opinion that random stuff messes with us mercilessly, and the evolving mutations of a coronavirus are a prime example of that.  Or were we supposed to learn one lesson from the Delta variant and another from the Omicron?  

For two years, we did witness people behaving well and behaving badly.  In the beginning, folks were hoarding toilet paper.  Conspiracy theories ran rampant.  A public health emergency turned into a political fistfight.  At the same time, nurses and teachers and grocery workers and first responders coped with the stress of high risk jobs, often gracefully and courageously.  Researchers rose to the challenge of producing vaccines in record time, only to find anti-vaxxers refusing to get the jab.

Some took the disruption in routine to re-evaluate life priorities and consider new callings.  Others had to say goodbye to loved ones dying in nursing homes or ICU’s while wearing haz-mat suits.  It was the best of times, it was the worst.

My wife and I have only recently started going to movies and concerts again.  We’re still not ready for any international travel.  It’s not how I planned to spend my retirement.  I don’t feel resentful at all.  But neither do I feel like I’ve grown or been edified or enriched in any way from hitting the pause button on my life.  Mostly I feel tired and two years older, not any smarter or wiser.

Covid, you were a lousy teacher.  

A Riff on Hebrews 11-12

 Faith is the reality of things hoped for, the proof of things not seen.  It was their faith that made our ancestors reach for the heavens.

Because of faith, Noah built the ark and received the rainbow sign.

Because of faith, Abraham left his homeland and set out for a country he had never seen.

Because of faith, Moses left Egypt and Miriam hurled Pharoah’s horse and rider into the sea.  

Because of faith, Joshua circled the city of Jericho and the walls came tumbling down.  

Because of faith Rosa sat, Martin marched, and John Lewis knelt to pray.

Because of faith, Mandela persevered, Zelensky held fast.

What else can I say?  There isn’t enough time to tell about all the prophets: Harriet Tubman, Susan B. Anthony, Ida B. Wells and Fanny Lou Hamer; Mohandas Gandhi, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Oscar Romero, and Harvey Milk.  Many were tortured, others beaten, and some chained in jail.  Their faith helped them conquer kingdoms, and because they did right, they were pleasing unto God.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us.

Lift up your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight the paths for your feet.  Pursue peace.    

What I Learned in the Hospital

 Nobody likes to be in the hospital, but my recent five day stay gave me important insights.  Surprisingly hopeful lessons came from lying flat on my back.  

On Friday, I went into the ER at Presbyterian in Santa Fe for shortness of breath and was taken by ambulance to the bigger facility down in Albuquerque early the next morning to treat a pulmonary embolism and get emergency surgery.

One thing I noticed immediately is that hospitals look like America in all its multi-ethnic complexity.  Of the half dozen physicians who attended me, three were women.  Two had last names suggesting their families came from India.  Doctor Chen was presumably East Asian..  My night nurse Sarita was African American, like the tech who did my echocardiogram.  The two “candy-stripers” who finally wheeled me out the door were young white guys from Idaho and Georgia, doing six months of volunteer work as part of their church’s young adult ministry.  It wasn’t a perfectly egalitarian society.  The EMT’s who took my vitals and drew blood were earning fifteen bucks an hour, like burger flippers at McDonalds.  But neither did the hospital resemble a plantation model where white, male doctors ruled the roost with women and people of color assigned to menial chores.  It made me think that our country really has made progress in the last century

The second thing I learned was that I could get along with my roommate, even though he was a Republican and conservative Catholic while I’m a Democrat and theological liberal.  Gary was born in 1947, six years before me, but Gary was a popular name back then and one we shared.  We had other things in common, too.  We agreed that the pizza was pretty good, that our wives were gems, and that getting old was not for sissies.  We could encourage each other to get out of bed and laugh about racing each other around the nurses’ station in our walkers.  On the first day, I told Gary that I thought our country would be better off if the average citizen were thrown into a room with a complete stranger and forced to be civil and polite for a while.  He agreed with that.  We agreed that New Mexico had problems with political corruption and that neither party had a monopoly on cronyism.  I asked Gary what he thought about our current Pope and he replied that Pope Francis was a Communist.  I asked him if Jesus was a Communist also, and that seemed to give him pause.  Gary did have some funny ideas about Roswell and aliens, but we tried to disagree without being disagreeable and managed to keep things friendly.  I wondered if our nation couldn’t do the same.

The third thing I learned was that I could leave my wallet and wedding ring in a duffel by the side of my bed for 120 hours unmolested.  I was asleep, drugged and helpless most of that time, but my valuables and personal items were as safe as if in my own home.  Most people really can be trusted to do the right thing, most of the time.

It was initially hard to find a room at the big hospital in Albuquerque.  They have been slammed with covid and are operating with crisis standards of care. But I must have been an urgent case because they admitted me and the staff gave me as much attention as if I were the only patient in the vascular ward. It was heartening to see critical workers doing their jobs with grace under pressure.

Here’s my take away.  There seems to be a sickness in our body politick lately.  Americans are angry and out-of-sorts. We are dis-eased and anxious about the prognosis for our democracy.  Maybe we need a collective visit to the hospital to restore our better, healthier selves.