Rules of Etiquette #257: Sour Cream Should Not Be Worn on One's Forehead

 

Photo by Matheus Lopes

There are certain adjectives that have never, in my recollection, been used to describe me. Sadly, "quiet" is one of them. (Perhaps someday...)  Other terms include words such as "Refined", "Elegant", "Sophisticated", "Petite" or "Delicate". 

Although I must admit, I campaigned pretty heavily for "petite" many years ago. It was sometime around 6th grade, and my bestie Tami Mitsunaga and I were shopping downtown. At that time, I was tall, blonde, gangly, awkward, and skinny - all elbows and knees. (As opposed to now, when I am tall, brunette (shoutout to my hairstylist), awkward, and overweight - all tummy and thick-waisted.) Tami was short, "delicate", and graceful, a gymnast, with shiny long black hair. No one ever mistook us for sisters. But on that day we decided that Twinning is Winning, and what better way to prove it than to get matching t-shirts. We looked through the store's supply of Air Supply and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club t-shirts, and after quite a bit of searching, found a shirt in both of our sizes that had a sparkly plastic iron-on that read, "Petite Is Pretty!" in fancy script. When Tami, then (and still now) the more logical of the pair, pointed out that "petite" means short, and that term didn't really apply to me, I countered with the fact that according to my (own made-up) dictionary, "petite" could also mean skinny, and so it actually did apply to us both. When her mom Helen picked us up, and saw the shirts we proudly showed her, she also politely noted that "petite" didn't really pertain to me. And so it went. For the next year or so, whenever I wore the shirt, I had to patiently explain my personal definition of "petite" to people, who always seemed puzzled at the messaging. After awhile, it got old, but by that time the iron-on label was cracked and coming off, and it was just easier to abandon both the shirt and the effort to convince the world I was indeed "petite". 

As mentioned, "elegant" is another term that never seems to be paired with my name. At 55 years of age, I still can't seem to eat without spilling. I rarely make it through the day without a few stains on my shirt. The struggle is real.

Furthermore, I am That Person, walking around, grinning widely, with a stray piece of cilantro or large black poppyseed wedged in my teeth. 

One memorable eating disaster happened many years ago. I was 21 or 22, working at Scopes Garcia Carlisle ad agency. Some reps from a local tv channel kept inviting me to lunch, because I was an account executive for the 10-state Coca Cola division. They had not yet realized that I had absolutely no influence over our ad buy. So they kept inviting me, and finally I said I'd go. I was young and green and felt a little bit nervous. I didn't know these men very well. 

For background, you should know that it is decreed in the world of advertising that media reps are required to be Cool Kids. They are generally Beautiful People who dress stylishly, wear the right brands, drive the right cars, and always seem to have access to a box at the next NBA game. I guess the message is, "Hey, I'm a cool kid, and I want to be friends with you! We're besties, right? Maybe we should get matching t-shirts? And by the way, why don't you spend money... lots of it... with my company?"

So two media reps picked me up at my downtown office and we drove in their convertible, with the top down, to a hip new restaurant (Did I just age myself by using the term "hip"?... I think I did.)  The restaurant was Mexican. And it was where all the Cool Kids ate. 

The meal was going fine, and we were making small talk, interspersed with casual anecdotes about why Their Channel Was The Smartest One To Advertise With, when all of a sudden, these two men's expressions instantly changed. I saw it happen immediately. It was sort of a mix of horror and disgust and I'm-trying-not-to-bust-up-laughing. The change on their faces was so dramatic, I knew right away that something was wrong. And that it had to do with me.

It stopped the conversation. I immediately asked, "What's wrong?" 

They looked at each other. Then they looked at me. Then they looked at each other.

"What's the matter?" I asked again.

"Well, yhgmmms commmsf fdddd." one of them mumbled down to the napkin in his lap. 

I squinted, puzzled. "What?"

He mumbled something incoherent again, and his friend snorted.

"I'm sorry," I said politely, "I didn't quite catch that."

"YOU HAVE SOUR CREAM." He burst out. "RIGHT HERE" and he jabbed a finger at his forehead. 

Apparently I had been enjoying my fajita a bit too much, and a large blob of sour cream had attached itself, front and center, on my forehead. 

I quickly swiped it off, then giggled.

Silence. Then a throat clear. Then an awkward change of subject.

Now I speak with some authority (and a great deal of experience) when I say that it's one thing to have something embarrassing happen. But it's another thing when people do not laugh WITH you at the hilarity of the situation. Because if they are not laughing WITH you, they are generally laughing AT you. And there's a big difference.

The rest of the meal was brutal, because these two men were trying to hold back their laughter the entire time. They'd catch one another's eye, and then suddenly have to cough into their napkin. And those coughs sounded suspiciously a lot like guffaws.

I have absolutely no doubt that after they dropped me off and waited for me to walk into the office door, they wet their pants laughing over The Girl With Sour Cream On Her Forehead. 

We did not spend our entire ad buy on their channel. And they never invited me to lunch again.

In another notable incident, years later, Chad and I went to a wedding reception. It was an outdoor reception, with a large chocolate fountain. This was before chocolate fountains started appearing at every neighborhood gathering, Girls' Night Out, or party introducing your friends to an exciting new MLM opportunity. 

This was also before I realized that chocolate fountains + Christy = disaster. Every Time.

So at this reception I naively enjoyed several fountain dipped goodies. Then Chad and I stood around and chatted with friends, neighbors, people we knew from church, people we knew from our kids' schools and sports teams, people we knew from the community, people we thought we knew but couldn't place who they were or what our connection might be. Basically, we chatted with the entire county.

When we got in our car, my dear husband casually mentioned, "Hey, by the way, you have chocolate all over your face." 

What?

Sure enough, a quick look in the visor mirror showed me looking like a 4-year old at a birthday party, post-cake & ice cream. The amount of chocolate on my face was stunning. And even more so, that I hadn't felt it or sensed it and that NONE of the 300 people I had chatted with had thought to say, "Hey, speaking of the weather, did you know you have chocolate on your face?" or "That is a fascinating story. Which reminds me - you happen to be wearing chocolate. A lot of it". Or even "How are you, and by the way, when's the last time you checked a mirror? Or washed your face?" 

