News from Jules | 12.09.2024 | Tender Loving Care

They don’t ask, they just do it.

For approximately a minute and a half, I felt the tears welling up above my KN-95 mask as I looked around the Urgent Care lobby at all the old folks and the usual medical posters and pamphlets from my perch by myself over by the Christmas tree in the corner, six-plus feet from anyone else.

This was the part that I don’t like, that always chokes me up: Being vulnerable and being alone.

I was finally feeling healthy and recovered from a three-week bout of a bad chest cold/possibly bronchitis*, which I’ve had many times before so I am familiar with all the self-care steps, including trying unsuccessfully to nip it in the bud with the first symptoms, then pausing my training for a 6.5k Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving while visiting my bestie in Denver, and even though I felt way better by then, still listening to my body wanting to walk more than run the race when it was harder to breathe.

Several days after I returned, in uncanny deja vu during my shift at REI on a Saturday afternoon, I noticed the same symptoms showing up: Sneezing three times in a row, light coughs, wheezing, tired, achy. What the heck? To be safe, I called out sick on Sunday. But, woke up sicker on Monday.

So, this time I wasn’t waiting around to see how this played out.

Sitting in the Urgent Care waiting room, I realized that underneath my long, brown puffy coat, I was coincidentally wearing my dinosaur sweatshirt, navy sweatpants, cozy socks, and Birkenstock clogs, the same thing I was wearing when I checked into the E.R.s on the East Coast a couple of years ago due to post-surgical complications.

That memory and my present—once again driving myself to/from urgent care and sitting in the waiting room, and then later in the exam room, without the comforting company of someone familiar by my side—felt so very alone.

After the registered nurse (RN) checked my vitals in the exam room, she asked me to undress and put a robe on for a chest X-ray. As I took off my dinosaur sweatshirt, she noticed and asked: Are you wearing a bra?

Heck no, I’m in my sick clothes, I replied.

She laughed and said it was fine to keep my yellow tank top and sweatpants on under the robe. I realized that my outfit wasn’t a coincidence at all because they were my coziest clothes, which was by default part of my sick self-care.

The RN prepared the influenza and COVID-19 tests while we waited for the radiology tech and as we continued to chat I learned that she’s the sister-in-law of a Bend REI co-worker. Also not very coincidental living in a small-ish city/big-ish town, but felt like synchronicity when I was thinking about it later, waiting by myself in the exam room for the X-ray and test results.

It was a meaningful connection that made me feel less alone.

Just like what I was wearing.

The matching blue fleece hat that one of my besties in Alaska and I both have and the puffy coat, dinosaur sweatshirt, and yellow tank top hand-me-downs that connect me to others; plus the locally made socks from a very special place, and the Birks that I purchased while visiting my friend in St. Louis during my 2022 road trips.

When the doctor came in with the good news, I learned that the X-rays did not look like pneumonia. Still, there was bronchial thickening which was aggravating my asthma, so she prescribed Paxlovid in case the COVID-19 test result was positive—which it later was—as well as respiratory antibiotics in case I spike a fever and got way worse—which hopefully I won’t. Then when the nurse came in to say goodbye, she also handed me an adapter to help my inhaler work better.

After urgent care, I drove directly to Safeway for the prescriptions, more Puffs tissues, more chicken noodle soup—the pharmacist said to go heavy on protein while on Paxlovid—and some apples. While still wearing my KN95, of course.

This is the stuff that doesn’t bother me. Of course, it’s not fun to run resupply errands when feeling crummy. And, it’s definitely not ideal during the first initial contagious days. But, once the inevitable and usually quick woe-is-me moment is over, I just make the list and go get it over with, so I can head back to bed.

This is the part of being sick that feels more like solitude than loneliness.

Because I can give excellent care to myself. And it feels good to. And it also feels good to receive tender loving care from others.

Like on that first sick day, I was commiserating over text with my friend about my news and her preparations for a potentially imminent stomach flu “barfathon” going around her first grader’s classroom and maybe coming home to her house.

