Dylan was back at college for less than one day before he was exposed to COVID.
Nashville – one of the current places raging with the virus that still allows indoor dining and bar hopping – was not at fault.
Instead, Dylan decided – along with his friends – to create a “pod.” There were four of them who hung out together last year, and they’d all tested negative before arriving on campus.
So they got together indoors, mask-free, and determined that they would be the only ones for whom they would remove their masks. Two of them had single apartments, and Dylan and his roommate would be living together, so keeping that promise was easy.
They hung out for about an hour, in one of the girls’ apartments. Dylan and his girlfriend sat together; Dylan’s roommate sat on the sofa next to the other girl. They talked for about an hour.
Everyone and everything was fine. Or so they thought.
Two days later, the girl on the couch got sick and tested positive. Then Dylan’s roommate got sick, and also tested positive. It was that fast.
Dylan and his girlfriend were sitting across the room during their visit. They were maybe six feet away, and un-masked. They didn’t hug “Patient Zero,” but they didn’t take any extra precautions, either.
Dylan and his girlfriend quarantined in an off-campus apartment for a week after the initial visit. The college wouldn’t allow them to get a COVID test for a full week, since they weren’t showing symptoms.
They all attended their first week of classes online.
Both virus-infected students were sent into isolation. They both said the isolation was worse than the illness. Thankfully, they are both recovering.
Dylan and his girlfriend tested negative yesterday.
There is no visitation in the dorms, so many of the students have off-campus apartments. Parents seem to think this would keep them from being lonely, since their friends can visit at any time. (And they can!)
But the non-residential students are more likely to get COVID, partially – if not fully – because they have no restrictions on visitation. And they do things like – gosh – visiting one another, believing it’s safe….
It’s just not safe.
I wonder when it will ever be safe again.
My pandemic days are filled now – but not with anything in “real” life.
Since starting on my LEAP plan, I have to think – a lot – about food. The way it works is: I eat a very specific set of foods – and nothing else. Unfortunately this limits me, mostly, to making my own food, which is not my forte.
So I wake up unenthused.
First thing, I take my thyroid medication. I’m not allowed to eat for an hour after taking it, so I don’t even bother looking at my meticulously planned menu until an hour has passed. Then I find: I am allowed to eat oatmeal with goat’s milk! This is exciting, especially if I get a side of peaches.
Later, I am allowed a slab of ham, with cheddar cheese and maybe grapes. For dinner, Bill might broil tilapia (one of only three kinds of fish I can eat) and bake a sweet potato for me.
He makes something else for himself and the family. I eat alone. Even if I have planned a food that everyone can eat, I always eat alone. No one has offered to do this with me – not for one day, not even for one minute. My partner in life – who is delighted to cook for me – offers support from a distance.
Some days, though, he does tell me he’s proud of me – like I’m a toddler who learned to ride a bike. He’s just not going to ride with me.
One night Bill made tilapia for all of us – and it was delicious. The rest of the family got mac-n-cheese and green beans; I did not.
Since I can’t eat black pepper, my piece of fish had only salt. Bill peppered the rest of the fish. Why, you ask, would he pepper the other pieces of fish? I have no idea. The leftovers – which I would have loved – were made to rot in the fridge, while I nibbled on lettuce and almonds the next day.
I have plenty of snacks planned for every day. Thus far, I haven’t eaten any of the snacks. I am never, ever, ever hungry.
I also don’t crave anything. One would think that eating bland, whole foods would cause mad cravings for chocolate and jalapeños – but quite the opposite happens. Eating bland, whole foods makes me want to eat bland, whole foods.
Meanwhile, I am trying to walk 20 miles a week to keep some kind of pace with my ridiculous goal of 500 miles in six months. So while the food doesn’t make me leap from my bed, I do spend most of the day plotting when to walk – and how, given the weather.
The poor dog walked more in one week than in the prior month, but he seems to be enjoying himself. We are getting fit together. (To be fair, he is very young and does not require any additional fitness.)
On some days, I walk two miles and it takes every ounce of energy I have. Sometimes I hop on a bicycle afterward to get more mileage. On other days, I walk four miles and I wonder why I didn’t go out earlier. Most days, I wish it were warmer and drier so I could bike more and walk less.