"WHY DIDN"T YOU TELL ME SOONER?" I demanded to my husband, doing the same lick-the-finger-and-scrub action on my face that I would later perfect with my children.

He shrugged. "You were talking."

Note to The Universe: If you ever see me with chocolate on my face, sour cream on my forehead, cilantro in my teeth, wearing an inexplicable T-shirt, or two different shoes, or my clothes inside out,  I'm begging you - please tell me. Even if I'm talking. 

Then laugh with me. Because it just gets real awkward when you don't. 

Even better, laugh with me, and then tell me I'm Elegant and Petite.

Just for fun.  

Miracles in the Holy Land

I feel compelled to once again interrupt the Embarrassing Moments Logbook to write about something a bit more serious. Not because I am running out of material... No, be assured that cringe-worthy moments of note happen on the regular around here. Perhaps I am just feeling a bit more contemplative lately. 

But today I want to talk about miracles. Actually, just one. One that happened to me. And I keep feeling that I need to record it, as a way to publicly acknowledge my appreciation to God. 

It happened in Israel, which seems appropriate.  

We had a trip-of-a-lifetime experience visiting Israel, Jordan and Egypt this summer. I have talked about it non-stop ever since, and continue to spam friends on social media with What I Did On My Summer Vacation anecdotes. 

While in Israel, we had the opportunity to visit many sites of the Savior’s miracles, as recorded in scripture. The Sea of Galilee. Capernaum. The Pool of Bethesda. Magdala. Jerusalem. But while following the Savior's footsteps, I had the blessing to experience my own personal miracle. Because He continues to be a God of Miracles.

But first I need to back up a bit, and give a little context.

We paid the down payment for our trip to Israel over a year before our trip. Before I was needing supplemental oxygen. Before I realized just how stubbornly my long hauler symptoms would hang on, and the havoc they would wreak as I tried to physically, mentally, spiritually and emotionally straddle the vast gap between “What I want to be doing” and “What I can actually do”. The trip was then pushed off from December to June, and it imperceptibly became my light at the end of the tunnel, my reason to battle.

The trip was partially funded through a generous gift from my late maternal Grandmother Mona. Years ago, she and my grandfather paid for several groups to visit the Holy Land, including my mom and her siblings & spouses, and also a group of widows. My paternal Grandma Hazel was included in that latter trip, and it changed her life. So this trip was a link to my deceased Mom, and my deceased grandparents, and it represented so much more than a vacation to me.

About 2 months before our trip, I was listening to a conference of my church, and Pres. Russell M. Nelson, said the following: "Do the spiritual work to seek miracles. Prayerfully ask God to help you exercise that kind of faith. I promise that you can experience for yourself that Jesus Christ "giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength.""

His words spoke to me and his invitation moved me. I was definitely "the faint", and I needed power and strength, very literally. And I knew immediately what Miracle I would seek.

Israel.

Not only making it there, but being able to participate in the rigors of the tour and not miss out on any of this once-in-a-lifetime experience. So that became my Big Ask, and my daily prayer. In a way, it seemed slightly selfish. Like perhaps the miracle I should ask for should be more altruistic and have something to do with World Peace. But Israel was important to me, and I sensed God knew that. 

I know that seeking miracles isn't a passive act. It means doing everything in our power to move towards that goal. So as the trip neared, I gradually increased my walking by small amounts, learning if I pushed too much and too hard, I fell backwards. Two weeks before our trip, I was able to walk 2 miles without stopping. It was a route Chad and I used to do 3-5x per week, prior to me getting sick. And this was the first time I'd been able to do it since. After building up, a bit at a time, I finally made that 2 mile loop, although the last ¼ mile I staggered and swayed like a drunken soldier, tears running down my face and dripping off my chin. I walked it two more times before our trip (without tears).

I then packed collapsible hiking poles in my suitcase, and got on a plane.

But once I got to Israel, I found the trip was much more rigorous than I had anticipated. The days were long, packed full, with very little down time (aka "rest time"). We were always going hard, and almost constantly walking. One day my girls measured that we’d walked more than 9 miles. 

And I got my miracle.

I walked. I saw. I conquered.

There were a few exceptions; a few things I had to miss out on, like hiking to the top of Mt Sinai, climbing the Temple Mount ramparts, and the 3 am hot air balloon ride over Luxor. But I was able to participate in almost everything, and had such an amazing experience that I continue to torment the world by talking about it months later. I'm like an MLM rep for Israeli Tourism, building my downline. ("If I get three people, and they each get three people....") 

While we had the chance to visit many cool ancient churches, in fact, some of the oldest Christian churches in the world, one of the most emotional and spiritual moments of the trip for me was in a beautiful new church in Magdala. It was dedicated to the women who ministered to Jesus Christ. In was near the banks of the Sea of Galilee. The chapel had a huge window overlooking the Sea of Galilee, and then a large boat similar in style to those of the Savior's time. The rostrum was in the boat. So the priest would actually stand in the boat and preach, much like Jesus. (See pic.) It was very cool.

The church also had a beautiful atrium with pillars, on which there were female saints' names. But one was left blank, representing the opportunity each of us have to be Jesus Christ's disciple. Kind of a fill-in-your-name-here type of thing. I loved it.

But the room that had me standing, sobbing, was downstairs. It was empty except for a small sacrament table and a large mural -- a close up of the woman with the issue of blood reaching out and touching the hem of the Savior's robe. The stones of the room matched the paving stones of the picture. It was beautiful. (Again, see pic below.) That story, the Healing of the Woman With The Issue of Blood, has become so meaningful to me. (See this post, where I talk about it takeaways from it.)

And here I was, having been granted healing enough that I could be there in the Holy Land, partaking of these soul-growing experiences. So I stood there and sobbed my little heart out. Then went directly to the gift store and purchased the print of the mural, which now hangs in my home's front entrance.

