Gratitude in the Time of Covid

I am grateful.  Not for Covid.  How could I be grateful for a virus that has contributed or directly caused nearly 1.5 million deaths world wide and over 265,000 in the U.S.?  That doesn't even count the economic losses and hardships, the deaths of despair: fatal overdoses or deaths by suicide that have increased dramatically in this time.  A close friend has lost both a brother and a sister to Covid, and a clergy friend has contracted the virus two separate times - both with significant symptoms.  There are also all the long haulers who may or may not return to the health they once experienced.  I am still experiencing long-Covid symptoms.  How I hope I'm not able to contract this thing again.  

So I'm not grateful for Covid.  I wish it hadn't come and invaded our lives and taken so many from us.  I wish it hadn't altered my life and my health.  

That being said, since Covid is here, and it has changed the world, I can choose to be grateful in the midst of it.  

I'm grateful that if I walk every day, my heart rate stops spiking so high and my blood pressure stays lower.  As much as I've always loved walking, I'm even more grateful for the ability to do so after having lost that ability for a chunk of this year.  I'm grateful for the lifts in mood that walking gives me, for the rich fall colors, for the time spent with God's creation.

I'm grateful that the poison ivy I had is gone and I'm no longer taking prednisone.  While on it numerous aches and pains were gone, including the arthritis in my right hand, but withdrawing set me way back - couldn't get out of bed one day.  I will be grateful if I never need prednisone again! 

I'm grateful for breath, for learning to listen to my body better, for learning to rest when my body tells me so.  A slower paced schedule has been a blessing.

I'm grateful for Kasee the miracle kitten who I truly believe is a gift from God.  She has brought so much joy to Jan and me and her followers on the Internet.  Her soft fur and sweet face and lively antics and photogenic personality bring smiles whenever she's around.  I would be even more grateful if she liked to cuddle, but I try to accept that biting is one of her love languages.

I'm grateful for my new home and beautiful neighborhood, 

I'm grateful for my Bruton ministry and the SpiritWorks community and their patience with my up and down recovery.  I'm grateful for meaningful work and the privilege of being with people in their joys and sorrows. 

I'm grateful for our Juneteenth service and Sacred Ground group and for being awakened further to the need for action against racism.  

I'm grateful for my corona buddies - you know who you are!  I wish we hadn't had it, but I'm grateful we could support each other.  Grateful, too, for all who have cared for us, sent cards, brought food, emailed, prayed, and asked how we are doing.

I'm grateful for the red maple tree in the back woods whose leaves are lingering.  The chickadees and tufted titmouses (titmice?) and finches and other birds who provide endless entertainment for Kasee.

I'm grateful for friends far and near and family, biological and chosen.  

I'm grateful that I continue to heal.  I'm grateful that Advent starts tomorrow and Christmas is coming.

And I'm grateful that you continue to read what I write.  :) 

Happy Advent Eve, y'all.  I'm grateful for you!  

Quarantine #3 - Re-exposed

Quarantine #1 for me started on March 13.  I hadn't been feeling great the day before but was scheduled to do an Interment.  I stayed far from the family and left quickly.  Though I was supposed to head on to SpiritWorks, I called in and said I needed to go home and rest.  For the next 17 days I didn't leave my house except to go to the mailbox a couple of times and once to feed the birds.  People have asked me if that was hard.  No.  I felt so ill that staying in for 17 days was a relief.  Though I knew I had COVID because others close to me tested positive, I didn't even have the energy to go get tested.  I laid on the couch and endured.  

Quarantine #2 started on April 20.  After two weeks back at work and trying to resume a relatively normal (though mostly from home) work schedule, I had relapsed with extreme fatigue and shortness of breath.  My bishop put me on medical leave, and I finally got tested.  From the moment I returned home from the Urgent Care, I remained quarantined for 14 more days.  I had fewer symptoms, but the fatigue continued to be debilitating, and again I was grateful for the respite.  Who knew just driving ten minutes to the church could be so exhausting?  Talking on the phone was a chore.  I attended Zoom meetings by lying on my couch with my computer on my belly.

