If not now, when?

I, along with many teachers, students and parents, have been doing plenty of moaning and groaning about the reopening of schools, from kindergarten to the university. But Joseph Aoun makes a good point in his Washington Post op-ed today: https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/the-virus-isnt-going-away-thats-why-campuses-need-to-reopen/2020/08/18/28810dd0-e17d-11ea-8181-606e603bb1c4_story.html

Speaking as a professor at Northeastern University in Boston, Aoun makes the point that since the virus is likely here to stay maybe it’s time to jump in and try to do things in the best way we know how. As much as I’ve enjoyed (somewhat) the moaning and groaning, I think Aoun might just have a point.

When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer at age 29, I was less than a year into my Ph.D. program at Purdue University. As the summer came to a close alongside the brutal side effects of chemotherapy–falling hair and relentless mouth sores–I had to gear up for the fall semester . . . my “sophomore year” of graduate school.

On one hand, I just wanted to bury my head in the sand (in this case, my bed pillow) and stay close to home until the horror of the experience was done and over with.

But on the other hand, I knew that my life would never be the same again. The end of chemo would not signal the end of my cancer journey. My body, my perspective, and my story would be forever changed.

I decided to bite the bullet and head back to campus that fall. It wasn’t easy, walking into a room filled with my peers and a classroom where I was responsible for teaching 25 college freshman how to improve their writing skills. But I did it.

And we all have to do it now, at least take those first steps. Time to rip off the bandaid. Safely.

 

“Slow down.”

“Slow down” was one of my dad’s hallmark phrases. Looking back, I know he said those words to me at least weekly, maybe even daily at certain points in my life.

“Slow down” meant a lot of things.

• Stop getting ahead of yourself, counting your chickens–both the healthy and puny ones–before they’ve hatched. Hit pause, collect information, and create a plan (not the parade that’s sure to follow the greatness ahead).
• Calm down. Take a breath and collect your thoughts before saying another word or taking another step.
• Prevent mistakes before they happen, at least those that can be anticipated and avoided. Words usually hurled in my mother’s direction, as she went traipsing through the house spilling out details about the places she’d been that day (e.g., teachers’ sorority) or was heading to that evening (e.g., Altar and Rosary) while failing to note snags in the carpet that tripped her up along the way.
• Be patient. Things take time. Like corn or soybeans, anything of substance needs room to grow. Along the way, there will be dry spells and nourishing rains. Those who wait will be rewarded.
• Dial back your expectations. Maybe things will turn out as you hoped, surprisingly better or disappointingly worse. Whatever the outcome, God will give you something. Maybe not what you wanted or prayed for, but something to tide you over.
• Acknowledge your place in a much larger landscape. Try not to take on too much, pile all the burdens on your shoulders alone. Getting anywhere requires letting others in, sharing the journey.

All of these messages seeped in. When Dad left this world, he’d ingrained these nuggets of wisdom in my way of thinking about the world and my role in it.

That’s not to say that the advice to “slow down” is easy to implement.

I sometimes worry that slowing down will mean that I arrive too late to the party. Diagnosed with breast cancer at ages 29 and 40 and with a non-functioning mitral value at 55, I sometimes fear that I won’t reach the finish line. While I’d be surprised to hear anyone say they’ve done absolutely everything they hoped to accomplish before they die, I pray every morning and every night that I nudge at least a little bit closer before my time to depart comes.

I have so many dreams.

To see both of my daughters graduate from college and settle into careers they love.

To see my 83-year-old mom live out her life surrounded by love and kindness.

To help more women access health care and to reduce cancer health disparities in underserved communities.

To tell my story and make sense of both the gifts and challenges I’ve been given.

To bring to fruition a program that helps kids who are passionate about agriculture but lack the means to enter the field (literally) get a start.

I just have to figure out how to keep reaching, one measured step at a time, no matter how slow the journey might be.

I know what Dad would say: “Do what you can. Keep trying. You’ll get there, and wherever ‘there’ is, it will be enough.”

Growing in the time of COVID

This was a week of growth and milestones in my family.

On Friday, Bruce and I moved our youngest, Helena, to Auburn to begin her sophomore year. Helena was excited to be heading back to school, following an abrupt, premature end to a traditional freshman year thanks to COVID.

This year, Helena will be sharing an apartment with a friend named Victoria that she met last year. Victoria seems like a good roommate, and the apartment itself is amazing–especially for a college pad! Helena and Victoria each have their own bedrooms, two walk-in closets, vanity and bathrooms. A spacious kitchen and dining area as well as a comfy living room round out the floor plan.

