What if Covid19 Comes Here????

What makes us think we are entitled to live in a world without hardships...that we should always be prosperous, have all our needs and wants met, be free from disease, never suffer loss?  In the United States we have become so accustomed to a comfortable lifestyle that we forget most of the world is still suffering and that we are only a generation or two past such times here.

We watch a “reality” show called survivor which isn’t remotely akin to reality and has little to do with actual survival.  It is a foolish game that we watch, because most of us haven’t dealt with the genuine situation.  Hardship for us is going without one meal, or feeling cold because we forgot our sweater, or having our sleep disturbed by the neighbor’s dog barking or the occasional bout of the gastrointestinal bug.

We have forgotten that there was a time when hurricanes and snow storms could not be predicted, when immunizations weren’t available to prevent diseases and antibiotics weren’t available to treat them, when diabetes and cancer were an automatic death sentence, when building and maintaining a fire were essential for warmth and food preparation.

Sickness and death seem foreign and like an unimaginable tragedy rather than a routine part of life.  My grandparents were born in the late 1800s.  Their lives were so much more difficult than mine.  My paternal grandmother lost her mother to cancer when she was still a young girl.  She lived on a farm where she worked as hard as a boy.  Her father was physically abusive.  My maternal grandmother’s father was murdered when she was young.  She had to drop out of school after the 8^th grade and go to work as a seamstress.  Two of her siblings died young of kidney disease.  She and my grandfather lost a baby to measles.  My grandparents lived through the depression.  All of their sons served overseas in World War II.  What have I suffered by comparison?  Very, very little!

And so we are now in a panic over the corona virus.  Some of us will get sick and some of us may die.  We feel as though this is some sort of personal insult which our government should be able to prevent.  Conspiracy theories, finger-pointing and apocalyptic pronouncements abound. 

I believe in a God who is sovereign over human history.  I do not know what He is planning or will allow, but I trust Him to do what is right and what will bring about His purposes for the world in general and for me personally.

Tomorrow I will get on a plane on the west coast and fly to the east coast.  I will probably use some hand sanitizer along the way, but I do not feel anxiety about the possibility of exposure to corona virus or the flu or about the chance of the plane crashing.

I do not expect my life to be free of difficulties, and I do not expect my government to be responsible for all my personal needs and wants.  I know I live in a broken world.  Only my Savior can rescue me and make the crooked straight.

Vision or Coincidence?

A few days ago, I finished reading a novel in which the main character had visions.  There was discussion in the book about whether or not it is possible for a person to see what is going on in someone else’s life when they are not in physical proximity.  One of the characters in the book, who was counselling the person who had the visions, believed this was possible if there was a close emotional bond between the person in the vision and the person having the vision.  I was reminded of something my Mother told me years ago.

During World War II, all the men in my family in the generation before me were in the military.  My Dad was in France.  His brother was a medic on a hospital ship in the Pacific.  One of my Mother’s brothers was in north Africa, and the other two were in Europe.

It was a difficult time for both sides of my family.  My grandfathers were the only men around in either household.  There was a lot of stress, and my Mother was pregnant with me.  One night during this time, my Mother awakened in a cold sweat.  She had heard her brother Frank call out, “Laurena, I’ve been shot!”

Communications at this time were not instantaneous as they are now.  Time passed…I don’t know if it was days or weeks…before the family received word that Frank had indeed been shot by a German sniper.  His elbow was shattered and required a metal plate, but his life was spared. 

Apparently, he got most of the use of his arm back, as my Mother told me that when he came home, he used to lift me to the ceiling and purposely hit my head on it.  This apparently caused me to call him Bink instead of Uncle Frank.   In any event, I was delighted and would squeal, “Do it again Bink.”  Perhaps I was unknowingly participating in his physical therapy.

I have wondered about this incident.  My Mother didn’t dwell on it and never mentioned any similar experiences.  I suppose one could say it was a coincidence.  Obviously with all the young men in harm’s way, the family was experiencing anxiety.  But it was Frank she heard call to her, and it was Frank who caught the bullet.  My Mother had a great deal of affection for all three of her brothers, and they all seemed to adore her…so who knows?  Perhaps an emotional bond can span the Atlantic Ocean.

What a Night in the ER Reveals

Yesterday afternoon, I began to have pain in my lower right chest.  I laid down, but I could find no comfortable position.  By suppertime, I had no appetite, and I was having difficulty breathing.  Every normal breath created sharp pain along the lower edge of my rib cage.  Around 6 pm, I decided I had to do something about it.  Bill and I discussed options.  We found the nearest ER on Google maps, and off we went.

The ER was an absolute zoo.  About 40 people were crowded in the waiting area.  If some had not been in wheelchairs there would not have been adequate seating.  We could hear people around us saying they had been there waiting for 7 hours.