I find it interesting that among all of the many awe-inspiring places we visited, I felt the Savior's love most powerfully and recognized the gift of his healing in Magdala. A place recognized for a woman's SPIRITUAL and MENTAL and EMOTIONAL healing. And at a place highlighting and commemorating the Savior's relationship with his female followers.

I once again cried on the last evening of our trip. This time it was on a hotel patio in Cairo. I was just having A Moment, realizing what I had been given by a loving God. I was just so overwhelmed with gratitude for my little personal miracle.

There's simply no way I could have gone at that pace, for 18 days, without His help.

But miracles are crafted lovingly by God, not by our own personal shopping cart order form. Because I was able to do so much on the trip, I came home with the expectation that I could just build from there.

Unfortunately, it hasn’t been quite that easy. I had a bit of a backslide, and just recently had the worst long hauler crash I've had since last spring. Obviously, I still can't overdo things. Yet I "overdid" every day of this trip. For 18 days.

I've had some people say, "Oh, but you were doing fun things! That's motivation to push yourself." But unfortunately, I miss out on fun things all the time, when I experience a crash.

My health dipping down a bit once I returned home could be due to many different factors. Altitude surely plays a role.

But the regression has also been a humbling reminder how incredible it is that I was able to have my Holy Land experience. I got my miracle. And I praise God for it.

“I will praise thee, O Lord, with my whole heart: I will shew forth all thy marvellous works. I will be glad and rejoice in thee: I will sing praise to thy name, O thou most high.” (Psalms 9:1-2)

"Blessed be the Lord, because he hath heard the voice of my supplications. The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in him, and I am helped: therefore my heart greatly rejoiceth: and with my song will I praise him." (Psalms 28:6-7)

"It is God that girdeth me with strength, and maketh my way perfect. Thou has enlarged my steps under me, that my feet did not slip." (Psalms 18:32, 36)

"But I have trusted in thy mercy; my heart shall rejoice in thy salvation. I will sing unto the Lord, because he hath dealt bountifully with me." (Psalms 13:5)

(Can I get a SELAH??!!)

 

Naked Neighbors and Noses (Texting Gone Wrong)

 We all have our texting mishaps. Sometimes I wonder if Hermes invented autocorrect, because there is just SO much opportunity for mayhem (and embarrassment). For example, my autocorrect is quite fond of cuss words, my mother-in-law's email address, and the word "tinnitus". Every so often, it seems to say, "Hey, you haven't used the word "tinnitus" in a sentence lately... so let's just throw it in here for fun... and maybe spice things up with a cuss word or two."

When it first started throwing out the t-word left and right, I had to look up what "tinnitus" meant. But then, in an ironic twist of fate, it has become an occasional symptom of my long haul covid. So I am pretty familiar with that word now. But I still rarely use it in a text: "Hey Annie! Just wanted you to know I am experiencing tinnitus! LOL Mom"

With my current phone, even when I happen to catch the typo in time to correct the word, my autocorrect nemesis says, "No, actually you can't really mean that word... what you really want to say is THIS," and then when I correct it again and say, "No, actually it IS this word," it continues to fight with me for some time. My autocorrect is quite stubborn, I have found. For example, it's still trying to get me to change my daughter Aerin's name, and comes up with all sorts of alternatives. ("That's a stupid name... what you really mean is...Aetinnitus.") 

But those frustrations aside, I have had a few rather spectacularly memorable Texting Fails that I thought I would share.

Several years ago, I served in our ward's Relief Society, with a handful of amazing ladies. We had a weekly "presidency meeting" which consisted of about 45 min of actual church coordination work, and 2 hrs 45 min of our own support group therapy for whatever was going on in our lives that needed to be hashed out. The ladies I worked with were wise and hilarious and insightful and supportive. I miss those meetings.

We were meeting one night, and for a reason I cannot quite recollect, it was at a bit different time or day or format. I was running late (not unusual), and feeling a bit stressed about being late (also not unusual). As I drove through my neighborhood, I saw our beloved fearless leader, the RS president Sheena, and her husband Jake. Part of their fence was down, and they were standing near the downed fence, talking with some neighbors. I couldn't tell if it had been driven through (spoiler: it had) or blown down, but it seemed to be a fairly recent and dramatic occurrence.

Trying to be A Helper, I used my phone's voice recognition to text the others to let them know that I was on my way and Sheena would be late. What I said into my phone was, "Hey I am on my way, but I just saw Sheena. Her fence was down and a bunch of neighbors were gathered around. It looks like she will be awhile." 

But what the text typed out was, "Hey I am on my way, but I just saw Sheena. Her pants were down and a bunch of neighbors were gathered around. It looks like she will be awhile."

Scandalous.

A second text fail had to do with another neighbor. My friend Steff had spent the week at Primary Children's Hospital with her son Charlie. Charlie was having dozens of seizures each day. His autism made things even more difficult, for him and for those trying to help him. It had been a really hard month for Steff, and there didn't seem to be a lot of answers, and my heart hurt for her. I wanted to serve and support, but felt rather helpless. So I prayed for her, Charlie and their family. I know firsthand the power and strength that prayer can bring. But even so, I wanted to do something besides praying. So I sent her a text. Just telling her I was thinking of and praying for Charlie, and that I was happy to help drive kids, drop off meals, or whatever. I ended the text with a row of hearts and praying hands emoji. 

But I made a Classic Blunder. Second only to "Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line."

I did not wear my reading glasses when texting emojis. 

So what Steff actually got was a heartfelt text followed by a row of hearts... and a few rows of noses. 

Yes. 

Noses.

Now in my defense, take a look at these emojis. Same general shape. Same general size. (See my point?)

👃👃👃👃🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

Unfortunately, not the same general meaning. 

With all that Steff was shouldering that week, my text would not have been that helpful even with the proper emoji. But rows of noses left her a little puzzled, understandably.