Then I went back to the usual sick day rabbit holes watching wonderfully entertaining and free movies on Hoopla, that streaming service through public libraries which I totally forgot about until I was looking for the 1980s feminist cult-classic movie Shirley Valentine to stream that morning after it was mentioned in the canonical feminist spirituality book by Sue Monk Kidd that I’m devouring right now in between naps and movies.

Later in the afternoon, when I was watching Jules—a hilarious and quirky film about how an alien and “three neighbors find meaning and connection later in life” and my second free movie of the day—a message popped up on my screen:

Special delivery in about eight minutes.

My friend and her non-flu-ridden family dropped off some chicken and veggie Thai curry in a takeout container labeled Jules. Once again, tears loomed over my mask as I said hi and thank you from a distance.

The next day, after I learned this cold was actually COVID, I texted my co-organizer to sadly say I couldn’t attend the climate resilience nature walk inspired by the Deschutes River Trail (DRT) that we’d been planning during hikes around town together for the past two months and were finally kicking off this week. Later this afternoon, another text pinged about a drop-off waiting at my front door with two soups and some gluten-free bread from her. Amazing!

Soon after that, another text pinged on my screen while I was watching Santa Camp—an intriguing and moving documentary about inclusivity during the Holidays—with a DoorDash gift card from my besties in Denver. And later, one of my REI friends texted that she was back in town and offered to grab anything else I needed this week. Whoa. Talk about blessed.

This is the part of being sick that fills in any of the tiny cracks of loneliness. When people just give care. They sure don’t take it. And they don’t ask, they just do it.

To paraphrase my wise weekly Note from the Universe email: They give with a truly glad heart for the sole purpose of the good it will do, even as whatever they give shall likely return to them, multiplied, as if on wings upon unicorns, over rainbows.

And they can just do it because the intent is so heartfelt it is truly helpful. These gifts from my friends and coworkers, the nurse, even the pharmacist’s advice, and my Primary Care Physician’s reassuring second opinion through MyChart about Paxlovid having a low risk for potential complications with my Endometriosis medication, and hopefully my dairy sensitivity too.

Maybe some unicorns flying over rainbows karma is happening here. For instance, how I’ve periodically dropped off muffins, stopped by for visits, sent flowers and cards, and so on for my friend here who’s been undergoing breast cancer treatment during the past nine months, because it feels like the right thing to do.

But, it’s more than karma. More than sustaining nurturing friendships that feel like family. Or building community and meaningful connections with others. It’s being human in a network of living beings whom if we’re paying attention know exactly what each other needs.

Because there is infinite caring available.

And so, as I continue quarantining during my third time with COVID for the next few days at home by myself, I will be fully nourished, and have more help offered if I need it.

Not as vulnerable and not alone.

May you give so much care to yourself and others this week.

Love,

Jules

*P.S. Yes, this is part of why my newsletters have been fewer and farther in between lately—when they are something is usually going on, as many of you have astutely noticed. Plus, I’ve been tired from so many amazing outdoor adventures and travel this fall and I’m still trying to catch up on storytelling about all of them. Plus, good ole life maintenance. It’s always a lot. That’s living life to the fullest, right?

And, writing this book is so much harder than I thought it would be. This is clearly why I have started and quit this process—three, four, five times before?—and hired a writing coach and editor this time around so that I hopefully make it all the way through. Ironically, it’s not the writing that’s hard so much as the figuring out how to do it. For the past couple of months, we’ve been problem-solving about the framing of my memoir concept, learning the review and revise cycles, and working through all the emotional baggage that comes with creating something/anything…about yourself…through memories that are fading…articulated in words and stories that will hopefully resonate, empower and inspire others to do their thing, not just be entertained by yours.

So, as I’m looking ahead to 2025, I’m also trying to figure out different Substack publishing that’s more sustainable right now. Maybe shorter? Maybe fewer? Maybe updates or wonderings instead of stories? Regardless, it’s very important to me to keep writing and stay connected to you and not just disappear during the book writing process, so thank you for continuing on the journey with me. Your time, attention, and energy are also important to me, so from the bottom of my heart: thank you for reading!