As I saw all the posts of frustrated friends who had cleaned every closet, put together multiple puzzles, redone parts of their homes, or volunteered to help frontline workers or neighbors in need, I felt envious of their energy and activity.  I wanted to clean something, but just taking a shower wiped me out.  

Now I'm on day 3 of Quarantine #3 due to re-exposure. Fortunately, it seems unlikely that I have re-contracted the virus, and my fatigue a couple of days ago is the familiar long-Covid version, not some new symptom.  Although I've had to cancel some things that were important this week, none were urgent, and I'm well enough now that I've been able to use the time.  I am finally able to walk a mile - the exact length of the loop my new home is on, and some days, my heart rate doesn't spike!  I've been doing some writing and have had multiple lengthy Zoom meetings ranging from vestry to Mission and Outreach to our Sacred Ground Dialogue Circle on Race and Faith.  I've read grants on my front porch, eaten lunch on my front porch, and done reading for work on the front porch.  

Every time I facilitate a group, we open with highs and lows.  I had thought my low this week was being re-exposed and having to quarantine again.  It turns out, though, that I've gotten more done and still been able to rest when needed, and of course the dogs and cats are delighted!  Most importantly I'm so glad I voted early.

I certainly hope that we will soon create a safe vaccine that works.  And that we are able to eliminate this virus and stop it from causing death and destruction.  In the meantime, I'm grateful beyond words to have some beautiful fall days where I can work from my porch, take walks, and continue to heal.  Maybe this time, I'll get Quarantine right, and I won't be sent back to do it again!

Your Comments - Oh no!

 

Dear Readers,

My hearty apologies - when I, on a whim, decided to change the blog template, I didn't understand that Blogger would no longer email when I had new comments.  And some of you have commented!!!

Thank you, thank you.  I have fixed the problem and will be able to see and respond to them now.  I'm so excited to discover all your comments!!!

I'm so grateful to all my readers, and I love comments.

Love and light,

Lauren

6 1/2 Months in the Coronaverse: Update

September 12 marked the 6 month mark since my first COVID symptoms.  I've had some good weeks, and I've even moved this summer - just across town, but still.  What I've been so grateful for are the weeks I've had the energy to do as much as I have.  One day during the move, I think I even had 14,000 steps.  I was feeling pretty close to normal, and then, the week before Labor Day, fatigue returned.  And some shortness of breath, which I thought had resolved in July.  And the achey place between my shoulders.  But most of all, my arch nemesis in this battle - fatigue.

Eating crab - and then a 2 hour nap!

I was particularly frustrated with this "relapse" because I was planning a Labor Day Weekend trip to GA to see my parents and celebrate their birthdays with my brother.  My dad turns 80 in October, and I thought a visit would be the best present I could provide - actually the steamed Chesapeake Bay blue crabs I brought with me were the best present, but my visit was also welcome.  We had a great time cracking crabs and catching up, and I even went on a very slow walk around the neighborhood with them.  Best of all was celebrating Communion with my family and going to pray with a dear friend of the family.  However, it appears I was too ambitious.  Two 10 hour drives in a weekend was too much.  While I was there I had to take long naps and even had to watch the Kentucky Derby lying down.  Fortunately on the driving days, I had the energy to get where I was going, but upon my return, I've had a set back lasting for weeks, feeling worse than I have since earlier in the summer.  

Mid-September I had a visit with my nurse practitioner.  Turns out I now have high blood pressure - high enough that starting medicine was a requirement.   Pre-Covid I didn't have an issue with high blood pressure.  So I'm monitoring it and taking medicine.  In my long-Covid group, a number of people have mentioned high or extreme fluctuating blood pressure.  I've been hoping that's the cause of my malaise because it's treatable, but I haven't been able to find a correlation.  

I've also learned that my fatigue is not about sleep.  It's really an inability to maintain an upright posture.  When I'm having a "wave," standing is hard, and even sitting upright drains me.  As soon as I'm horizontal, I'm better.  I can have an animated conversation, work on the computer, even lead a Zoom group, but I can't do it if I have to be upright.  I don't necessarily need to sleep - just lie down.  This isn't constant; I have days where I can stand and walk and even mow the lawn, vacuum or carry boxes up and down stairs.  But when the "wave" comes, I have to lie down. 