Yesterday, Celia’s graduation ceremony took place–online. Celia headed over to our house and perched herself outside by the fire pit–her designated spot since she’s not complied with many of the guidelines for staying safe during the pandemic–while we set up shop on the patio. At 9:30 a.m. sharp, each of us clicked on the you-tube link to UAB’s virtual commencement. It was nicely done, considering the circumstances, featuring brief speeches by upper administration and shout-outs from graduating seniors, many of whom Celia recognized.

We made an effort to make the moment special, blowing bubbles during the important parts and as Celia made her way back to her car after the ceremony.

One nice touch was the appearance of one of our resident deer to join in the festivities. Celia tossed an apple its way, a touching gesture but not quite the same as moving the tassel.

 

Antioxidants and cancer

Sue Rochman, a fantastic science journalist who contributes regularly to Cancer Today, covers a surprising contradiction in the current issue: Taking supplements containing antioxidants, substances touted to keep cancer at bay, may actually fuel its recurrence or onset. And the link is even stronger for breast cancer.

https://www.cancertodaymag.org/Pages/Summer2020/Cancer-Treatments-and-Antioxidant-Supplements-Can-Be-a-Bad-Mix-.aspx?

Antioxidants including vitamins C, A and E, carotenoids, and coenzyme Q10 are all available through food. The problem occurs when these “immune-system boosters and free-radical fighters” are packaged in the form of supplements containing uncertain amounts of antioxidants that can actually heighten cancer risk.

The takeaway message is often the same. Eat for health rather than rely on slick marketing of synthetic alternatives. Educate yourself rather than bank on the hype.

Evidence of oppression

Some claim that the most horrifying historical events never happened. Unbelievable as it may be, naysayers boldly proclaim that the Holocaust is a myth despite the numerous artifacts (diaries, newspaper headlines, mass graves) and environments (concentration camps, records of “medical studies” conducted on Jewish prisoners) that serve as proof. Insist that terrifying and life-changing abuse of children can be chalked up to “exaggerated” make-believe worlds construed by imaginative adolescent minds.  Assert that COVID-19 amounts to nothing more than a political hoax, a non-disease used to align one party against another at the same time hospital-reported cases surge and deaths climb.

I understand the importance of not buying into everything you hear. In fact, accepting every perspective as equally legitimate is indicative of a post-truth society, something I’ve written about on this blog before. But denial in the face of hard evidence and credible facts is, to borrow a phrase from my Dad, “just plain ignorant.” It evolves when we desire, consciously or unconsciously, to hide our heads in the sand.

A story in yesterday’s Washington Post reveals a fear among Blacks familiar with atrocities in American medicine including the actions of “night doctors” described by Rebecca Skloot in The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks who trolled the streets to abscond Blacks for scientific experiments or the treatment of Black men as guinea pigs at Tuskegee. The men at Tuskegee had been diagnosed, or in some instances, were injected, with Syphilis. Rather than receiving the life-saving treatment they were promised (and that was available at the time), these men were made to suffer the side effects (blindness and excruciating pain, among others) of the disease. Many lost their lives. The Tuskegee Experiment, by the way, extended well into the 1970s, witnessed by medical doctors across the country who read about the study and its results in medical journals. No one bothered to put a stop to it or to see whether the study’s subjects were aware of their role in the making of “science” intended to benefit many.  They weren’t.

So in 2020, many, many African Americans mistrust the medical system. Edwina is a case in point. She doesn’t understand much of the terminology used by doctors. Sees extended family and community members suffer and die at the hands of medical professionals, and often questions whether those lives could have been saved. Feels doctors, typically white, look past her when she walks into an examination room and experiences the shame resulting from their scoldings about her weight, smoking, and limited exercise in a neighborhood that grows more dangerous as the day wears on.

When it comes to participating in trials for much-needed vaccines for pandemics like COVID-19, a disease that is killing (especially poor) African Americans at a higher rate than more well-to-do Whites, many Blacks just aren’t sure they can trust those who insist they are trying to help all people equally. Their reservations make sense, given the history they’ve endured and passed on from one generation to the next.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/dc-md-va/2020/07/17/black-anti-vaccine-coronavirus-tuskegee-syphilis/?

Did these and numerous other atrocities against Black Americans really happen? And does systematic racism persist in 2020? You bet.

You can’t believe everything you hear. But to turn a blind eye on the evidence as an excuse not to reflect on and address discriminatory practices and the immense pain that results is surely a sign of unforgivable ignorance.

