More Thoughts on the Anniversary of COVID

We are now reaching the point where Facebook is posting what life was like a year ago. Reminders of a quaint time when we thought we'd be on pause for two weeks only to reemerge safely. When the activities were being postponed instead of cancelled. The school musical would still be celebrated. The senior fashion show would still happen. Spirit Week would merely be postponed. 

As we all know, that's not what happened. The rest of Ashley's senior year was cancelled. Sure they gave them signs saying Class of 2020 (a tradition carried on this year for both the incoming freshmen and the graduating seniors) and asked them to submit pictures of them having fun, but as I keep saying, "no one will ever sign her yearbook."

Tonight her alma mater held the senior fashion show. I can't even look at the pictures. I'm happy the school is trying to create happy memories for the current class, but a bigger part of me wants to cocoon until the happy senior memories are over for the Class of 2021. It hurts seeing what I missed out on as a mom. Last year was my only chance to be the mom of a high school senior.

Yesterday Ashley's college announced it was going on lockdown because a significant amount of COVID tests came back positive. According to the website that number is THREE, but according to an email it is TWENTY-THREE (out of 1,516 tests), still a low number. No eating in the dining hall, no indoor activities, no visiting friends in other dorms. It breaks my heart.

I saw my mom today. I admitted it probably hurts me more than it hurts her, but I'd still like to talk to her about it.

The next couple of months will be emotionally draining as I see what could have been for our daughter, and what will never be.

Live Theater

I recently heard someone say we will all be crying the first time we return to a live theatrical production and stand for our first standing ovation in over a year. That thought was in my mind while attending Notre Dame's production of Godspell -- a show they have now done three times over their history.

Prior to attending the show we were asked to fill out a health self-assessment, which was checked out before we were allowed into the lobby. In the lobby we showed our ticket information on our phones (or printed out). No tickets. No programs. Programs were accessed by a QR code (making it hard to study during the show).

Their 1,000+ theater was roped off to allow only 180 patrons. We were lucky to get a seat.

See how empty the theater is? That is on purpose.

Rather than a cast of thousands, there were only 35 students on stage, plus two stage mangers (instead of four), no props person, no scene changes, and a pit orchestra consisting of the head of the department and his two sons. There were very few costume changes, and likely no wigs. For Notre Dame that is bare bones.

We also gave up intermission. At the hour and twenty minute mark instead of an intermission we were invited to stand and stretch in our seats while the students sang a reprise of a song. The show ran over two hours. We were asked to go outside to wait for our students (instead of in the lobby as in the past). There was no 50/50. No concession sales.

I did note, there was also very little fidgeting. No coughing. No sneezing. Those there respected that we were privileged to be able to see a live production and we were not ruining it for future audiences. 

No one will say this was their best performance. On the other hand, with so few schools and theaters performing live in New Jersey, it was the best show we have seen in person in over a year. The students had a chance to perform (they were all wearing at least one mask).

It was so good seeing familiar faces and having casual conversations again. 

May we move closer to a hopefully and optimistic future every day.

The Vaccine

In one week I will be considered "fully vaccinated." That means that I have received both doses of the Pfizer vaccine and have waited the two weeks afterwards for it to take effect.

As I listen to friends on Facebook talk about the vaccine process, I feel compelled to share mine.

In mid-February (about six weeks ago) I made a Facebook post that would change my life: "I'm tempted to have a vaccine appointment as a silent auction item (kidding, not kidding)." Or words to that effect. In mid-February it was very hard to get a vaccine appointment. They were available to health care workers, senior citizens, those working and living in long term care facilities (nursing homes), and those with at least one pre-existing serious health condition. Other states had other lists for eligibility.

My parents received their vaccines in early February (clearly age). They went to Edison, NJ to a site being run by the National Guard. I was then determined for Don and I to receive our doses (pre-existing health conditions). 

The post led a friend to give me a low lottery number in the Atlantic City list. He has since gone on to help over 50 people receive coveted vaccine appointments throughout New Jersey. 

My turn came up for an appointment. I made one for the following Sunday afternoon in Atlantic City. I felt both relieved and guilty -- guilty because there are so many people who qualify who have not been able to schedule appointments. In some cases it is due to computer illiteracy, or because they don't want to travel that far, or because the times available are not good, or the location is sketchy, or because the appointments disappear moments after they become available at a random time on a random site.

Don kindly drove me 100 minutes to Atlantic City, hoping he could convince them to give him an extra dose (they say they don't do that, but I wonder had we waited until the end of the day if he could have scored one). We were early, but ignored the signs saying wait in your car until 15 minutes before your appointment. I would have gladly waited, but really wanted a bathroom first! 

