Anyone else feel like you are trapped in the Twilight Zone and every day is a rerun from the day before?  As a family, we have struggled to find a new normal; a balanced daily routine. Some of us have been locked up, spent some time in official quarantine and then released all within 24 hours.  Have things around here been hard? Yes.  Have things around here been weird? Yes.  Have things around here been somewhat hilarious at times? Yes.  I asked each member of my family what song they would choose if putting this chapter in our life to music:  Jake: I Wanna Be Sedated; Kev: I Will Survive; Chloe: Blow Me One Last Kiss; and Me: Stayin Alive.  I thought you all could benefit from a window into our life over the past month…

Captain’s log

March 11

Jake turned 14.  Celebration was postponed indefinitely because: read entire Captain’s log to fully understand. Chloe had surgery at Sick Kids in Toronto to fix cavities and pull 3 teeth. Of course, nothing went as planned because why would it?! They pulled 6 teeth and had to put 5 stitches in her mouth. She spent some time in the ICU.  As the She-Captain (and organized planner) of this crazy ship, we came home with a good plan to promote calmness and healing in our house but somehow failed at properly executing this plan.  Side note: She-Captain picked the wrong year to swear off alcohol…just sayin.

March 12

Picked Jake up from school only to be informed that Quarantine 2020 was now in effect. Chloe has post-op ventilator cough (normal for her after every surgery but still have to keep an eye on it as she is medically fragile in the lungs). Anxiety on the ship reached a whole new level with some members walking the plank and others swinging wildly from the ceiling.  She-Captain has lost some control.

March 13

Went for a routine grocery adventure (routine meaning – an outing regularly occurring on this day every week to obtain ingredients for standard meal prep and toilet paper for excrement from meal consumption).  Yes, we needed toilet paper because we were running low, not because we were panic buying 59,000 rolls to sustain us until 2050.  No toilet paper to be found at any of the grocery stores.  Shelves were empty of food items as well.  Crew will eat cereal until further notice and toilet paper has been rationed to one square for “#1” and 3 squares for “#2” also until further notice.

March 14

Chloe hijacked the ship and took us through some shark-infested waters off the coast of Crazy Town by pulling her own stitches out.  In case I forget to mention this: It was awesome.  My life would not be complete without this experience (please use extreme sarcasm when reading). 3 a.m.: She-Captain called the doctor on call and was told to wait for a call back as he wasn’t sure how to navigate these waters.  She-Captain asked for explanation and was told they haven’t had a kid pull stitches from mouth 3 days post-op.  Please stand by. So.Awesome. Thankfully, we did not have to head back down to Toronto.  What did we all learn from this little adventure (including a veteran doctor of 26 years):  Chloe is the toughest tiny human we know. Do not mess with her. Ever. Just don’t. Side Note:  He-Captain worked his last day until further notice.  Has joined the wild side of the crew and may or may not be promoting swinging from ceiling.

March 16

Chloe was placed in actual quarantine by medical personnel at her program but only after exposing an entire floor to her ventilator cough (a very wet cough she gets after every single surgery she has ever had). She’s been at her program before with this cough but COVID-19 in the midst of quarantine 2020, so she was put in lockdown.  Quickly rewind to March 12th, where I had a specific conversation with medical staff in charge of Chloe’s program regarding ventilator cough and whether or not she should still come in light of everything going on. Due to facility’s lack of preparation for a situation such as this she was placed in a janitor-type closet complete with a television to help calm her and a small window for monitoring for 18 hours.  Gasp!

March 17

Goal for the day: bring home quarantined child who is now traumatized as she spent the last 18 hours by herself watching television in a bed that wasn’t her own, while He-Captain maintains sanity and calmness at home.  Instructions from medical facility over intercom (received upon arrival):  “Wait outside and someone will be right with you.” (5 minutes passes)  “Are you still there?” She-Captain – “Yes.” (why would I leave without my child?!) Intercom voice of medical personnel – “Great. Please head over to the tan building that is 5,568 paces away and someone will meet you to screen you for COVID-19 as your child will not be released to you until you are cleared.” Ok, what?? Wait a minute. Yesterday (exactly 24 hours and 23 minutes prior to this moment) you herded my child, me and 4 other child-parent couples into the unit’s leisure activity room to screen us for COVID-19.  Do you see where I am going with this? You have already been exposed (should we have it), but yeah, ok, I totally see why I should proceed to walk around to various buildings for screenings and such.  Good call.  I headed to the tan building (and BELIEVE ME when I tell you there was only one tan building…HA!) not once, not twice, but three times! That’s right, 33,408 paces and twenty minutes later and still no one met me at that one tan building to screen me, but I walked slow enough back to that other beige building (not tan) they assumed I was screened (no one EVER showed up and building was locked).  Finally, I was allowed to retrieve my quarantined, infected child from lockdown.  Such an amazing experience, overall and definitely on point for how to properly screen for infectious disease during a pandemic.  Awesome job.