It took me a few days before I realized what I'd done. I was sending her another text, and noticed all of the noses. Steff was gracious, as always, and we laughed. Since then, a few of my friends and sisters will occasionally send me nose emojis, and it always makes me smile. It's our new symbol for "I'm Praying For You," and perhaps, "Yes, You're A Dork, But I Still Love You".

Fast forward a few years. Charlie was once again in the hospital. And things were once again quite heavy for my sweet friend Steff and her husband Matt. In an attempt to be helpful, I got online and ordered a DoorDash gift card to be sent to her via text. From their many DoorDash Gift Card Messages, I selected just a generic one, since they didn't really seem to have anything that said, "I'm So Sorry Charlie's In The Hospital and That They Can't Figure Out These Terrible Seizures and I'm Sure You're Absolutely Exhausted So Perhaps This Can Help You Guys While You're Back and Forth Between Home and Hospital." Nope, no gift cards that said anything like that. 

I'm not quite sure how it happened, but somehow, between the time I selected the appropriate Generic DoorDash e-card, and I paid for said e-card, the layout got switched to a birthday card which read, in big colorful letters, "LET'S CELEBRATE!!"

And that's what got sent. To my friend. Who was exhausted and worried sick, at the hospital.

Not the message I was going for. 

... I'm just gonna blame it on the tinnitus. 

👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃👃

Waiting For Answers. (Covid 14 months in.) FAQ’s and FYI’s.

 

"Waiting for Answers" by Jenedy Paige

I've had several people ask me why I don’t talk more about being a long hauler, in person or on social media. That surprised me, because I feel like I talk about it incessantly. (Chad and my kids will back me up on this.) So I started about a month ago to try to put thoughts down to paper.

And I have realized 3 Things. 

#1  I am still trying to find that happy medium in between “fake it til’ you make it” and whining. I don’t want to be on either end. With most people, I just assume they don’t want to hear my health complaints or what my oxygen sat rates were that day. But unfortunately, if someone shows more than just polite interest, a switch flips and I go on and on about it. So trying to find the middle ground.

#2  In today’s Age of Outrage, everyone expects the world to see and speak to their pain, in the exact manner most meaningful to them. While being vulnerable and real and open are good and helpful things, individually and as a society, I also worry that we have an unrealistic expectation of what the world’s response should be to that pain. 

It can be isolating and lonely to have something SO BIG, which has turned my life upside down, not be seen or even thought valid by society. To be honest, no one completely understands, although Chad and my kids have the closest glimpse. And that’s not anyone’s fault. It’s just that we all have our unique experiences. Plus, Long Covid is a new and extremely complex thing. 

But the feelings of isolation I’ve experienced have made me realize how little I understand of other people’s troubles. Long Covid is my HARD. But my neighbor has a different HARD in her life, my co-worker has a different HARD in his life, and so on. And I see them at work or at the grocery store or church, and we smile and greet one another, but I know so little of their personal private battles. I have never lost a child, nor a spouse. I have never been in an abusive marriage. I have never been the victim of racial prejudice. I have never had to declare bankruptcy. The “never have I ever” list goes on and on. So while I can sympathize and mourn with those I encounter who struggle (meaning everyone), I don’t truly understand all that they are carrying, other than that which they choose to share with me. 

It makes me want to hug everyone I see.

Because life can be hard.

#3  For as long as I can remember, writing is how I process. The act of wrangling ideas and feelings and pinning them to paper is therapeutic for me. 

But writing about Long Covid is daunting. It’s just this massive,unwieldy, shape-shifter. In trying to overcome the symptoms of this bewildering disease, I feel like I’ve been wrestling in mud for an eternity, and I’m exhausted and dirty and bleeding. I’ll have a moment where I think I’m close to a takedown, and quicker than anything, I’m suddenly pinned on my back, a mouthful of mud. I punch and kick and wriggle out, but before I can get my feet stabilized, it has me back in a half nelson. 

So it’s hard to catch my breath, let alone process.

But I am learning things on this journey. I shared some spiritual insights in this blog. But I thought I would maybe answer a few basic FAQ’s I get. Read on if you’re curious, bail if you’re not. (Either is okay.)

Frequently Asked Questions

What Symptoms Have You Experienced?  Ugh. After the acute stage of Covid, I have channeled through a very lengthy list of symptoms. I cringe when I start to talk about them, because there are so many, it sounds made up. So here’s a link provided by the CDC and another one by mayo clinic. Some symptoms have gone away completely; some I am managing better; some have gotten worse. 

Starting at about 4 weeks after getting sick, I have cycled through: Bacterial infections, sinus infections, mild pneumonia, loss of smell & taste 2x but came back both times, vertigo, general dizziness, weird insect buzzing in my ears, numbness/tingling in hands & feet, tonsils were huge and infected for 5 months until we removed them, earaches, stomach and intestinal issues, chest tightness and pain, short of breath, crushing fatigue, weird spots on my tongue for a week, occasional brain fog, hand and leg tremors, weird rashes, body aches, joint aches, and a host of fancy words and acronyms that I now understand: dysautanomia, POTS, orthostatic intolerance, hypoxia, PEM, postviral fatigue syndrome, tachycardia, dyspnea, etc.

(See? Told you it sounds made up.)

Another thing to keep in mind. While there are common things they are seeing in Long Haulers, my list of symptoms is going to be different than another person's. Just like one person's bout with the actual Covid illness varies widely from another person's.

What Are Your Symptoms Now? For the past several months, the main concerns are low oxygen levels, being short of breath, exhaustion, flu-like body aches, sporadic chest pain, spastic heartrate that shoots up suddenly (tachycardia), POTS, and PEM (Post Exertional Malaise). I do also have occasional bouts of brain fog, but it's hard to know if that's Covid or Menopause or Age or Me.

