Trigger warning: This is going to be a very whiny newsletter. Delete immediately if you are also currently experiencing suffering beyond the usual dosage because I don’t think my sadness spiral will be helpful.
Disclaimer: I am not sending this draft newsletter in real-time. I wrote the majority of it on June 5 but then got COVID for the first time the week after the CDC said the pandemic was over. But here we are and, ultimately, I felt like I needed to let it out into the world because I often cloak my whiny thoughts but it’s probably relatable to someone out there. Okkkkk, here we go…buckle up.
I have all these things I want to write about, but I can’t. I’ll tell you why.
Back in March, I shared how my word of the year was TEND. Now I’m laughing so hard at myself. Laughing because it’s cute that I chose that word. Laughing because when I read that back to myself I am astounded by the naivete—meditation, HA. gardening, HA. Health, hahahhaha. But mostly laughing because I think I’m losing my mind.
Let me unload.
About five weeks ago I came down with a cold. Not COVID (tested negative), not the flu (tested negative), not RSV (tested negative), not pneumonia (x-ray clear). But it knocked me off my feet. I’ve been here before, but this time it felt…worse. Most likely because my son is now a teething toddler who wakes up no fewer than 3x night. But my downfall came two weeks after my husband got sick with strep, and then my son was sick for a week, and I was the last man standing. Now I fear I am in a perpetual state of ill.
Five weeks sounds like not that much time. It’s just a month-ish and in the grand scheme of those fighting cancer, chronic illness, or even (seriously) being pregnant for 9 months (no physical/emotional walk in the park). BUT I AM MAD.
I am mad that my son’s first birthday party was canceled. The party would be a time for reflection and family coming together (my dad and stepmom were even planning to drive 8 hours to be there), which doesn’t happen every day. Benny had a lovely day despite me, but I didn’t. I didn’t get to actually celebrate with my husband and loved ones the magnificent feat of keeping Benny alive (and mostly happy) for an entire year. Celebrating how far we’ve come.
I didn’t get to celebrate my husband’s Muppets premiere a week after that. I didn’t get to celebrate Mother’s Day a week after that. But more than celebrating, I didn’t get to process any of these things. They just flew by. Poof. Maybe you’re thinking, “Cassie, you big whiny baby. You can celebrate them later.” No. Maybe (probably) this is the stubborn Aries in me, but NO. A moment is a moment and timing is timing. I can’t just force myself to reflect on all of these things when I’m feeling better—at this rate, it will be August. The moment (for me) has passed and I just have to deal with it. The backlog of all the things I’ve had to put off because of this sickness is pages long. And at the bottom? How I feel.
Which is probably why I’m here. To let off a little steam and open up.
I am struggling. We are struggling. When I started writing this over a week ago, it was only 4 weeks of sickness, but then David tested positive for COVID—it was our first time getting it (that we are aware of) and ironically, the pandemic has just been declared over. And then my son Benny tested positive. I’m still remaining negative (spoiler alert: that did not last) but the fatigue and continued “sick” feeling for me lingers on. David was not in great shape—COVID did a number on him for about 5 days. Thank God Benny has remained asymptomatic. But last weekend, and the first part of the week, I was doing double duty—working all day and caregiving because the daycare required Benny to stay home. Poor David was trying to get better and would get winded just walking across the room. There was no way he could help, even just a little bit. By Wednesday he started coming around and on Thursday he was fully caring for Benny during the day. At this point (because of the Memorial Day holiday), Benny was home for 10 days. It sounds stupid writing it out. BUT I CANNOT OVERSTATE…IT’S BEEN A LIVING NIGHTMARE.
And we are ok. We are safe. We are loving. We are (mostly) well-adjusted. AND WE ARE AT OUR WITS END. I keep asking myself, “How????!!!!!!!! How does anyone who is poor…who is traumatized…who is not as fortunate…raise a child?” And Benny is a healthy little boy—we don’t have developmental delays or growth issues to worry us. I don’t know how it’s happening out there. Maybe this is why the world has so much suffering in it. Because our society is set up to serve anyone but mothers and fathers. Or people, at all.
I knew this intellectually before having a child (hell, I was a women’s studies minor for Christ's sake), but I see people doing it all around me, and the “you’ll figure it out” piece of advice is pervasive and convincing. Don’t let it fool you. “Figuring it out” sometimes looks like wearing a pad 24-7 because you might have another coughing fit and pee yourself and violently vomit from choking on snot and you don’t have any more pants left because you need to do laundry but you can barely manage to feed yourselves and your baby. “Figuring it out” might look like not having a voice for four weeks and not being able to console your baby when he’s crying. But you can still whisper, so you whisper “Twinkle twinkle little star” in a monotone voice and it kind of works. But it’s mostly just sad. “Figuring it out” looks like having a mental breakdown when you realize you are getting full-blown sick again and the last sickness isn’t even over and you are so exhausted from coughing and pushing through and you tell the devil he is not welcome here and begin saying some really weird things out of sheer desperation.
If I had a quarter for every time I’m out walking around the neighborhood because Benny is stir-crazy (we all are) and my neighbors say “hi,” hear my voice, and quickly follow up, “Oh wow, you’re still sick?” Yes. Yes, I am.
But you know what’s not helpful? Telling me to rest. “Get some rest,” specifically is a phrase that I could never hear again and be happy. I think I’m losing my mind.
But the good news…?
Now I’m writing these final sentences two weeks after the previous ones and I am…healthy. I’m scared to even say that like the germs will hear me and sprint in my direction. Reading back the words above I have to say, they are pretty whiny, but they are sooooo true. I am so grateful for my health. I was before. I still am. And I am a little more empathetic to any caregiver out there battling sickness (acute or chronic). I definitely won’t be saying, “Get some rest.” Maybe more like, “Can I send you dinner?”
With compassion,
Cassie
Now what? Until our next conversation, I’d be tickled if you…
As soon as you said you missed Benny’s 1st birthday, my heart broke for you. That’s a day for celebrating the parents for getting through and keeping a baby alive for an ENTIRE year! I hope you are all on the mend now! ❤️🩹 Hugs for you and your family mama!
We have been in these waves and it fucking sucks when you’re in it and there’s no end in sight. I had my first ever panic attack after 2 weeks of interrupted sleep and ongoing stress when we switched Miss Abigail to underwear and she got sick and then didn’t poop for 5 days and life just kept carrying on even though we could barely function. Fuck it’s hard. And then you get through it. Things that have helped in the midst: microjoys, they’re always there even when all is shit. Crying, just letting it all the fuck out. And asking for help. We have to keep attempting to create the community support we need.