What surprised me on my trip to GA was walking into a gas station in South Carolina, and though a "Masks Required" sign was on the door, I could count on three fingers the number of people wearing masks besides me.  And they weren't employees!  I've also been surprised by how few people know about us long haulers.  There are 21,000 of us just in one FB group.  People don't realize that you don't have to be an elder or have underlying conditions to contract this virus.  They don't understand how many people have ongoing debilitating effects from it.  They don't know how many athletes have been affected and can't even exercise any more.  I find myself doing a lot of educating.  

Taking a spin in Dad's '65 Buick Skylark.  Chris and I both learned to drive in that car!

The long term effects of COVID-19 are still unknown.  We've passed 200,000 deaths in this country, and we're just entering fall.  For the first time in my life, I got a flu shot.  Can't risk getting anything else on top of this!  I worry, though, for our country and our health care system and for all the people on the front lines.  How many more will die?  How many more have long-term debilitating effects?  How long before we can stop social distancing?  How much will we have lost?  How much will we lose?

I do believe I will recover fully, but until then, I have to keep pacing, keep resting, and keep to the sidelines much more than I'm used to doing, hoping that it won't take 6 more months to return to full strength.  In the meantime, I'm so grateful for cooler weather, for the joy of a new home, and for all the support and love I've received in this time.

Labyrinth Balm

On a Wednesday evening a couple of weeks ago, I walked out of SpiritWorks and didn't immediately feel like I needed a shower.  There was a slight breeze, and it wasn't quite as hot or humid.  Instantly I knew what I wanted to do - go to the labyrinth.  I hadn't walked it in months.  Every time I'd thought about it, I felt overwhelmed by the effort.  My heart and soul were willing, but my body just couldn't do it.  So over I drove.

I spent a bit of time gazing at the overgrown flower boxes that I have tended for the past few years.  Weeds and flowers battle for control of the soil.  I pulled at a few clumps of nut grass and attempted to dislodge some of the clover choking out the lavender, but I knew I needed gloves, clippers, and a trowel to do any serious work.  And energy.  

Next I walked over to the entrance of the labyrinth.  After taking a deep breath and closing my eyes, I reached out with my spiritual senses to connect with God.  Moving slowly along the path, I felt overwhelmed with the sweetness of once again treading the way that has brought me close to God so many times.  Mixed with that gratitude was a flood of loss.  Normally I would have been walking the labyrinth 3-4 times a week during the summer, watching the magnolias and crape myrtles as they started to bloom, watching my hawk, making friends with the sparrows, listening to the mockingbirds sing a medley of all the bird tunes.  This summer I haven't walked the labyrinth at all, and I've missed so much.   The magnolia blooms are gone.  I missed daffodils and the new growth of other plants.  I missed the breezes and bird song and communing with the deer.  All of it was there, but I was not.

On that night there were many blessings.  The crape myrtles were still blooming as they will until fall, and I saw not one, but two hawks and listened to them screeching out their greetings while I walked.  Mockingbirds and insects and swifts darted and whirred. Cloud formations showed storms in the distance and the beginning glow of the sun sinking down. A few deer grazed down the hill.

I hadn't realized how my soul had been longing for the labyrinth. A breeze brushed gently against my face, and I shuddered with the layers of emotions.  Slowly, I tread the path, savoring each step, each breath, each sound and sight and smell.  

In the center I saw that someone had placed a red rock with "hope" painted on it on one of the pavers at the entrance.  In other labyrinths I've seen gifts and offerings of stones, beads, pinecones, jewelry, and other items left along the labyrinth or in the center, but never at this labyrinth.  As I stood in the very center over the crack in the concrete that causes an echo when you stand over it and make sound, I sang, "There is a balm in Gilead."  The words and tune settled over me, a balm of their own.  

Sometimes we don't know how much we've missed something until we get it back.  In a conversation with a seminary friend recently, he mentioned that I always downplayed any illness I had while in seminary, saying things like, "Maybe I'm just making this up."  It's good to have long term friends who remind us of who we are.  All this time I've thought that I wasn't really that sick.  Compared to others, I'm so very lucky with the symptoms I've had.  Oh, the odiousness of those comparisons.  For me not to have walked the labyrinth in months...  I've been sick, not making it up.  Only when I returned could I feel the difference.  At last, I am returning to the things I love.  I am healing.  I have hope.  Things will not always be this way.  Change is coming...