Either way, I am moving. I am eating well. I am doing all the things I probably should have been doing since this pandemic started.
But honestly, I don’t really want to do any of it. I would just rather do this than die. So that’s what I’m doing.
The Capitol was attacked; five people died. Hundreds more are under investigation – including police. There’s fear in the air as mobs are threatening the life of our future President.
From what I’ve gathered on social media, Trump supporters fall into one of two camps. Many believe that the Capitol attack was wrong, and that those Trump supporters should be prosecuted – but that their cause was justified, even if their actions were not.
Others have cheered what happened by focusing now on Twitter and Facebook and their “censorship” of the man who incited the worst attack on the U.S. government in more than a hundred years.
While I am not a fan of censorship, I don’t see our soon-to-be-former “leader” as a victim. He has the entire world focused on him – which is exactly what he wants. The world is literally in his hands, and the media is desperate for him to speak.
But his choice is, instead, to sulk. Twitter’s and Facebook’s acts of supposed censorship are trying to disperse the 88 million people who blindly followed our very own Hitler, in the hope that they will stop destroying the lives of innocents in their blindness.
And while I know that the whole Twitter/Facebook thing is legal because they are corporations with rules – blah blah blah – I also understand the anger. I easily see the ramifications of what those corporations are doing to our beloved social media.
But my point is… I see.
The longer this disparity continues, the more I believe that seeing is what matters. To me, it feels like the Trump supporters just don’t see.
They follow blindly. They attack blindly. They are blind to everything that Donald J. Trump is – and are following, instead, what they think he represents. Trump is a liar, a narcissist and a sociopath. He uses people for one purpose only: to build up his own ego.
His followers can’t save him; they can only listen – and act accordingly. And in doing so, they are exactly like Nazis following Hitler. They believe the lies, and they do what he says. They are “fighting” for him, even though they have never actually seen who he is.
It is this blindness that is actually destroying us. They are fighting for what he represents to them. They are fighting for an ancient America – one that simply excluded women and minorities. They want to relive the glory days of White Supremacy.
I get that. It’s easy to remember “glory” from long ago.
For example, I truly miss riding my bike without fear of being shot. I also miss everyone in my neighborhood speaking the same language, because it was easier for me. But those days were gone way before Trump pointed out the loss, and they can’t ever reemerge.
I understand the allure, but it’s not possible to get back something that no longer exists. Trump lied about that, too. And no amount of destruction or rage or other adult temper tantrums will ever change that.
But so many can’t see it. They can’t see Trump for the bitter old man that he is; they blindly follow whatever suits his agenda.
They want to believe him because it’s easier than opening their eyes and seeing the truth: that the United States is already great because of our forward progress, and that it will only get stronger if we all band together.
Instead, they’ve torn themselves away from the pack – threatening their very survival – and created their own pack designed specifically, by Trump, to attack the rest of us.
It’s the blindness that bothers me most.
On Wednesday morning, I looked at the news, awestruck by the throng of people on the D.C. mall. I shared this curiosity with my sons.
“Look how many people!” I said. “Remember when we were down there for the March For Our Lives rally? There were 800,000 when we were there. I’m betting there are at least a million people – during a pandemic!”
We stared at the screen, which showed only a fraction of a million. They stood in the freezing cold, unmasked, smiling and huddled together; all I could think about was how many of them were likely to get COVID-19.
Then I casually moved on with my life. I was texting my mom some dumb stuff about how I was trying to walk indoors to get my 500 miles because it was so cold outside, when she texted: Capitol was stormed…. It’s bad.
Funny thing about bad news: it takes you back instantly to other bad news. It’s like it’s all tied together in the brain or something. My first thought was 9-11-01, when I sat in my mom’s living room, watching the horror on TV. My second thought was ducking and running from the D.C. sniper.
And now, a new image is burned into my mind: guns drawn on a broken window, as a mischievously evil face peers through the broken glass. It was like watching a movie, except for the genuine fear in the eyes of the law.
I watched as one lone police officer, armed with only a baton, tried to shoo away an angry mob as they plodded toward him. There must have been a hundred people coming at him, slowly and methodically. The officer backed away, waving his baton and trying to be stern, like he was dealing with a group of toddlers instead of a herd of grizzly bears.