What Causes Someone to Become a Long Hauler? There are a lot of studies trying to figure that out. One theory is that these issues are due to my sympathetic nervous system being out of whack. Some scientists have theorized that it's caused by a "maladaptive stress response triggered by the body in response to the initial Covid-19 infection." Basically, that your body gets stuck in that "fight or flight" high alert freakout. Other findings have to do with compromised mitochondrial function, micro-clots in the blood, or damaged nerve fibers. I think this NY Times article does a good job of talking about current theories and findings. But it will likely be outdated by the time I post this.

What’s The Hardest Symptom? The obvious one is the low oxygen. It's the most dangerous one. But I have been doing some respiratory therapy exercises for the past 6 weeks, and - fingers crossed - I am starting to see improvement. I actually think the most difficult thing for me is the PEM. Prior to getting hit with it, I would have heard someone describe PEM, and been cynical. Because it goes against logic and frankly sounds like a lame excuse to be lazy.  So I don’t like to talk about it, even with caring people. But it's a struggle. In normal circumstances, you do a little one day, then a little more the next, and slowly and steadily build on that. But PEM turns that on its head. I keep hearing “pacing, pacing, pacing.” But I don’t know how. If I do too little, I contribute to the deconditioning and weight gain problem. If I do too much, I am in bed and go backwards. PEM doesn’t make logical sense to me, but it keeps biting me in the butt.  

Are You Getting Better? I’ve realized there is only one Socially Appropriate Response to this question, and it is “Why Yes, Yes I Am!!” Any other response, or wavering, is usually met with pep talks, and comments about how I look better, and other attempts to convince me that I just hadn’t realized it but I am indeed much better. It's because people want me to feel better, and are trying to be positive, which I appreciate. But sometimes it doesn’t feel like I am getting better.  

If my husband is nearby when someone asks that question, he has started answering for me. He’ll say, “Yes, she is.” and he’ll remind me about how I used to not be able to drive or really even leave the house, and that I am working more hours, and my throat is healed.

And here’s the thing – he is absolutely 100% right. I am better, in many ways. But because I still regularly feel pretty awful and can’t do the things that I want to do, and because this is still interfering so much with my day-to-day life, and because almost weekly I have to bail on things I planned, it’s sometimes hard to recognize the progress. 

“YES” is not only the Right Answer, but it is a truthful one. It’s just that it’s a baby-steps, one-step-forward-two-steps-back kind of YES. So forgive me if there’s a pause before I answer that question.

But I saw you the other day and you seemed fine? I probably was, in that moment. Because I have hours and even days when I feel decent. (Another indication I’m getting better.) But what most people don’t recognize is that if I am visible and in public, I am having a good moment. You don’t see me or hear from me when I’m not. I go to church, and then come home and crash. I go to the store or the office, and it’s my Activity for the Day. Even on Good Days, I have to rest after any type of excursion. I hope to improve that, but right now that’s how it is. 

Are You Sure this is Related to Covid and not just other viruses and illnesses? Yep. Started with Covid. While some of the early things like sinus infections and ear infections might have just been add-on viruses, none of the issues I am currently dealing with were factors prior to Covid, AND they align with the “most common symptoms” lists in any Long Covid study.

Could You Have Gotten this From the Vaccine? Nope. Symptoms hit 4 months prior to getting vaccinated, and right as I was recovering from Covid. Similar to most people, I felt crummy for a few days after receiving the first two vaccines, but otherwise, the vaccines did not make my symptoms improve or worsen long term. I got the booster, and will happily get any other shots that might give me a chance of getting over this or preventing another bout. 

Are You Angry with the Person Who Gave You Covid? I don’t know who shared Covid with me, but I’m certain they didn’t have any clue they were doing so. Covid is my enemy. Not people. I think we sometimes forget that.

But what about (fill in the blank of Covid-related offense)…? I repeat. People are not my enemy. Covid is my enemy. Just don’t try to tell me that the last 14 months of my life are made up. (That annoys me.)

Are You Pro-Vaccine?  Yes. However, I am not angry with people who choose NOT to get vaccinated. We each have our unique perspectives and histories, which impact our decisions. I believe the reports that some people have responded poorly to the vaccine. And I respect that others may have other experiences that influence their feelings. I am a strong pro-vaccine advocate, because had I received the vaccine prior to getting sick, evidence indicates I would've had a much lower chance of it triggering Long Covid. And while I respect others’ personal feelings on vaccinations, I do get irritated when they invalidate my experience.

Could Stress Be Doing This To You? Stress lowers our immune system and can bring a host of health issues. But so far, there is no scientific evidence linking stress with a higher chance of getting Long Covid. One study indicated that those who jumped back into a fast-paced routine too quickly after getting Covid appeared to have a higher incidence of Long Covid. So I guess according to that study, being an on-the-go type of personality might have contributed. And as mentioned above, one theory is that my body got stuck in the "fight or flight" mode during Covid. So in that respect, I guess your body’s over-stressed response is a factor.

Were you really sick when you had Covid? No. It felt like the flu or a really bad chest cold. I was never hospitalized. My oxygen stayed between 92-89, which isn’t terrible.

Could Your Weight Be Doing This To You? I gained 20 lbs in one year, which is not healthy for anyone. And the extra weight is certainly adding to my issues. But it is not the root cause.

Could You Just Be Depressed? On hard days I do feel depressed, but luckily, so far, I am not suffering from clinical depression.

Why Aren’t You Getting Over This?  Please ask God, and then let me know.

Are People Getting Cured from Long Covid?  Yes, and no. One study that looked at Long Haulers 18 months out said that 2% reported being back to their pre-covid selves, 22% said they were significantly better than they were at 12 months, 31% said they were slightly better, and the rest said they were worse or the same. My Long Covid clinic mentioned they are starting to see people manage symptoms better and significantly improve between 15-18 months out. So I am praying that I will be in that category. 

Is There a Cure? Not yet. It’s super complicated. But as mentioned, many are seeing their symptoms improve eventually, over time. Also, there are a lot of studies going on right now, and they are starting to see specific differences, for instance, visible differences in the lungs and in the blood between long haulers and those who successfully got over Covid. So I am hopeful that there will be a cure someday. 

Are You Still on Oxygen? Just attempting to wean off this week. Fingers crossed.