A must-see

For anyone questioning the power of COVID-19 to continue to destroy lives, this opinion piece by Ron Suskind for the New York Times is a must-see: https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/06/12/opinion/coronavirus-doctors.html?campaign_

Suskind presents the perspectives of forty doctors in their own words (including an emotional video chat between two doctors) who have tended to the sick, prayed with families, and observed heartbreaking goodbyes of patients young and old, hearty and frail.

Before rushing to a restaurant or mall to beat the quarantine blues, read this moving piece and think twice.

 

The marshmallow test

Paul Krugman published a great piece in today’s NYT about America “failing the marshmallow test” in a coronavirus era:

Most of us have heard of the “marshmallow test,” which measures kids’ willingness to delay gratification. Simply put, if they hold off on eating a marshmallow that’s been placed before them, they’ll be rewarded with an additional marshmallow (both of which can be consumed). So, wait and reap more.

It’s a principle behind the American Dream. Put in the hard work now and enjoy a better future, whether the subject is education or laboring to move up the ladder at work.

Krugman’s point is that Americans are accustomed to immediate gratification. As a result, they/we are risking the health of the nation. Staying safe and reducing the toll of COVID-19 necessitates continued quarantining, social distancing, protective gear. If we do all of that, the day will come when we can safely emerge from our cocoons.

I get it. We’re all itching to eat at local restaurants, enjoy live concerts, kick back at the movie theatre. But first, we have to be patient. Forfeit the immediacy of gratification for a future that will be healthier and safer for all of us.

More nursing home woes

On the heels of my essay in the LA Times yesterday about debating how best to keep Mom safe during this time of uncertainty, I came across the following article in the Washington Post: https://www.washingtonpost.com/business/2020/06/08/nursing-home-immunity-laws/

The question at the core of the article is how to answer to loved ones (and their families) who received insufficient care in skilled nursing facilities amid the pandemic, while trying to do right by an industry surprised by coronavirus. Lots of regulation will surely come from these heartbreaking stories.

Back space

Today, I stopped by my office at UAB. It’s the first time I’ve stepped foot on campus since I headed home in the middle of March. As my Thursday night class came to an end the week prior to spring break, all of us received an alert stating that we’d be taking a longer-than-expected hiatus from the classroom. That slightly-stretched break turned into a semester completed virtually.

It felt strange, yet comforting being back in my office. Other than an added layer of dust on my desk and bookshelves, everything looked just as I’d left it. I’d headed to campus to drop off some of the items that I no longer needed at home and to pick up a couple of books for a project I’m working on.

The campus was barren. During the two hours I spent there, I saw just two students and no other faculty. The temperature inside my building was another indication that the university was deserted. It was uncomfortably warm, certainly too toasty to actually focus on learning or teaching.

In addition to the havoc wreaked by COVID-19, protests have been taking place in downtown Birmingham since anger erupted over George Floyd’s senseless death. And true to the civil unrest for which Birmingham is known, the KKK has shown up to stir the pot. Curfews are in place in the city and outlying areas, for us, 8 p.m. All of these reasons have caused us–both those of us in Birmingham and across the country–to take several steps back.

Not just the kind of stepping back to think things through. More the kind of stepping back to try to get things right, to relearn the lessons that we should have already learned.

That it’s important to continue to quarantine to prevent the pandemic from spreading further. Not to go back to work and play like there’s not still a massive, unpredictable virus in our midst.

That in 2020, we shouldn’t be seeing the same inequities and prejudices and atrocities playing out on our streets, splayed across our television screens. Going through the same struggles that were fought during the Civil Rights Movement in Birmingham, Montgomery, Atlanta, Jackson.

As a writer, I back space frequently. Every time I swap out one word for another that might better convey what I’m trying to say. When the syntax doesn’t sound quite right to the ear so I shoot for another structure. When I’m tired and just know in my gut that it’s time to try again.

With COVID-19 cases continuing to surge and violations against Blacks in the U.S. leading to more lives lost, a little less back spacing would be nice. If we fail to create something better, something safer for all of us, what’s the point of repeating the same words over and over?

 

 

Quarantine Barbie

Okay, I have to share this one. A woman known for revising Mattel’s darling to represent more realistic images and settings has embraced Barbie in quarantine. She bakes! She binge watches Netflix! She (doesn’t) shower!

See for yourself!

https://www.insider.com/woman-creates-quarantine-inspired-barbie-dolls-2020-5