Happy Holidays, We’re In A Triple-demic!
“Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except…the three asshole viruses coming in the rear…” (paraphrased from Die Hard)
Micro Rage
We finally, finally made small garden beds that are mainly growing big broccoli plants with no actual broccoli, corn stalks with no corn, and yellow bush beans. But our arugula is thriving. I went to harvest some and realized I’d stepped in a fire ant mound because fire ants have made their home in the one pocket that is actually growing edible food. I can’t.
Macro Rage
This fall, one or both of my kids has been home from school for NINE days, not including school holidays. There were six sick days, two school closures due to a city-wide boil water notice, and one school closure because of a parade for a baseball team.
When I called our pediatrician’s office on a Monday morning at 9:38am because our preschooler had been running a fever of 103 since Sunday afternoon, I was told all available appointments were booked. Before 10am on a Monday morning, in a “triple-demic,” almost three full years into our current pandemic. I finally finagled an appointment after a second phone call only to sit in the waiting room an hour before someone came to tell me they couldn’t see us for our originally scheduled appointment with a nurse, but they would rebook us for another appointment to see our pediatrician. Another mom was told the same, but she had to rush off to see her younger baby in the NICU (yes, I was seething on behalf of her). Eventually we made it back to see the doctor and get the trio of tests. After literal hours in the office, I finally learned that after a decade of parenthood we had our first case of hand, foot, and mouth.
Our family is ensconced in the privileges of reliable employment and insurance and enough income to pay for health costs, of not having to navigate additional risk factors and health concerns, of having two parents that can navigate childcare, and it is just such an ultimately mundane experience with a common childhood illness that makes me feel like I’m a small gust of wind away from being knocked over completely. I could say something trite and condescending like, “I don’t know how they do it” in reference to all of the parents that are navigating a lot more with a lot less, but what choice do parents have? You have to make it work. Survival is a strong biological trait.
“The lack of paid sick leave caused the workers I spoke with to vote it down…there’s pressure to be at the job site even when they’ve got emergencies or sick children.”
And so, I leave with you the rage of no guaranteed paid sick leave, inadequate healthcare (“In 2016, the U.S. spent nearly twice as much on health care as other high-income countries, yet had poorer population health outcomes.”), and no real guidance for navigating “the worst pediatric-care crisis in decades” (Meanwhile pediatric hospital beds are at/near capacity, and ”Pediatric hospitals have been shutting down in big numbers because kids are just not as profitable to treat as adults.”)
Rage with me. How are you managing our latest iteration of the pandemic?
A Small Thing
Derry Girls. It’s streaming on Netflix. If you haven’t watched it already, you’re welcome.
A Big(ger) Thing
The three oldest in our household are getting boosted this week after waiting four months following our inaugural summertime brush with the virus. It isn’t a panacea, but it is something.
A Final Note
Thank you for reading this inaugural newsletter. These are my initial rants to get us going, but it’s really meant to be a space where we can vent and share and process this rage together. Please keep the conversation going in the comments, and feel free to share with anyone you think might enjoy joining our festival.