What’s The Hardest Thing? Depends upon the moment. But probably three of the top ones would be: 1) Often having to cancel plans despite how much I want to participate in said plans. The lack of control is difficult. 2) The unknown. Not being able to make a linear Recovery Plan, or have a proven cure. 3) PACING.

What Do You Wish People Knew? That I am sorry for whatever HARD thing they are going through in their lives.

And if you read all of that, congratulations, you now have an advanced degree in Long Covid According to Christy.

Becoming Whole - Spiritual Takeaways from Long Covid

Someone Hath Touched Me by Angela Johnsen - ajsculptures.com,

featured in Thanksgiving Point's Light of the World garden

As I think about the last 14 months, it's a bit overwhelming. My life has been turned upside down by Long Covid, and so many things that I took for granted are not possible at the moment. It’s been hard. But I still hold out hope that I will be able to once again enjoy a level of activity and health that I have temporarily lost. 

Like most trials, it has reawakened me to the fact that I do not control my universe. It has driven me to my knees. Praying for health & strength no longer is something that automatically rolls off the tongue. I desperately need both, but even more so, I need discernment, wisdom & guidance. The medical community is still valiantly working to try to understand Long Covid, and no one really knows right now what to do to fix it (although unhelpful advice is plentiful). I know God understands my body and this complicated disease, and I need His direction, to know what I can do on my end to promote health and healing.

Through this process, I have been taught. And I want to record a few of the lessons, so that I can remember them on discouraging days, or even if/when miraculously my life has resumed and I am filled with health and energy once again. So this is more for me than for anyone else who might read it.

“Thy Faith Hath Made Thee Whole” 

I’ve counted 8x when the Savior uses this phrase with people in the scriptures. I have pondered its meaning. I’ve contemplated what those individuals did, and how they exerted their faith, to receive their blessings of healing. I’ve thought about what it means to be declared “whole”. And I have wondered about the delicate balance of having the faith to be healed, along with the submissiveness to say, “Thy Will Be Done” and “But if not…”  

(Sidenote: maybe at some point I will add all of the scriptures and talks I have studied as footnotes in the bottom… but until then, you can search on your own.)

Finding that balance is something that I prayed about prior to the October '21 session of General Conference. I prayed for weeks beforehand that I would find some guidance, and I believe that prayer was answered. Many of the talks spoke to me, enlightened my mind and strengthened my heart, but two stood out in what they had to say about that tricky faith/submissiveness balance: “Remember Thy Suffering Saints” by Elder Anthony Perkins, and “Is There No Balm in Gilead? By Elder Brent Nielson.  

There were several insights I gained, but the most important one was that it's not about having faith in an ACT - in my case, the act of being healed physically from this bewildering, lengthy freakout of my autonomic nervous system. Having faith in God doing exactly what we want Him to do is a recipe for disappointment, and I don’t believe He particularly enjoys being thought of as a vending machine. But having faith in Jesus Christ - in His goodness, His wisdom, His ability to heal us not only physically, but also mentally, emotionally and spiritually, is what the focus should be. And I believe that trust and hope being riveted to HIM is what granted these individuals in the scriptures Godly favor and miracles.

 

“Be of Good Cheer; Thy Sins Be Forgiven Thee”.

I’ve always loved the “Raise the Roof” miracle of Jesus’ ministry. Jesus is teaching in Capernaum. The word’s getting out about Him and He is teaching in a home sardine-packed with people listening. A young paralytic was brought to the house by the very best kind of friends. They brought him to Jesus, to be healed. (That concept touches me.) But they can’t get him through the packed doorway. So being creative and persistent, they went up on the roof, uncovered it, and lowered him down to Jesus.  

Jesus responds by telling the young man his sins were forgiven. That is the first miracle.

The Pharisees criticize Jesus, telling Him He does not have the power to forgive sins. So as a sign of His power, He tells the young man, “Take up thy bed and walk.” And the young man picks up his bed and runs away, rejoicing, with his friends. The second miracle.

In studying this, I was reminded that Jesus FIRST forgave the young man’s sins. That was the main miracle. I think this was because the Savior wanted to emphasize the fact that the miracle of the Atonement is the most important and wondrous and powerful and eternal and mind-blowing miracle of them all. And I am a recipient of that.

I want Jesus to heal my Long Covid illness. Immediately. But with this story, I was reminded that I experience spiritual healing daily as I repent and am forgiven. I receive spiritual healing each week as I take the sacrament. I partake of God’s grace continuously. It is truly miraculous.  And it is the most important and wonderful healing I could possibly partake in. So I glory and rejoice in that. Regardless of my health.

A therapist author that I love, Wendy Ulrich, quoted the dean of the school of nursing at BYU as saying, “The Lord never promised us 'cure'. He promised us 'healing'.” I'm starting to recognize the difference.

Finding Middle Ground

My sister-in-law sent me the link to a fireside given by Jared Halverson. In this talk, he discussed how the gospel is filled with opposites. He had coined some phrase relating to these opposites, but I forget what it was. The examples he used were: faith and works; mercy and justice; gaining knowledge and being like a child; and so on. He explained that Jesus resides in the center of those opposite virtues. He is the Perfect Balance of all virtues. Yet as humans, we tend to be on the extremes. The example he used was that one person may be really good at speaking truth, but can occasionally be unkind and cruel with their words. Another person may be good at speaking with love, but struggle with being honest. 

A few days after listening to this talk, I was reading my scriptures, and felt impressed that prior to Long Covid, I had been at an extreme. Always busy, always moving, cramming a million things into a single day. There were benefits - I did things that brought me joy and I tried to serve others. I worked hard. I got a lot done in a day. But there were also downsides - to my health, and to my ability to Be Still. I would get hit with gnarly headaches or chronic sinus infections, and realize, “Oh, I need to take better care of myself. I need to sleep more, eat better, etc.” I would do better for a bit. And then as soon as I felt better, I easily slid right back into high gear, 24/7. 