Like the site in Edison, Atlantic City is run by the National Guard. It was extremely smooth. After a quick temperature check, I was pointed in the direction of the registration desk. A guardsman asked for my name (did not ask for identification) and handed me a plastic keycard with a QR code on it. I then went upstairs, down a long hallway, to another queue. At the front of the line I handed the person at the computer entered the code on the card and told me to follow another guardsman. This one led me to one of 20 tables where I was asked a lot of information -- but I was never asked why I thought I deserved a shot. Basically verifying my name, address, date of birth, allergies related to the vaccine, and if I had an autoimmune disorder which would relate to a longer wait. He gave me a card with my name and date of birth on it and passed me to another guardsman, who pointed me to one of 20 tables, this one with Chance who asked which side I wanted (the right, because I sleep on the left side). He quickly jabbed me and sent me to the waiting area. The waiting area had us line up in order of jab so they could time the 15 minutes. After 13 minutes, someone checked in on me and asked me what time and date were best for returning for my second jab. I scheduled for three weeks later, the same date and time of Don's first appointment. I was free to go!

Don and I took advantage of the nice weather to walk the Atlantic City Boardwalk. I wish I could fix the formatting of pictures, but alas. We drove 100 minutes home, with a stop at Mastoris for dinner, where we had just missed Gary, our favorite waiter.

Other than a sore arm, I had no side effects.

Five days later Don was able to get a vaccine at the CURE Arena in Trenton in what could only be described in terms of a drug deal:

"I'd like one of the appointments at the end of your shift."

The volunteer states: "We don't do that, but if you hang out, we'll see what we can do."

Man walks up to volunteer with a clipboard: "Here, start a wait list." Very few people there bumped Don and his past heart surgery to the top of the list. After being jabbed, he was instructed to wait 30 minutes while the cleaning crew literally cleaned up around him and the other stragglers. He asked for a sticker, and they found one. He was told he would receive an email within a week with his follow-up appointment (it came a couple of days later). No choice given, but since it is a 15 minute drive from home, he gladly took it.

Fast forward to my second appointment. The Atlantic City site has been

streamlined. Instead of stopping at the first set of 20 tables to give my name and and information, only to have to repeat my answers at the second set of tables, we passed the first 20 tables to the jabbing station. April kindly gave me my second vaccine, and filled out my vaccine card with a sticker identifying my vaccine information. After another 15 minute wait I was freed. The whole experience (including a stop at the bathroom) took 31 minutes.

Again Don and I walked the boardwalk and celebrated with dinner at Mastoris in Bordentown. This time Gary was there as they are expanding their dining under new rules, therefore his hours have been expanded. Other than sleeping for 10 hours the second night after my vaccine, and a sore arm, I had no side effects.

Don returns this Friday for his second dose of the Moderna vaccine. He is worried about potential side effects. Hopefully they will be minimal.

Joe Biden is asking states to open up vaccines to everyone as of May 1. Hopefully then Ashley can get vaccinated, too.

Meanwhile, my sisters, brother-in-law, and nephew all received their first doses so Easter dinner is on! Each went to a different location with different situation--a CVS, an empty store, a Rite Aid... but the end result is the same -- vaccination!

I do want to add I wish there was a national policy for receiving a vaccine. ONE list of WHO is eligible. ONE website and phone number to call to schedule appointments. In New Jersey Rite Aid, CVS, Walmart, Shop Rite, RWJ hospital, etc. each have their own lists for scheduling appointments. Each state determines who is eligible (in New Jersey smokers were bumped ahead of teachers, making many teachers contemplate taking up smoking to get vaccinated sooner). It feels like Lord of the Flies meets Survivor meets the Hunger Games. May we look back on these few months with shame. I mentioned my frustration to a friend and she said they are working with the system set up under 45 and trying to fix it without scrapping it and creating more chaos. 

May it get better and not worse. Cases are going up about 3,500 a day, while more than 35,000 people a day are being vaccinated in New Jersey. We have about 8.8 million people in the Garden State.

It will get better. It has to get better.

One Year into the Pandemic

I started this post a week ago. I am struggling to find the right words to commemorate the first anniversary of life changing for everyone.

I'll start with what I wrote a week ago...

A year ago today our world shut down for two weeks. 

No, for four weeks. 

No, for a couple of months. 

No, for forever.

Friday the 13th of March 2020 both feels like yesterday and a hundred years ago.

It is overwhelming.

The thoughts from the past year are overwhelming.

Long paragraphs of thoughts have been reduced to small lines.

It hurts to think about life 366 days ago.

It hurts to think we still hoped to see Ashley go to Prom with her friends. To watch her in the Senior Fashion Show. To celebrate graduation with her. To hear about her senior speech after her last high school musical production. 

It will always hurt to think about the milestones that were missed.

Let me add thoughts from this week.

I realized I've been living life at a 5 on a scale of 1 to 10. I've lost the ability to be miserable (because in the beginning I was chastised for being upset at the losses of things that were not people but experiences I'll never have). Along the way I lost the way to be excited and happy. Instead I am okay. Fine. Blah.