To make matters worse, everyone in the mob was Caucasian and the officer was Black. He’d probably had “the talk” from his dad about what to do when a group of Whites attack him with racial slurs. I bet his dad never told him what to do if that group stretched from four feet to three miles away from his face.
There’s been a lot of talk about the attack on Democracy and not so much about the people involved. One woman was shot; she got a whole story in The New York Times. But the million others are still running wild in the streets, in their homes, posting videos on Facebook of their adventures.
Imagine if the police had shot everyone in the building. People are wondering why they didn’t, but I don’t wonder.
It would have been a massacre. The mob had guns and bombs. The police had guns and sticks. Along with a bunch of stupid, insane people, all of our country’s leaders could have been killed.
Well, all except one: Donald J. Trump was at the White House, watching the whole thing on TV. He would have survived, and been outraged that the people he “loved” got killed. (Not because he cared that they died, but because that would make his fan club slightly smaller.)
“This is just the beginning!” his fan club screamed. “Next time we’ll be armed and ready for battle!”
Since the U.S. is not (yet) Afghanistan, I am not as worried about random bombings as I should be. But I am worried.
My concern now is that Trump is going to pardon himself, and get away scot-free.
It was Day 1 of my 2021 goal: 500 miles in six months! I awoke with a sense of purpose.
I checked the weather. It was going up to a whopping 35 degrees. Then I looked out the window.
Hm.
The whole world was wet.
But it didn’t look like it was raining; I got out my phone to MAP MY WALK!
That’s when I remembered that I’d wanted to listen to audiobooks while I walked. But none of my ear buds fit my new phone, and my new bluetooth headphones weren’t charged yet.
But I was ready to go!
I harnessed Loki and bundled myself up for the Arctic. I put a faux-fleece scarf around my neck that is so big and fluffy, it can double as a COVID mask. I snapped my tundra-ready jacket and put on my fingerless gloves – with the mitten tops engaged. I hit “start” on my mapping app as I walked outside.
Before I got off the driveway, I started calculating: If I walk 4 miles, five days a week, that’s 20 miles a week. With a couple of bike rides on warm days, I will meet my goal – no problem!
I started singing to myself, I will walk 500 miles! And I will walk 500 more…! It was very festive inside my head.
I decided to go as far as I could go with the limited paved areas near my home, and measure the distance. My plan was to walk in a giant circle, which I hoped would be at least four miles.
I was near the end of my street when I realized that it was, actually, raining a little. I put my glasses in my coat pocket to keep them from fogging, but Loki was merrily trotting along and sniffing, so I wasn’t too worried.
When I started to tire a little, I pulled my phone out of my coat pocket to check the app. The phone didn’t recognize me behind the giant scarf, so I had to un-do my mitten-tops and type in my passcode. Swiping it open, I noticed a few new raindrops on the case.
Finally, believing I’d gone more than a mile, I opened the app.
It said: 0.44 miles.
I put the phone back in my pocket.
I must have read that wrong, I thought. I rechecked, since I’d taken my glasses off. Nines are frequently mistaken for fours.
Now it said: 0.45 miles.
Soon I went from trotting to trudging. I didn’t look at the app again. I walked and walked and walked. At some point, the rain picked up, and didn’t slow down. I kept trudging.
Loki was drenched and cold. He kept shaking the water from his fur and eyeing me for mercy. I hearkened back to his days as a stray, and figured he could handle anything.
Still, I felt bad for him. When I’d gone about 2/3 as far as I could go, I circled back toward the house.
Soaked to the bone, I knocked on the window so Bill could open the garage and I could bathe the dog to warm his weary bones. I hung my dripping coat from the car’s side mirror.
Finally, I checked the app. I’d seemingly been gone all day, braving the dreariest of weather. How many miles did I go?
The app said: 2.28 miles.
Two lousy miles.
A few minutes later, while trying to recover by taking a long, hot shower, I decided I could round up to 2.3.
Only 497.7 miles to go.
The new year starts tomorrow. Finally.
Along with my healthy new eating habits and natural thyroid medication, I got sudden inspiration to set a personal goal for some simple exercise.