I was taken into triage quite quickly.  Even though the chest pain was on the right, I guess chest pain is chest pain, so I had a speedy EKG. 

Then the wait began.

We were seated next to a couple who were about our age or a bit older.   They were not happy with each other.  They were quiet about it, but we were close enough to be aware of the friction.  I think she probably had some beginning dementia, and he was not able to deal with it patiently.  He felt there was no reason to be there.  She asked if he thought she was making up her reason to come to the ER.  He said “yes.”  She was obviously hurt.  They had been waiting for over 7 hours, and she wanted to just leave and go home.  He was gritting his teeth and refusing to leave after having waited so long.  They clearly did not have a supportive and loving relationship.

A few hours later, an argument erupted between a young couple.  She was crying and he was berating her in Spanish.  I don’t speak Spanish, but the tone of voice could not be mistaken.  She got up and went outside.  He followed her.  She came back in and sat down in a spot where he could not sit next to her.  He sat nearby and continued to speak loudly and angrily as she sobbed and made repeated attempts to get away from him by moving around the room.  Finally, a man sitting in the waiting room intervened.  At this point, we were sitting with our backs to the situation, so I don’t know if he was physically imposing, but he took the guy on verbally.  He told him he wasn’t going to tolerate his treatment of the young lady, and he’d better leave.  The young idiot then called 911 and tried to say he was the victim.  Hospital security arrived and separated the young man and his crying girlfriend.  The problem was taken outside, so I don’t know what happened from there, but that was not a loving relationship.

Meanwhile, my sweet husband was hovering over me trying to do whatever he could to be helpful.  Did I need a drink of water?  Was I warm enough?  He hung on to me as I walked from one place to another.  When I finally was taken to a room and was on the stretcher, he was afraid my feet were cold.  He sat at the foot of the stretcher and put my feet against his body under his sweater.  He never complained about the long wait.  I told him I was sorry, because I knew it would mess up his being able to play softball in the morning.  He shrugged it off.  I was able to doze off after I had been given some pain medication by IV.  He catnapped in the chair near me.

After a total of 10 hours, an EKG, lots of blood work, a chest x-ray, a CAT scan of my chest, a bag of IV fluid, visits by a medical student and a physician, we headed home with a diagnosis of pleurisy, and the revelation that I have scarring at the base of both of my lungs, but it is worse on the right.  As to why the pleurisy was triggered yesterday, no suggestions.  Although a blood test marker for a blood clot and possible pulmonary embolism was elevated, that was ruled out with the CAT scan.  They did find a very small nodule in my left lung which we should keep an eye on.

But, the main take-away from the long night was something I already knew.  My husband is a prince, and we have a loving relationship for which I am very grateful.

Dust

…You were made from dust and to dust you will return.  Genesis 3:19

…he remembers that we are dust…Psalm 103:14

Specks drifting in the wind,

Gathered together, compacted

Carefully shaped,

And yet...dust.

Capable of artistry,

Complex thought,

Creative endeavor,

And yet…dust.

Capable of evil,

Arrogance and greed,

Pettiness and falsehood,

Because…dust.

Straining to be more,

To do more,

Falling short,

Because…dust

In the struggle,

In the failure,

He remembers,

We are dust.

Reduced by death,

And passage of time,

Coming full circle,

We are dust.

He who formed us,

Knows best,

What we are made of.

But in compassion…

He looks past the dust into our hearts.

Amaryllis Anticipation

Green spears poke through,

Lifting their heads upward,

Seeking the sun.

From a swollen end,

A streak of red peeks out.

The swelling splits,

Revealing brilliant flowers,

Each a burst of flaming red,

Trumpet shaped

And equally boisterous.

After a few days,

You wilt and droop.

You stain my hands

As I pluck you off.

I mourn your passing.

But under the earth,

Inside the hidden bulb,

Is the potential for a new day,

Of radiance and glory.

Amaryllis anticipation.

Thoughts on Flirtation

 

Ah…so why is an old lady living at a retirement center thinking about flirtation?  It seems men never stop being vulnerable to it, and women never stop doing it or worrying that someone else is doing it to their husbands.

A friend here, who is a widow, commented that she sometimes gets the feeling that other women are uncomfortable when she talks to their husbands.  This came up because she and I had become friendly before she met my husband.  After meeting him, she told me she had no idea I was married to such a handsome man.  She wondered if I was unhappy with her talking to him.  I laughed.  I am not worried in the least.  Women of all ages from toddler to senior have always seemed to find my husband charming.  I think it is his twinkly blue eyes and boyish grin that work the magic.  However, he has never given me reason to be worried.

When my uncle, who was an attractive older man who had never married, moved into a retirement community, he found the single women to be “predators.”  Most men would find a bit of flirtation and perhaps even aggression to be flattering.  Not so for my uncle.  I suspect there are a variety of responses to flirtation from older men.  Young men seem to universally fall for it.

