Those impacted by a law should have a loud voice in making the law.
— Nelsonia
Unholy Trinity
There are three forces that rule our world. Three centers of energy, motivation and prestige. Everyone indulges at least one of these drives. And many will covet all three. Here they are:
Money. Sex. Power.
We are a greedy species, hungry for gain, the pleasures of carnal union, and the peculiar satisfaction of controlling other people’s lives.
This is who we are. Worshipping money, sex and power ensures our survival. Rejecting this three-faced god risks our extinction.
The Unholy Trinity calls to us. The Unholy Trinity says, “You are mine. Worship me.”
What is your answer?
— Nelsonia
Side effects. The price of protection.
I’ve just “recovered” from the first dose of Pfizer’s coronavirus vaccine. You are probably curious about that. So here’s a report.
I was vaccinated Monday at 9 am. Shortly after the needle jab, I felt lightheaded in a pleasant sort of way. I sat down, and in 20 minutes I was fine.
After lunch I noticed my arm was sore, and I started to feel cold. I put on my quilted flannel shirt and resumed meeting with patients. By mid afternoon I was tired, achy and feverish. But I felt well enough to finish the workday.
When I got home I took a two hour nap. I had a headache and chills and felt like I had a mild flu. I took my temperature. It was 99.1 F.
I went to bed again. I tossed and turned and woke up in the middle of the night thirsty. On the way to the kitchen I took my temperature, which was up a tenth of a degree. I washed down 400 mg of ibuprofen with a big glass of water and returned to bed.
The next morning I felt sluggish but fever free. The headache was gone and my arm was no longer sore. At work I had some “brain fog”. Everything took longer, and I made more mistakes than I usually do. But by evening I felt back to normal.
I tell you my side effects to encourage you to get the vaccine as soon as you can. The shot might keep you from everyday activities for two days. But Covid-19 will take you out for two weeks— if you’re lucky enough to have a “mild” case. If you have a severe case, count on being gone six weeks, and prepare to deal with very uncomfortable and debilitating symptoms like high fevers that last weeks, body aches like you’ve never had before, extreme weakness and fatigue, complete loss of appetite, losing your sense of taste and smell, and difficulty breathing. Or death.
The vaccine didn’t keep me from working, while Covid-19 put me on short term disability.
I’d rather bet on side effects than symptoms. The one is an unruly cat scratching at my legs. The other is a jaguar waiting to pounce on my back.
I’d rather bet on what will protect me from the jaguar, even if that costs me some discomfort. I hope you’ll make the same choice.
— Nelsonia
Vaccinated. Doing my part.
“Three. Two. One. Poke.” The nurse said quietly. I felt the jab less than I usually would because I was getting my picture taken. Pfizer’s Covid vaccine was flowing into my arm muscles. I was holding my thumb up while I stood sideways to the iPhone—for modesty’s sake. I had to take my shirt half off to expose enough arm to the needle.
“Looks good,” my colleague said. I buttoned up and stepped away from the injection station.
I felt suddenly light headed. My throat the slightest bit scratchy. Am I getting an allergic reaction? I wondered.
I reported the light headedness and was told to sit down and not leave for half an hour. A colleague came over and sat with me. She wasn’t feeling very well either. Nauseous. Faint. A bit pale.
I was not the least bit concerned for myself. If I had fainted I wouldn’t have worried. Even if I had required an epi drip and a night or two in the hospital, I wouldn’t have cared. Well, maybe then. But I’ve had Covid and I’ve personally witnessed the disease in many others, and I can tell you, almost anything is better than coming down with Covid-19.
Lightheaded is called emergency use. Fainting is called health care workers can’t wait to get the vaccine because of what we have seen and heard. This is called science and gathering data to improve the vaccine.
I thanked the nurses for giving me the shot. “You don’t know how much this means to me,” I said with teary eyes. They nodded. “You’re going to make me cry,” one of them said tearfully. I turned my head. The other nurse was crying too.
Everyone at the hospital knows I was critically ill with Covid-19 back in early April. They know what this vaccine means. Protection. Freedom. Victory.
But the vaccine means still more to me. It represents a means of service.
Yes, I have some natural immunity to Covid-19. But how much and for how long? Is the vaccine safe and effective for those who’ve already been sick? I want to be part of the field research on these questions. I want to do my part.
I’m glad I got vaccinated today. And I plan on getting my second dose on January 12 as scheduled. I hope the vaccine works as well as the data indicates. I hope it’s safe enough that people will take it. I have lots of hope on both counts.
Now let the data gathering begin.
— Nelsonia
We have a vaccine, now what?
Pfizer. Moderna. Operation Warp Speed. All successful. We have a vaccine against Covid-19.
Will you get vaccinated? I overheard a doctor today describe his misgivings about the vaccine. Too new. Do I want messenger RNA in my cells? Many are listening to him. Many are wondering.