Long Covid has forced me to the other end of the extreme. I am sedentary. I have gained a lot of weight. I am super limited in what I can do in a day. I can’t serve people in ways that I want to. I feel turned inward, with a lot of time and energy spent thinking about my health and evaluating symptoms and “This was a good day…. How do I replicate it?” and “This was a bad day. How do I avoid others like it?” It doesn’t feel good to be this self-absorbed. It feels icky to me. And I often feel frustrated.

In this moment of reflection, the Spirit whispered to me… “You used to be on one extreme. Now you are on the other. Perhaps you can learn important tools from this, so that when you are feeling better (!!!), you can be more in the center.” 

My friend Tami Molen, who is heroic and wise, and who has fought lupus for 3 decades, said to me, “Health problems are a blessing that slows this mortal life down, so that we see and feel those heavenly touches that accompany every day.” I am trying to better recognize those heavenly touches, and pray I can continue to do so.

I am hopeful that some day I will be able to once again bike and hike and take long walks and ski. That I will be able to make plans without it being a 50/50 chance I can pull it off. That I can just feel better overall. But I also hope that if/when that happens, I can better protect my sleep. That I can still take time to be still, meditate, ponder and breathe. That I will take time to sit with my husband and watch a game, because, it turns out, he actually really likes it when I do that rather than running in and out of the room with laundry or the vacuum or other projects. (Who knew?) I hope I can serve people, but also feel okay about saying “No” when needed. 

I hope I can get nearer to the center.

Reaching for Him

Another scripture story I have spent a lot of time studying is the Woman with the Issue of Blood. She is told, “Be of good comfort; thy faith hath made thee whole.” I have pondered what she did to be healed. She'd spent 12 years searching for medical answers. (Please oh please let it not be that long for me.) She'd spent all of her money. (It’s definitely becoming clearer how that can happen.) She’d done everything in her power to find healing. It’s not like she just was waiting around, wallowing.

But then she did two things that made the difference. She went where Jesus would be. And she reached for Him. 

Jesus did the healing. That is completely and totally in His power and at His discretion. 

But I, like this woman, can try my hardest to reach for Him.

I also can try to be where I am most likely to feel near to Him. And this isn’t just physical places, like church or the temple, although I do feel near to Him in those places quite often. It has to do with what media I am consuming. The conversations I am having. It has to do with the state of my heart. Since I have been trying to be more aware of this, I notice that there are times that I leave the path where He can be encountered, and go off into a stray alley here or there. Maybe it’s by ruminating too long on someone else’s faults and mistakes. Maybe it’s by getting distracted by things that don’t matter. Regardless, I am starting to be a little more sensitive to recognizing when I’m in an alley, and often have to mentally "walk" myself back to where I can draw near to Him. Where I can touch the hem of his robe. Where I am most likely to experience His miracles and His healing.

Becoming Whole

One definition for whole is “to be complete; entire; unabridged.”  I’m realizing, 14 months into this journey, that I am becoming MORE through this. 

I have recognized that while this is my HARD, everyone I meet has their own HARD they are dealing with, and that I cannot truly understand their private battles. It draws my heart out to others and makes me want to hug everyone I see.

Over the past 14 months, I have been the recipient of so many kindnesses… so much goodness. I have been reminded that despite what the media portrays or incites, the majority of humanity is Good and Kind.

I have realized my absolute and intense need for Jesus to walk this path of life with me. I need Him not only for salvation, but for daily bread.

I have realized that as deeply as I mourn good health, life is still a beautiful gift that I still too often take for granted. My struggle with shallow breathing and low o2 levels has reminded me that the ability to breathe o2 in and co2 out, minute by minute, day by day, year by year, is a miracle and a gift from God.

I have realized that I have been given an opportunity to change. To evolve. To become more Whole.

I hope I can, with His help.

Reverence Does NOT Begin with Me (Can I have an AMEN?) (Part 2)

I was not the ideal Sunday School class attendee as a child. Or as a teenager. It wasn't rebelliousness so much as chattiness. I was A Talker. 

Shocking, but true.

One year around Christmastime, when I was probably in 5th or 6th grade, I was sitting in church next to my older sister Jill. As a bit of background, Jill always peeked and knew what we all were getting for Christmas. I'm pretty darn sure she still peeks. (Hope you hide things well, Doug!) After one year of her showing me everything I was getting for Christmas before the big day, I realized I actually like the surprise and so resisted the urge to peek. 

But as soon as Jill realized that I didn't actually want to know what Santa was bringing, the more intently she wanted to tell me. She would chase me around the house yelling out gifts while I ran away, hands over my ears, screaming at the top of my lungs, "I CAN'T HEAR YOU! I CAN'T HEAR YOU! LALALALALALALA!" 

It became a thing.

What does this have to do with church? Well, Jill decided sacrament meeting was the perfect time to pounce. I'm sure she planned this. So in the middle of the meeting, she leaned over, and told me, "I am giving you a gold stretchy belt for Christmas." My reaction was immediate. "NOOOOOOOOO!" I screamed. Loudly.

Oops.

It wasn't that I was unhappy with the present. I was unhappy that the surprise had been spoiled.

My Dad, who was sitting up on the stand, glared at us. My Mom, who was sitting a few kids away from us, glared. The rest of the congregation stared with curiosity, wondering what I so vehemently disagreed with in the meeting. And Jill laughed and laughed.

Almost as hard as she laughed the time I fell down, sprawled flat, in the middle of the busy church foyer, as a teenager. Whenever we bring that particular incident up, Jill is quick to add that she got in trouble for laughing at me and it wasn't fair because after all who wouldn't laugh at a person (in a dress I might add) falling flat in the middle of a crowd. 

So Personal Memo to Jill: I forgive you for laughing -- I likely would have too, had I not been the one flopped awkwardly across the burnt orange foyer carpet  -- and I'm sorry you got in trouble. But I still don't want to know what you are giving me for Christmas this year.