It started when I saw a Facebook ad that offered Sesame Street buttons and a t-shirt for walking and/or biking 100 or 500 miles. It said I could choose my mileage, and whether I prefer six months or a full year to reach my goal!
Unfortunately, when I looked more closely at the Facebook ad, it was more of a fundraiser for the Sesame Street Workshop than an exciting opportunity for me to get a t-shirt. They wanted $100 for me to get those “reward” buttons during my journey.
So I decided to set my own goals for 2021 – and I decided that six months was plenty of time for me to reach whatever goals I set. By June, my eating plan will also be concluded.
But I had to think: how many miles can I walk in six months?
When I walk the dog, I go at least a mile – often two – and usually he gets two walks a day. While I often have help with walking duties, I also sometimes walk him twice. That seems like an easy 180 miles in six months – so I thought maybe I could do 300 miles in six months.
But I like the sound of 500 miles better. It seems like an amazing, challenging goal. I could sing that song, I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles), as I walk.
Plus, I don’t have to only walk. I can also ride a bike! I can go really far on a bike – easily 8 to 10 miles in one ride. Of course, it’s a bit cold for biking. But there is no reason I can’t walk and bike a total of 500 miles in six months.
I decided to choose a TBD reward for every 100 miles I travel. And then I decided to invite my family to join me in this awesome, totally fun experience!
That was my mistake.
First, I asked Bill. After explaining my plan, Bill looked nonplussed. Then he read me details from his watch.
“I’ve walked 2.6 miles today,” he said. He’d gone for one brief dog walk. And he’d driven half a mile to walk. Then he wanted credit for walking to the kitchen.
So I asked Shane.
“You can pick anything you want for a reward!” I said enthusiastically. “And you can choose your miles, too!”
“I already do a lot of exercise on my own,” Shane said. “This would make it seem more like work.”
Shane does do a lot already. He’s on the volleyball team, so he does virtual workouts with them. Plus he does his own regular workouts – sometimes right around midnight, when he’s bouncing around and plonking weights down, rattling the floor while I’m drifting off to sleep.
“Whatever,” I said, losing enthusiasm. “I’m sorry I asked.”
I was so sorry, in fact, that I didn’t even ask Dylan to join my quest. Of all the people in the family who will be walking 500 miles in six months, Dylan is the most likely. He’s taking a fitness walking class and he’s joined the college’s hiking club. Back and forth to classes will easily add a few miles a day. Dylan will have 500 miles by March, even with some Zoom classes.
But Dylan says “no” to everything I suggest. Getting him to connect with me on a goal-setting experience would be impossible.
So, I’m on my own – and really I’m doing the age-old “resolution” thing.
But this year, I get to reward myself for sticking to it.
After five years of experimenting, and two doctors guessing about what I can and can’t eat, I have finally gotten the results of my Mediator Release Test (MRT). And I’ve received my personalized LEAP program.
This is the answer I’ve been seeking, but not the answer I expected.
The MRT uses my blood to discover which specific foods are causing my body to go kerplooey. And the LEAP plan tells me what I should eat for the next six months so that my body can get healthy again. In June, I may be able to reintroduce some of the foods that have been destroying my body. But some of those foods may make me sick for the rest of my life.
I was surprised to find that I can still eat dairy. I was not as surprised to find that my highest sensitivity is wheat. I also have problems with things I don’t even eat – like beets and cantaloupe. Chicken and turkey, which I don’t even like, are a problem. I also can’t eat shrimp, which is a favorite.
The most daunting item on the list is corn. I can’t eat corn. At first glance, this seems okay. I can’t eat corn chips, corn tortillas or popcorn. When coupled with my wheat issue, this means it’s going to be very challenging to eat Mexican food.
But upon closer inspection, corn is in everything. Corn syrup. Cornmeal. Corn starch. Baking powder is made with corn starch. One site says 75% of processed foods contain some form of corn.
This does explain why my first doctor-induced diet (no wheat, corn, potatoes, fruit, sugar or nuts) worked so well.