The Gift of Recovery

  

A little over nine years ago I began attending mutual support meetings for what turned out to be a pretty severe case of codependence.  People pleasing, denying my feelings, trying to control outcomes, obsessive worry, "saving the day," conflict avoidance, and I could go on and on about the patterns of behavior that made my gut wrench and my life unmanageable. Then I discovered recovery.  Life in recovery is good.  I'm more authentic, I sleep better, and though I still have plenty of codependent slips, I'm much more in touch with my own values and live them as fully as I can, even if other people are angry or upset.  Unlike being in recovery from substance use, it can be difficult to tell when I've "relapsed," but all in all, my life is amazing now, and I'm so grateful for the gifts I've received throughout my journey.  Now more than ever I'm glad to be in recovery.  Not only do I apply it to my codependent behaviors, but I also apply it to all aspects of my life.  Including this damnable coronavirus.  

It's been over 17 weeks since I started experiencing COVID-19 symptoms.  17 weeks.  Instead of writing a post about being recovered or cured or well, I am writing about being in recovery.  I am a person in recovery from COIVD-19.  A couple of weeks ago I learned that I have antibodies.  So technically, I should be over the virus, and I should be immune, at least for a time.  But we don't really know about immunity with a novel virus, so it's possible I could get it again.  So much is still unknown.  I've joined a Facebook support group for those of us with #LongCovid.  There are SO MANY PEOPLE experiencing this extended play version, many of them with far worse symptoms than I have.

What I'm experiencing now seems to be post-viral symptoms.  I continue to have fatigue and some shortness of breath, which is, unfortunately, exacerbated by wearing a mask (I am completely committed to wearing one even so.)  I still can't concentrate or remember as well as before (though it's hard to tell where C19 and aging diverge!)  I've had as many as two full weeks when I felt almost normal, but then the setback comes.  Fortunately it's never as bad as before, and the general trend is toward improvement.  But I still haven't been able to increase my walking beyond a 16 minute slow walk.  Fatigue means that I can be in the middle of a meeting and need to lie down.  Or get out of the shower and be exhausted and breathing hard.  It means it's hard for me to sit upright at a computer for very long or to cope with much stress.  I make mistakes in my work and can even get a little off balance moving around.  

Sometimes I push to get through things that I really want/need to do.  Sometimes I feel good enough to do them without pushing.  Sometimes I use my vitamin energy drinks or caffeine to help.  I still don't know if pushing causes relapses or if I need to make the most of my "good" time when I have energy, so I fall somewhere in the middle, trying to get things done if I'm up to it and resting when I'm not.  The advice I hear most about post-viral fatigue is rest, rest, rest, and you will get better.  So, I do.  It's amazing how much I can do lying down with my computer in my lap.

In some ways it's comforting to be in recovery - it's familiar.  I don't expect that I'll ever be cured of codependence, but living in recovery makes life quite good.  I don't yet know whether I will be permanently changed in some way by the virus, but even if I am, I know how to live in recovery.  One day at a time.

This is what recovery looks like for me:

Learning to live WITH something.

Doing my best each day to make healthy choices.  Forgiving myself when I don't.

Some days/weeks there may be relapses.

Celebrating the good days while not getting seduced into thinking that all days will be good days.

Setting boundaries - and this one is very hard for me, especially when it comes to work.

Attending mutual support groups, educating myself about the disease, and working with a support team.

Listening to my body.

Being gentle with myself and others.

Turning everything over to God.

Living in recovery does not mean that I get it right all the time.  When I don't, I say I'm sorry.  I look at my part, and I make needed amends, and I work to do things differently.  

Life is changed, I am changed, and I have choices about how I continue my journey.  

I continue to choose recovery.

12 Weeks In: SurvivING

I can't tell you how much I want to write the post titled, Survived!  Or Survivor!  Instead I'm writing today about what it's like to continue survivING.  I am.  Surviving.  And so very grateful.