March 18

No one slept.  Chloe has PTSD (non-confirmed but probable statistical outcome = 99.5%) linked to janitor closet isolation (and ventilator cough has significantly worsened).

March 19

See previous day’s entry.  Captains are extremely exhausted.  No one infected with COVID-19.

March 20

SOS. Captains have lost ALL control of their ship (regardless of the enforcer strapped to the hip, aka bb gun) to two Canadian-American under aged pirates.  On the last roll of toilet paper but captains will enforce (as a last ditch attempt at regaining control) one leaf per visit to the honey bucket from ship’s green, leafy money tree. Send help or toilet paper, we will accept either.

Seriously though, we are all doing well.  Has there been some tears, anxiety, and struggle? You bet.  What have we learned?

  • Love is absolutely enough.

 

  • We are better together. Stronger and whole.

 

  • Our 14 year old has taught us how to cut down on dishes now that he is the full-time dishwasher (see picture).

 

  • Dance parties are always a welcome intervention for stress relief and PTSD treatment J

 

  • Some days require extra love and grace beyond what we ever thought we were capable of giving.

 

  • Chloe is an expert at suture removal.

 

  • Chloe is also an expert at sleep evasion. She wins every time.

 

  • One or three squares are just not enough…toilet paper rationing is not a good idea. Ever. The end.

 

 

  • Cauliflower is the budget version of broccoli. (direct quote from Jake, a lover of broccoli and all green vegetables)

 

  • I am officially the shortest person in our family….and another direct quote from our teenage son: “don’t make me come down there small fry. How’s the weather down there on your level?” He’s taller than me. Gasp! How did this happen?!

 

  • Apparently salmon crack is a thing. I know this because I shouted down to our teenage son: “Can you please bring me a box of sandwich bags from the storage shelf?” Jake: “Salmon crack. What? We have salmon and we’re feeding them crack?!  How did I not know this! What else are you and dad keeping from me?”  words. Maybe it’s his blond roots? I’m not entirely sure.

 

  • We have officially seen it all. Our life is now complete because we looked on in shock and horror (I mean, total wonderment) as:

A lady had a full-blown meltdown because the grocery store was out of hand sanitizer and “the news said she had to have it and use it in order to prevent COVID-19”. She was re-directed to hand soap but that wasn’t good enough because that is not what the news instructed us to do. Scary!

A lady rubbed her nose with her gloved hand after touching her cart among many other items in the store.

A lady withdrew cash from an ATM with rubber gloves on and then held cash in mouth while removing gloves. Yep. No words, next level of stupid. Sorry, I’m not sorry for sharing these with you.

I asked a grocery store employee what aisle had hand soap to which she replied, “if we have any it would be on aisle 5 but I’m pretty sure we’re out,” to which I replied, “ok, where is the body soap?” GSE – “same aisle but you should know that body soap is specifically for the body.”  Umm, ok, is a hand not part of the body?! Soap is soap, but thank you for preventing me from using the wrong soap on the wrong body parts as clearly that could be catastrophic.

I have cried, had some terrible moments and my mom heart has broken repeatedly in the last several weeks, but I have also experienced love like never before. Thank you to all of you who have checked in on us, offered to grab groceries for us, and sent us words of encouragement during this very difficult, uncertain time.  We are forever grateful and definitely feel loved by you. So far, Chloe’s lungs remain infection free (if you are reading this and confused she is medically fragile in the lungs making her at the highest risk for a COVID-19 death sentence L ).  Forever grateful, forever loved, and blessed beyond my wildest dreams always.