Not including everything associated with wheat, beet, plum, butternut squash, potassium nitrate, cantaloupe, pumpkin, carrot, saccharin, cauliflower, shrimp, chicken, sunflower, corn, turkey, hazelnut, venison and orange, here is my list of corn-related items to inspect and/or avoid:
Anything that says CORN; alcoholic beverages, aspirin, baking powder, bacon, baked goods, candies, cheeses, cooking oil, corn starch, starch, corn syrup, cereals, dessert foods, dextrose, maltodextrin, Equal, Splenda, Sweet & Low, fruit juices, fructose, graham crackers, gravies, gum, ahm, hominy, jellies, ketchup, lozenges, Mexican and latin foods, margarines, peanut butters, popcorn, processed meats, soft drinks, toothpastes, vegetable oil mixes, vitamins, vinegar, glucose syrup, quinoa pasta, some iodized salt, some medications. Extremely sensitive people may react to cow’s milk, if the dairy cow has eaten corn.
There are YouTube videos from dozens – if not hundreds – of MRT/LEAP-test customers. Some of them follow the program religiously and feel great. Others follow it to their own specifications and do well. These videos are so interesting to me, because they each have their own sets of foods and their results are all pretty much the same: they feel better.
They feel a lot better. Even the ones who weren’t sick feel better!
Still, others decide the plan is too hard, and don’t do it. This is an expensive test; I’m not sure why anyone would do it without following the program.
So: I now have natural thyroid medication, supplements to support it, and a very detailed food plan. Finally, finally, finally: I am on the road to recovery.
I don’t know what day it is anymore. And Christmas – supposedly the most joyous occasion of the year for those who celebrate – is coming. As I write, it is going to be Christmas Eve … tomorrow.
I had to think about that. Basically, Christmas Eve is tomorrow and I had to think about that.
But last night, for the first time ever, I felt connected to the original Christmas story.
I have been reading the news about the current alignment of Jupiter and Saturn. They say it looks like a very bright star, and that we haven’t been able to see that particular “star” in 800 years.
But it’s here now, hovering in the sky. Jupiter and Saturn are so closely aligned that they look like one star. Scientists have speculated that this is probably the “star” that the kings and wise men followed when they discovered a newborn baby named Jesus.
Even with a once-in-800-years chance, I kept forgetting to look for the star. You’d think, with nothing better to do, I could remember to walk outside and look up.
But no.
Then last night, we – I should say, Bill – found “it” in the night’s sky. Gathered in Shane’s room, looking out his bedroom window, we saw something sparkling and enormous. For awhile, we didn’t believe it was two planets aligning. We debated about whether or not it was an airplane or, at least, a helicopter. For awhile, the sparkling thing looked like it was moving.
It was huge and brilliant, like nothing we’d ever seen in the sky before. This planetary alignment makes a splash so bright in the night’s sky, we literally didn’t believe we were seeing a natural occurrence.
It’s the kind of sparkly, spectacular thing that would make a bunch of kings get on their camels and go chasing it through the desert.
Why wouldn’t they follow that? I thought. I’m surprised more people didn’t show up.
A few hours later, it didn’t seem as bright or sparkly. But originally, the “star” seemed like a miracle. Bill took out his telescope and, in doing so, changed the miracle into just a couple of dots in the sky.
If you click on this link, you can see other people’s photos but I’d suggest you go out tonight, or on Christmas Eve, and see if you can catch a glimpse of this incredibly rare spectacle.
Seeing this star made me believe – maybe for the first time – that the Christmas story I’d been told my whole life is … true. I still can’t guarantee that Baby Jesus was born to a virgin, or that He was/is the Son of God. That’s an argument of faith, I think, and history.
But I always wondered why a bunch of important people would head aimlessly into the desert, stopping only when they arrived at a newborn sleeping in a barn. Now … it kinda makes sense.
They would never be able to “reach” the star, but back then, people believed in signs. And a spectacular “star” in the sky could easily be construed as a sign.
Nowadays, it could have been construed as an alien spaceship – but still.
Fortunately, I don’t need to know anymore why the kings crossed the earth. And even more fortunately, I was able to see the brilliant, dazzling spectacle that made them do it.
Merry Christmas!
Yesterday, Dylan turned 20. Something about the zero on the end of that number – or maybe the two at the beginning – made this birthday feel like it was … different.