 

Sunday I was able to go to church for our livestream for the first time since Easter.  What a joy it was to be able to return for Pentecost and to be in that sacred space.  What a privilege it was to read the Pentecost reading from Acts and to pray the Prayers of the People.  What a gift it was to worship with a few other people and listen to our bishop's sermon live in person and not on a screen.  It renewed my compassion for all the people who are not yet able to return to church and renewed my grief that even when we return, it will not be the same as before, not for a long time.  

 

Last week I had a number of good days.  Memorial Day especially was great.  I was even able to record a video to tell my congregation about my slow return to work:  watch here.  Sometimes on a good day, I go ahead and get some things done because I don't know how long the energy will last.  Jan thinks that my achey back may be eased by drinking more water, and so I have upped my (already large) amount of water intake, and that does seem to be diminishing the back pain most of the time.  Boy do I notice now if I'm not staying hydrated!  

 

After a week of mostly good days, on Friday of last week, I had to rest a lot more.  The post-viral symptoms ebb and flow, and most days I'm able to practice acceptance.  Perhaps this is something I'm going to have to live with for a long, long time.  Earlier this week, some shortness of breath returned off and on for a couple of days.  It's one of the strangest symptoms - it's like I have to think about breathing.  It's not scary, mostly just annoying.  Forces me to really slow down and concentrate on taking deep breaths.  This week energy has come and gone each day, no purely good or purely fatigued days.  I'm able to work easily by computer lying on my couch.  But staying upright all day is still a challenge on many days.  I continue my walks when I'm up to it and have been able to get up to about 18 minutes comfortably.

 

Last week I read some sobering articles about post-viral fatigue and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.  A friend shared a post that a friend of his with CFS had written advising COVID-19 survivors to REST.  In her post she referenced this article about C19 and Post-Viral Syndrome.  Reading all of this has helped me take the need for rest even more seriously.  Although I have returned to my Bruton Parish work in limited capacity, when my body tells me to rest, I rest.  Tonight a friend posted an article from the Atlantic that calls those of us with this extended play version, Long Haulers.  That's me, a long hauler.

 

Even as I lament my ongoing struggles with this beast of a virus, I recognize that it is only because of my privilege that I'm able to do as well as I am.  What privilege means for me is that I have had the support of my bishop and workplaces to take the time I need to rest.  I have had the privilege of holding on to my jobs and income.  I have had the privilege of resting in a comfortable home with no worry about food or shelter or support.  I have had the privilege of being able to afford health insurance that has covered my medical expenses related to the virus.  I have had the privilege of an enormous amount of support from people who care for me.  This virus disproportionately affects and kills People of Color, and has been especially devastating to the people of the Navajo Nation among others.

 

Breathing has been a bit harder for me in this time because of a virus I could not control.  Black people cannot breathe because the knee of racism is on their necks.  This is something that white people can control, if only we have the will to do the work.  Four hundred years of oppression and trauma.  Four hundred years of injustice.  "No one is free until we all are free," said the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  I am not free until all Black People, Indigenous People, and People of Color are free.  

Over the years, I have participated in Anti-racism training, read books, hosted and watched movie screenings, studied liberation theology, and worked to treat all people I encounter equally.  But it's not enough.  Clearly it's not enough, while the injustice rages on.  So I've joined a book group and am reading Ibram X. Kendi's How to be an Antiracist.  His assertion is you can't be non-racist.  You're either racist or antiracist.  I would like to be antiracist, but I have more work to do.  Jan and I are discerning putting together a dialogue circle as part of the Episcopal Church's Sacred Ground curriculum as well as planning a Juneteenth Commemoration.  

My energy may be limited right now, but that doesn't mean I don't have a role to play.

 

This morning I read a prayer from "A Service of Prayer for Justice and Peace" from the Iona Abbey Worship Book:

God, lead us, that we may stand firm in faith for justice.

Teach us love.  Teach us compassion.

Above all, out of love and compassion,

                        teach us to act. 

 

White friends, many of our sisters and brothers of color are not surviving racism, and even those who are surviving still can't say "survived" because of the ongoing injustice and inequities.     

Black Friends, Indigenous Friends, Friends of Color, I am sorry for my part and will work to do better.  

I hope you will forgive me.