COVID-19: What A Difference A Week Makes

The four cousins whose trip got cancelled — a picture from happier times.

Today is Wednesday, March 18. As of last Wednesday, March 11, my children and their cousins were all scheduled to fly to Kansas City this week for a meeting this coming weekend about family farmland. As of Thursday, March 12, we cancelled their trip.

Why the change in plans? Coronavirus. COVID-19. Whatever you want to call the current pandemic that has roiled financial markets, businesses, travel, and our daily lives.

Thursday, the mayor of Kansas City, Missouri, declared a state of emergency. President Trump declared a national emergency last Friday, as did the governor of Missouri. Saturday, our local bishop issued regulations prohibiting use of the communal cup and physical contact during the “Our Father” and the Sign of Peace. Sunday, Dr. Anthony Fauci of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases told us to “hunker down” at home.

Sunday night came the recommendation that groups of more than 50 people be cancelled. Monday morning, the Mid-Continent Public Library shut, meaning I cannot pick up the book I have on hold (a minor inconvenience, but it hits home). Also on Monday, public celebrations of the Mass  in our diocese were stopped until at least April 3. And by Monday evening, the recommendation was to avoid groups of more than ten.

Each day, each hour, brings a new feeling of disaster. Of gloom. Of fear.

We are not used to it.

I was slow to realize this disease would impact my daily life. I’ve never lived through a public health scare before, nor have I known of family members who have. My grandparents were children during the 1918 flu epidemic, but I never talked to them about it. No one in our family was struck during the polio epidemic of the 1950s—and it was over before I was born (though I know people who did survive polio).

Although I was part of the crisis management team at Hallmark Cards after September 11, during the anthrax scare, and during the SARS epidemic in 2003, the work we did always felt a part of something far away. Some company employees and customers were affected, and we put precautions in place and drafted reassuring communications pieces, but I never felt personally vulnerable.

Now I do.

This plague, this hits home. One child lives in Seattle and the other in New York City. They are working from home to the extent they can. They both pleaded with my husband and me to stay home, to practice social distancing, which we are doing.

Cessation of Masses was a particular blow. There have been many weekends and holy days when I have groused about having to go to Mass and wished there was a reason to get out of it. But to have them suspended during Lent is a sign of the seriousness of the times.

On Saturday, March 14, 2020, The Wall Street Journal ran an article entitled “When Epidemics Wreaked Havoc in America,” by David Oshinsky. [This article is probably behind a paid firewall, so you might not be able to see it.] Mr. Oshinsky writes:

“It takes the fear of a pandemic, as we are experiencing today with Covid-19, to remind us that infectious diseases were once so common, so deadly, that Americans had little choice but to accept the toll they exacted with stoicism and dread. Death by epidemic remained a natural, if depressing, part of American life until just a few generations ago.”

Later, he comments:

“There’s a reason we’re emotionally unprepared for what may lie ahead: We simply haven’t experienced the extreme cycles of infectious disease that previous generations were forced to endure. We’re in frightening new territory, . . . ”

I have researched epidemics for my historical novels. My research was academic in nature, though I tried to imagine the impact on our emigrant ancestors when I wrote about illnesses such as cholera and smallpox.

But now I begin to understand the emotions these pioneers felt when faced with diseases they could not predict, did not understand, and against which they had no defenses. The “stoicism and dread” Mr. Oshinsky describes has now reached our generation.

I think what’s most sobering for me to realize is that the human condition has changed so little since the days of our pioneer ancestors. We are still at the mercy of the natural world, however sheltered we think we are. We are specks in the universe, unable to control most of our environment. We make great strides on antibiotics, antiseptics, vaccines, and other treatments, then the Whack-A-Mole of the unknown strikes, and we are once again clueless and vulnerable.

And yet, we also know that caring for each other is what matters most. During Mass on Saturday afternoon (probably my last Mass for several weeks), I did not shake the hands of those around me, but we all smiled and nodded and made eye contact. And felt part of the human family, despite our social distancing.

On Sunday, I met a new neighbor across the street and petted his dog. The human family felt closer.

When the best of us can conquer our panic and tend to our neighbors, even if from a safe distance, we have a chance to make this world a better place. The next pandemic might hit, but we will know we survived the last.

What thoughts have you had about the COVID-19 pandemic?