Dylan is officially not a teenager. In a year, he’ll be a legal adult in every way. He still looks like my child, my wild child who ran through the backyard, climbing and jumping and inventing his own games just to keep himself entertained. He still looks like the toddler who came running into my arms, gleefully knocking me to the ground.
But he also looks like the teenager who couldn’t turn in his work on time, who wouldn’t turn his mistakes into successes. He looks like the guy who wailed at me from the floor that he just wanted to die because everything was so hard. And he looks like the superstar who sang on stages and got standing ovations from the crowds.
So knowing that he is 20, and seeing him … just being him … it’s an impossible joy. It’s hard to hold back this kid – this man – and at the same time, it’s so hard to let him go.
But it’s also wonderful that he’s made it this far, that he’s lived this long, that he’s become such an incredible human being. He’s not just a musician; he’s empathetic almost to a fault. He’s brilliant and unfocused and insane; he’s lovable and sensitive and sweet.
And he’s tough. By God, he’s tough. He made it through so much already, so many feelings and situations and just-plain-tough stuff, there’s no way he could have survived them if he hadn’t been so brave, so tough, so strong.
Even though it feels like I am letting him go, I am enjoying the sideline view. I’m loving watching him be an adult, be such a beautiful person, be the man he always dreamed of becoming.
I miss my baby. But Dylan is the man I always wanted my baby to become.
Some people have been following my thyroid exploration journey with great interest. Most people have been pretty bored with all the talk about food, while watching me continue to blow up like a balloon.
When I found the Chinese doctor, I’m pretty sure there was laughter behind my back. But the thing about the Chinese doctor was: she gave me herbal supplements. And when I took those supplements, I felt better. Up until that point, I honestly hadn’t known I was sick.
Before the Chinese doctor, I’d gotten a full-body virtual scan. The only issue they detected was an inactive thyroid. “Most thyroids I see have some activity,” the doctor said. “But there is no activity at all on this scan. Do you want to explore this further?”
“Nah,” I said. “That doesn’t matter.” And then I went merrily on my way.
That was eight years ago. I didn’t even know I was sick.
So the Chinese doctor was helpful; but when I translated all the Chinese herbs into English, I was able to get those supplements on my own.
And while I felt better, I didn’t feel right. I knew something was wrong. Sometimes I would be so tired, I could barely lift my head – at 2:00 in the afternoon. Other times I would scratch my head until it was nearly raw. And sometimes my gut would scream at me like I was being knifed from the inside.
Doctor number three actually took my blood. Anemia, he said. Severe Vitamin D deficiency, he said. The blood showed low-level production in my thyroid; he seemed to think I could do without desiccated thyroid (the thing all the books suggested).
Looking back, I think he just wanted me to continue to visit every three months and give him $300 – not covered by insurance – to read my blood test results.
Once, he told me, “You need to stop eating rice; it turns to sugar in your body.” He put me on the Mediterranean diet. Its main staple? Rice.
Another time he said, “Nine times out of ten, your problem is caused by gluten! You should avoid gluten at all costs!” A minute later, he said: “You can eat bread, but only Ezekiel brand!” I went straight to the store. Ezekiel doesn’t make gluten-free bread. I tried to eat it anyway; of course, it made me sick.
Meanwhile, he told me to take 625% the daily recommended dosage of Vitamin D, which literally could have killed me. When I had heart palpitations and expressed my concern, he actually increased my dosage.
That was the final straw.
I started reading books – again – and researching on the internet – again. For a problem that is supposedly incredibly common in this country, thyroid disorders and autoimmune diseases have virtually no professionals who know how to get to the root causes of either issue.
When someone told me about a test for food sensitivities, I was thrilled. And now, I have taken that blood test – and ordered my (researched and re-researched) supplements.
As a final step, I have found an endocrinologist who will finally prescribe natural, desiccated thyroid (medication) for me. My appointment with the endocrinologist is next week.
So, between the medication, the supplements and the food plan, I should be able to live a long, healthy life.
Of course, this assumes that COVID doesn’t kill me first. 2021 is going to be a tough year with food, new medication and new supplements. But maybe, just maybe, I will actually live to see my grandchildren.
Better yet, I might be even able to play with them.