I don’t wonder. If the vaccine is offered to me, I will take it.
Many of you know that I’ve already had Covid-19. Why would I even consider taking a new vaccine with unknown risks when I already have immunity.
Because I don’t know the risks of not taking one. My personal immunity may wane with time, perhaps substantially. My personal immunity may be limited.
As a chaplain I’m considered a frontline healthcare worker. I visit Covid-19 patients in their rooms, frequently. I’ll be offered — and will take — the vaccine.
Elegy
www.nytimes.com/2020/12/03/nyregion/coronavirus-new-york.html
Set in Queens, New York, this exceptionally well done article is 100 percent humanity suffused with the sheer terror of the coronavirus. It’s set in the early spring of last year, when I myself was hospitalized with the virus. By the end of the article I was in tears mourning the loss of the colorful and sympathetic characters portrayed.
Colorful and sympathetic characters are dying still. Everyday, in scores, here in Wisconsin. As a chaplain I’ve watched them die, I’ve been with families while they die. The virus is real, and it’s killing real people with real life stories and personal history.
I can’t wait for all this to be done. For the vaccines to be distributed and the dying cease. Right now, though, it’s a tough winter.
Do a favor for us in healthcare. Stay safe. I don’t need to tell you how. Stay safe. Keep others safe. We don’t want to see you in the hospital with this virus.
And take a few moments to honor those who have died. The article will help you do that.
Also, if any of you know of Wisconsin articles covering stories of people afflicted by the coronavirus please let me know. Thank you.
— Nelsonia
Thanksgiving check-in
I heard a disturbing interview on public radio a few days ago. Someone discouraging people from gathering said something like, “An infection now is a hospitalization in mid-December is a death at Christmas.” A sobering thought for sure.
Then I read that it’s not home gatherings that are driving the epidemic but “ wider forces” that can be traced to poor government policy.
Maybe we just don’t know what’s driving the pandemic. Maybe there’s just too much contagion out there for any of us to completely avoid it.
Therefore keep a safe distance. Therefore mask. Therefore stay home as much as possible.
In any case, we kept our Thanksgiving at home. We fixed a traditional meal and did a lot of dishes. Then we zoom called my in-laws, FaceTimed my brother and his family and used yet another service to video call my mother.
My mother was suffering confusion from the effects of isolation. When I came on she thought I was asking about her deceased ex-husband. And yet after a half hour of interaction with me and the family she returned to her old self. That call wasn’t a real visit but it was much better than nothing.
I find myself grateful for technology on this lonelier than usual Thanksgiving.
Changing my mind
I’ve decided to scale back my posts about the coronavirus to one post per week, published on Saturday.
Blogging is writing. One has to conjure a topic. Think about what to say. Then write. Edit. Read aloud. Edit again. Proof. Post.
The process takes a minimum of one hour. There is no way to reduce this time requirement and maintain quality. Also, there is no way to get back that hour. It’s gone forever.
I work 10 hours a day at my chaplain job. I have, at most, one hour a day to devote to writing. That hour must go to the book I am writing about recovering from Covid-19.
Therefore, I’m changing my mind about daily blog posts. I won’t regret it.
— Nelsonia
United by Covid
More than commerce. More than cross cultural marriage. More than global warming. More than any other factor pulling nation states together, is the Virus.
I’m a globalist. I believe globalism is an unstoppable force. Transportation, trade, and sheer curiosity are drawing all nations into a common union, just as the states of North America became, in time, the United States.
The Virus is hastening this global union. The Virus rides on our border-crossing planes. It infects people without regard to race or tongue. It kills indiscriminately, turning a blind eye to nationality. The Virus demonstrates our shared vulnerability.
The solutions to Covid-19 are likewise global. Masking, distancing and quarantine are universally effective defenses against our common foe. We heal the fallen with oxygen and medicines. We kill our foe with vaccination.
Success depends on cooperation. We will win this war together. Or we will lose it on our own.
We are one people. One species. One earth. There are no nations under the Virus. There is only one world we all share.
We are in this struggle together. We will prevail.
— Nelsonia
Thanksgiving Decision
Today our family made the difficult decision to not gather with relatives at Thanksgiving. Coronavirus is spreading too rapidly. Our parents are old and vulnerable. We don’t want to add to their risk. Or our own.
There will be Zoom calls made. And a traditional meal enjoyed at home. It’s not an ideal Thanksgiving holiday; there’s nothing ideal about this epidemic. We are excluding people we love from our lives for safety’s sake. I feel guilty even writing this.
Yes, we can feel glad that we’ve done our small part in keeping our family healthy. Yet I feel sadness for what we must do to combat this virus, and anger that it exists at all. I will give thanks when we have purged coronavirus from the earth, and can safely gather our loved ones together again. But until then, I will mourn.
— Nelsonia