I share on FaceBook and this blog when my 5 rises to 6 or 7. Or sometimes when it drops to a 3 or 4.

I realized I've lost the passion. More importantly, I don't know how to regain it.

We are at a strange place in this pandemic. If I were to be honest, though, all parts of the pandemic have been strange places.

I've had both of my vaccinations. Don gets his second on Friday. Ashley is not even in the queue. That is a plus.

On the negative cases in New Jersey are rising. But, and there are a couple of buts that are important: hospitalizations are way down and vaccinations are happening at the rate of ten times the pace of new cases. 

Meanwhile many restrictions are being lifted and the many are being vocal about it being TOO SOON! 

Life is exhausting.

The other day Don and I talked about going out to dinner after his bike ride. First, you have to be quiet about going out to dinner because it is considered a risky behavior, along with being near others. It is safer to stay home (the vocal feel it is okay to be isolated, even though many others find it depressing). The real issue was before we could go to the restaurant we had to research what time they now close (it changes). Found out they close at 9 (it was already 8:45, so that night was out).

Picking up a book from the library is equally as exhausting. What are their hours? Which days can I go inside to pick up my book? Which days is that only available outside at a scheduled time? 

I wanted to return old license plates to DMV. Pre-COVID I went to the local DMV on the other side of town and handed them in at the front desk. Now that location only handles drivers licenses, not car licenses. Oh, and they are closed due to COVID. How long are they closed? Must do further research to find out when they are open again. The nearest location for car licenses is in Trenton, but they, too, are closed for COVID. The next closest location for what I want to do is in South Brunswick. When I showed up there was a convenient box for dropping off licenses. Now why wasn't that listed on the website?

Repeat this over and over again for every part of life. 

Time for online church and some more reflection. 

First In-Person Race in a Year: 6th Annual Grilled Cheese and Tomato Soup 4-Mile Race

Fifty-two weeks ago I ran my last in-person race, the fifth annual grilled cheese and tomato soup 4-miler. At the time I had heard about Coronavirus (as it was called in those days), but it was far away in Wuhan, China and Florence, Italy. Yes, it was awful that those places were in lock down, but life was normal in New Jersey. 

Within a week that was all to change.

Within that week, we signed up for next year's 4-mile race. Typically the day of the race, or the day after, we are sent an email inviting us to sign up for next year's race -- catching us while we still have a runner's high. It is typically the first race of the calendar year, not counting the New Year's Day race that happens while it still feels like the year before.

In the past year many races have been cancelled, postponed, or simply went virtual. Us runners, and those race organizers did what they could do. Bucks County RunBucks patiently followed state guidelines. Races were postponed, and they have been generous with deferral allowances. Like many of us, they figured out a way to make the race happen, while also being safe.

With Gabrielle for our annual race photo

Of course we were asked to wear masks when we were near others. They also recognize that running while wearing a mask is a challenge (not impossible) and said when we were not near others we could take off our masks.

They also cut how many could run.

The post party became a box of make your own grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup at home.

The course was changed. Instead of starting en masse using the spiral of death to sort us, they asked us to realistically predict our pace. Be realistic (yes, repeating for emphasis). Bib numbers were assigned based on this expectation. 

The plan was for us to line up in number order. It was a great plan. I suspect the people wearing the lowest numbers managed to follow the order. Many back of the packers stayed back of the pack hanging out with their friends. Those of us in the middle tried to stay near the middle.

One man with a bib 30 numbers higher than mine insisted I go in front of him, that he was feeling slow that day. You guessed it, he flew by me -- which was not the idea! We were supposed to flow like a train and keep passing and getting close to others at a minimum.

The other thing they did to separate us was to give each person their own start

time. Person one started after the National Anthem. Person two stood at the 40-foot mark. When Person one crossed the starting line. Person two sauntered up to the start line from 30 feet away. Then Person three. Then Person four. And on and on until Person 168. Looking at the results, that took about 10 minutes -- a long time for a race with under 200 people in it.

In general it worked. We didn't gather. People wore their masks. Not much passing happened.

The biggest stumbling block were the large patches of ice -- especially the one

near the turnaround point (which was ironically moved to compensate for the lack of spiral of death), and the stretches of mud. In a few days temperatures will be in the mid-60s instead of low 30s and those patches of ice will disappear, and more mud will appear.

Let me add, it is a challenge to figure out pace when the sense of competition is erased by having our own start times. I was 10 seconds per minute slower this way than in the past (the ice did contribute to some of that). Don was a lot slower, this year he power walked instead of running because he is focusing his energy or training for his cross-country bike ride instead of running.

One last observation: in general, the less clothes one wore to race in, the faster their time. Even if I ran with the skimpiest of outfits, though, there is no chance I would be faster than the teenagers running in shorts and tank tops on this chilly later winter day. However, maybe I would have been a little faster, if only to get to the finish line sooner so I could warm up.