March 23 2020
Deborah Chase-Lauther
A completely normal and unremarkable, sleety, early spring day in the North Country. I left my office at the usual time, unaware that it would be my last day at a job I loved. COVID-19 was just beginning to unfold its dark wings over our community, and we were preparing for changes in the daily operations of our healthcare system.
Throughout the first three weeks of March, my husband, Roland, had been experiencing some symptoms of what seemed to be a mild case of C-19. At this time in early March, there was no testing available, and best practice was to monitor symptoms and if they worsened, to call the emergency department before heading in. Even at 66 years old, he was a remarkably fit man, no medications, robust in every way. As I left for work on the morning of March 23, he said he was feeling better. Life moved on.
Unremarkable evening, as we listened to online evening prayers (our church had just transitioned to live-streaming as an early precaution), and I remember hearing the hymn “Abide with Me,” feeling a little chill, and wondering how our community would deal with the imminent challenges ahead.
We went to bed at 10:00 pm; I continued to sleep in the guest room as a precaution because of Rol’s symptoms. Scarcely a few minutes after, Rol came in the room. Unable to speak, right side all but hanging. As he collapsed on our bed, my first thought was how was he even able to walk into the guest room? Calling 911, trying to stay on top of the panic and the realization that Roland was having a stroke. The calm and competent Potsdam Volunteer Rescue Squad arrived and began their assessments and prep for transport. At Canton-Potsdam Hospital, Dr. Julie Vieth, with precision and a great depth of humanity for a distraught wife, confirmed that Roland had indeed had a stroke. Forms were signed, air transport to Syracuse was called, and at that moment, I had no more active role in Roland’s care. Dr. Vieth took the time to call Upstate Medical to verify that I would not be able to be with Roland in Syracuse because of the new C-19 restrictions. To say I was terrified and felt utterly helpless as I drove home is an understatement.
Because the borders had also just closed, my sister could not make the three hour trip from Québec to be with me. For the first time in my life, I wouldn’t have family through an emergency.
Thankfully, Roland responded very well to the TPA therapy. Friends and family called that night, and continued to keep in close touch. Over the coming few days, neighbors stood socially-distanced in our yard and kept watch with me. People I had had “light” friendships with, became close friends. They stood with me in crisis mode, in solidarity. They stood in the gap. This is what we do in the North Country.
Dropping off Roland’s suitcase in Syracuse three days later, passing through the police barricade and flashing lights at the entry of Upstate, moving through the half-circle driveway and heading home immediately again through the barricades, made me realize again the seriousness of what we were facing.
Thankfully, Roland came home one week later. Fully mobile, with “only” some aphasia, made more acute by a traumatic brain injury in 1983. I was now at home with him for the foreseeable future; his therapist, Telehealth appointment maker, medication giver; Worrier in Chief. We still don’t know what caused his stroke. We may never know. Letting go of the need to know was a big, necessary first step in the recalibration of our lives.
Life was not going to stop because of C-19. But how to work through all the standard life upsets while coming to terms with the effects and dangers of a pandemic not seen since 1917?
One thing I knew: my life had changed radically. My priorities had shifted, literally, overnight. C-19 didn’t change them; but it provided the prism through which I finally saw some clear colors. No more 5-year plans and to let go of whatever “control” I thought I had over how things would work. To live in the moment. To appreciate the things that truly mattered (it sounds trite, but it’s true). My best friend came home to me, almost whole, when it could have been so very much worse. Life could not be better. C-19 be damned.
We didn’t see our new life as quarantining or social isolation; we were cocooning. Days and weeks and then months, spending exclusive time together doing speech therapy, cooking, building a bed frame from a box with a million pieces. We laughed, especially when it was a relief to laugh. We re-organized, re-decorated, de-cluttered. Each day was a treasure. We made the decision to not just survive this time, but to thrive together.
When simple words, like Roland’s favorite ice cream - Maple Walnut - became comically absurd through the distortion of aphasia, we were able to laugh. Mipple Wopple? Mopple Wipple? I was so thankful for his sense of humor, and that he could also laugh at himself.
We learned that resiliency is actually a mental muscle, and we were learning to exercise it. When we mistakenly received a medical transport bill for $74,995, we didn’t panic. (Unthinkable, pre-March 23.) We’re here, and we’re together. We’ll get through this. And we did; with one phone call it was resolved easily.
As summer floated in, the effects of C-19 in our community were still ever-present. So many events cancelled, so many shifts in the workforce, so many friends who had also experienced simultaneous health events, many with less-positive outcomes. So much loss. My current job was made impossible by C-19, and I transitioned into what I thought would be retirement with remarkable ease. All the result of changing priorities made crystal-clear by one traumatic experience. Everything else was incidental.
A new opportunity opened up for me, which I doubtless would have missed, had March 23 not happened. It meshes perfectly with our new life and priorities.
We are fortunate. Our North Country neighbors, healthcare providers, and first-line responders, as well as our personal faith, helped us through what would have felt insurmountable to me on March 22. The community we share is strong. We will all get through this. We are resilient, and determined, coming together when the going gets tough and standing in the gap for one another. We don’t know what the rest of this year will look like, but we will face it together.
Deborah Chase-Lauther is Director of a North Country Library, and eager to make her first trip back to Canada in over 20 months.