In addition to causing occasional distractions through the years, I also was a very giggly kid. Up through high school, I was always nervous to pray publicly, because often I would erupt in giggles. Nerves? Silliness? Immaturity? Doomed to be a Heathen? I'm not sure. But it has unfortunately continued, decades after adolescence. 

There was the time, not too long ago, when I, along with the other members of our Stake Relief Society presidency, were meeting with our Stake President and one of the high councilors. 

Our RS presidency had actually met earlier that night, and there had been a lot of laughter. I had shared how I wore two different shoes that day and didn't notice it until around 3 pm. (Not that unusual of a wardrobe malfunction, actually rather ho-hum, which you already know if you've read my past blog posts. But it did take an extraordinarily long time for me to figure it out.)  It is at that point in my conversation with Susan, Tracy, and Regina that an infamous exchange happened. 

I said, "I really need a wardrobe consultant. Or a professional dresser. Or even just someone to stand sentry and tell me when my clothes are on inside out or my shoes don't match." 

My sassy pal Susan said, "Christy! You have one! It's called a mirror... USE IT!" 

That set us off and we laughed until we cried. At the end of the meeting, Susan made the mistake to ask me to pray. It did not go well. I burst into laughter halfway in and couldn't finish.

I've gotta believe that God just sort of rolls his eyes and goes with it. He knows me too well to be shocked by my occasional lack of piety. But I do feel a little bad about it. I mean, I'm attempting to talk with God, my Heavenly Father, and that should, in theory, generate respect, reverence, awe and gratitude.

So my laughing attack was a Prayer Fail. But we moved on to the next meeting with the Stake President. And then my heart sank when he asked me to pray, "to start off our meeting with the right spirit." I was pretty sure I couldn't contribute to that goal. I still had spillover giggles. I knew I would break. And I wasn't sure how God would feel about two botched prayers.

My stake president was and is such a wonderful man. I enjoyed a very warm relationship with him. But by nature he skews pretty solemn; pretty serious. I knew he wouldn't appreciate a prayer meltdown.

So I said to him, "I'm sorry President, but apparently, tonight I reverted back to junior high school, and I had a complete giggle attack during the last prayer I attempted. You might want to ask someone else." 

He looked at me and flatly said, "Well, here's your chance to redeem yourself."

Alrightythen.

So I started. And within about 3 or 4 words I snort-giggled and just sat there, silently and inanely laughing, tears streaming down my face. I didn't want to laugh, but I couldn't help it. I was loopy.

So I opened my eyes to just Call It, throw in the prayer towel, and tell him to ask someone more mature to "start us off in the right Spirit." But as I cracked my eyes open, I saw that he was Not Amused. He sat there with his eyes closed and his arms folded and an expression hinting that a Time Out was not out of the question. It immediately generated the desired Scared Straight reaction in me, and terrified, I was able to quickly sober up and finish the prayer. Probably not one of my best or most heartfelt, but I got through the rest of the prayer without losing it. 

I wondered if we'd all have a little chuckle about it afterwards. But I was wrong. "Okay, let's begin. What's first on your agenda," he said, all business. 

I was quite reverent for the rest of that meeting.

A few months later, Chad was in a meeting with the same Stake President. It was a meeting with all of the women and men leaders in the stake, to be exact. 

Quick background here, to set the stage. Chad likes to go to sleep watching TV.  Conversely, I can't sleep if there is a show on, even if I have absolutely zero interest in it. Eyes closed, I will still follow the plot and the dialogue and stay awake doing so, whether I want to or not. So we never have a television in our bedroom. As a result, Chad watches shows on his phone as he goes to sleep. You'd think his choice might be something relatively calming, like sportscaster voiceovers of a golf game. But no, he tends to watch shows like NCIS. Nothing like a little serial killer intrigue to send you off to sweet dreams. 

He'd fallen asleep watching NCIS the night before, and I guess the show was just "sleeping" on his phone. Because as the meeting started, he signed into his phone in order to put it on silent, but it instantly went to the show. And it just so happened that the part of the show it went to involved one of the characters calling out, "IT'S THE WHOLE DAMN LIST!" 

So that rang out loud and clear. Then, as Chad tried to mute and dismiss the show, it got stuck there, due to spotty internet. So it just kept repeating, "IT'S THE WHOLE DAMN LIST!" over and over as he mumbled and fumbled.

He glanced at the Stake President, who was once again Not Amused. In fact, no one in the room cracked a joke or a smile, although Chad says there appeared to be a few quiet snickers disguised as coughs. 

"Can't....... Get......... Phone.......To........Turn..........Off," Chad sheepishly said as his phone continued to throw out the swears. 

"Let's begin our meeting." was the response. Apparently our stake president was a fan of "Don't Reward Bad Behavior By Acknowledging It." 

Coincidentally? Or not? Chad was released from his stake young men's calling the next month. I stayed in for a bit longer, but it was definitely not because I positively contributed to "starting the meeting off in the right spirit".

So there was time for more prayer mishaps. 

One time my RS presidency members and I were having a training meeting with one of the wards in our stake. The training was in the evening, and it was always a challenge to get home from work, get changed, and make it on time. So I rushed into the meeting, a bit flustered, late as usual. It had been A Day. They'd waited for me. So we began the meeting and were chatting a bit, getting to know the other ladies. Then Susan asked, "Okay, Tracy, why don't you give us the spiritual thought for tonight." 

I interrupted, "Shouldn't we pray first?"

"What?" Susan asked with confusion.

"Shouldn't we say the opening prayer before Tracy's spiritual thought?"

It got quiet.

"Christy... we just said the prayer 2 minutes ago. And in fact, you chimed in with "Amen". 

Oops. Obviously I had not been very focused during the prayer.

Tracy's spiritual thought for the night was on Reverence, and The Importance of Listening to Prayers. And Not Giggling During Them. And Not Screaming NOOOOOO During Church, or Broadcasting Cuss Words In Stake Executive Planning Meetings. And Not Falling Flat in the Foyer.  

Actually, it wasn't. But it should have been. Because she then would have covered the Whole Damn List.