As a young woman, I could not understand this at all.  Especially when I watched someone who I knew to be highly intelligent succumb.  I always felt flirtation was dishonest and manipulative.  Why would you do that to someone, if you genuinely liked and respected him?  I also seemed to be incapable of it.

My senior year in high school, I had a major role in the senior play.  The main character in the play was a man, but there were three important female roles.  One was more or less a victim of bullying, one was a bitchy woman, and one was a nice teenage girl.  I was the nice one.  I did, however, have a boyfriend, and one of my lines in the script was to tell my boyfriend that I had no plans for the evening, but “I’m open to suggestion.”  The director of the play wanted this to be said in a flirtatious way.  Every time I delivered the line in rehearsals everything came to a grinding halt as he shouted, “No, no, no!”  On one occasion he added, “If I had the wherewithal to say the line appropriately, I would, but I don’t.”

I thought, “okay…if a male can’t say the line, I will have to learn how to do it from a girl.”  So, at my next gym class I went around and asked every girl to say the line for me.  I did not find this particularly helpful.  At the next rehearsal, I did my best, and he still yelled, “No, no, no!”

Sadly, one of the girls from the gym class happened to be hanging around at the rehearsal.  She did have a habit of saying things better left unsaid.  She piped up, “Don’t yell at her!  She asked every girl in the gym class to say it for her.”

Oh…the laughter that ensued!  I was embarrassed as the director laughed uproariously.  I suppose there were snickers from some of my male peers, but I don’t remember.  I was probably trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

I was always too open and direct to be flirtatious.  This resulted in lots of delightful platonic relationships which I would not have missed for the world.  At some point in our developing relationship, my boyfriend who became my husband told me it was OK if I flirted with him.  I’m not sure if he enjoys my attempts as flirtation or as humor.

I do think I’ve figured out the line from the play.  One must say…

"But I’m…(pause and sly smile)….open to suggestion (lift one eyebrow).”

Unresolvable Controversy

I should not allow myself to get drawn into controversies on Facebook which cannot be resolved, because each side is so convinced that they are right, that any argument is futile.  But, I did.  And…it wasn’t even about politics.

You know those math problems that are posted which cause arguments?  One camp thinks the answer is 7 and another group is convinced the answer is 1.  An older school group believes all equations are worked left to right, but the more recently educated believe one must use “Order of Operations” or PEDMAS (parentheses-exponents-division-multiplication-addition-subtraction).  When they come up with different answers, each side accuses the other of not knowing what they are doing.

I think this is all meaningless, because no one worth his salt would, in a practical situation, allow an equation to be written that caused confusion or controversy.

If you were an engineer creating an equation that would help to determine the strength of the material used in building a bridge would you risk someone misinterpreting the equation?

If you were a medical researcher creating an equation to determine the correct dose of a chemotherapy drug would you leave an equation in a form that required PEDMAS to accurately interpret?

If you were creating an equation to calculate the firing of retrorockets to ensure the safe return of astronauts from space would you write an ambiguously structured formula?

NO!  NO! and NO!

As far as I am concerned, this means that PEDMAS is a “parlor game” or internet game and otherwise is only usable by math teachers for test questions.

I tried to say that and created a firestorm of responses.  It apparently drives math teachers crazy to think they are teaching something as the Holy Grail which has no meaningful purpose in real life.  I actually found an article by a Berkeley math professor that said essentially what I was saying.  I posted a link to the article and someone argued that the article agreed with her position, not mine. (I think there may be a reading comprehension issue there!)

Now…I LOVE math.  I thoroughly enjoy it as though it were a game.  I know to most people this is bizarre, but solving a complicated math problem actually gives me a pleasurable sensation inside my head. 

But…I do understand the difference between math as a game and math as a tool.  Just as reading is essential to learning in most fields, math is essential in many, many fields.  In the practical setting, it cannot be viewed as a game or puzzle, it has to be viewed as a precise tool.  There cannot be ambiguity when someone’s life may depend on the calculation.  An equation used for a practical purpose must be clear…even broken down into multiple steps if that is what is required to avoid confusion.

I did some searching and found a formula for calculating the dose of a chemotherapy drug.  It was written with parenthesis which made clear which portion of the equation needed to be dealt with first.  There was no division sign…division was indicated by placing one portion of the equation over the other essentially creating a fraction.  The dose for a female was to be 85% of the male dose, but this was shown as an extra step.  No confusion…no reliance on PEDMAS.

When the math matters, one cannot play games.

If you like games, there are plenty of them on the internet and lots of opportunity to argue which answer is correct.

I will be scrolling past these on FB, because there is obviously no point in trying to explain that it is all a game to make some feel more educated than others.  People apparently want to keep taking shots at those who don't agree with them, and will even use math as an excuse to do so.

Now as to how this happens with political opinions....no, no, Ruth....don't go there!