A Most Essential Human

I pulled into the large parking garage just off Sunset Blvd. It was dark. A lone figure covered from head to toe in protective gear met my car. His eyes were barely visible beneath the plastic head gear and thick glasses. His gloved hands pointed me through a narrow obstacle course marked by cones and handwritten signs. I passed a makeshift hospital tent – where half dozen techs in scrubs and masks prepped tests - placing swabs carefully into zip lock bags. It was all very B-movie-science-fiction.

A cloaked worker held her hand up signaling me to stop. She asked me to put my car in park, get into the backseat and hold my son’s hands down - tightly. He’s not gonna like this, she warned. A worker entered from the other side and stood over my son who remained strapped into the car seat.  I held his hands and sang ‘this little light of mine’ as she jabbed a swab up his tiny nostril, pushed it in deeper and twisted ten times. She counted. He cried. I felt like crying.

Nothing could have prepared me for this parenting moment.

This was my 23 month old getting a coronavirus test.

This past Thursday, after our mayor announced that Los Angeles would be the first city in the nation to provide testing for everyone, I moved into action. I am not an essential worker. I don’t work the front lines of hospitals or backrooms of grocery stores. But as a solo parent living thousands of miles away from my family – I simply can’t get sick. Not even a little bit.

I am an essential parent.

I am his most essential human.

Eight weeks ago when the world started to go topsy turvy, we decided to stay put and quarantine in our Los Angeles home. I had to face some tough questions: What would happen if I got sick? Who would care for him as I was caring for myself? If I was positive for this still unknown virus, who would risk exposure to themselves and their loved ones? I also had to play out even the worst case scenario:

What if I was rushed to the hospital and didn’t survive?

When you become a parent - particularly the way I did - after years of longing and logistics - the last thing you want to think about is NOT being there for them. You don’t plan on it, but you have to plan for it. These are the contingencies parents have to make, pandemic or not. The clear and present danger of the disease heightened the urgency – and the need to revisit the decisions I had labored over last fall. On our adoption day, outside the courtroom, the lawyer shook my hand, stared in my eyes and asked ‘so, what happens if you die tomorrow.’ He was talking about guardianship, estate planning, wills. He was a lawyer after all. We didn’t plan for a pandemic.

Today, I am exhausted. I am lonely.

The truth is, we have managed pretty well. We survived through laughter, music, play and positivity. We stayed afloat thanks to his beloved Nanny who periodically came to our rescue when I just couldn’t manage alone - I needed sleep, had to take a work call or make an emergency run to the market - or simply take a breath. We have also benefitted from the kindness of friends who have randomly dropped food off in the stroller in the back of our home. For my son and I, it has been an incredible bonding time but I am simply running out of steam.

I miss the smiles of strangers.

I miss our village.

I miss my family.

As I drove the shockingly empty Sunset Boulevard after his test, I felt a tinge of freedom for the first time in months. Information is power and we were on our way to getting some. If we are both negative, the results allow us to confidently visit my parents who are 89 and 85 years old and be near my sisters who can help.

Negative Test. Positive Mind.

On the way to get my test the next day, I passed an ominous field of grave markers adjacent to the Veteran’s Hospital parking lot where I had an 11 AM appointment. The police directed me to a long line of cars snaking their way to the test site; hundreds of them idling, fumes filling the air. My son was in the back reading the LION KING book they had given him after his test.

At noon, we got to the front of the line and a worker slipped a bag that held a test through the car window. I pulled over, coughed three times (as instructed) and swabbed my mouth. I put it into the vial and back into the plastic bag, rolled the window down just a few inches and the worker reached in with a metal clasper and grabbed the specimen.

One of the coveted coronavirus test.

And just like that, the test that had eluded our cities and our nation for months, was done.

On the way home, I got a call from our pediatrician. My son’s test was negative. As soon as I get my results, we will get in the car and embark on a 15 hour drive to the Pacific Northwest. At the end of that very, very long road, we will arrive at my parent’s home and into their arms - it will be amazing to see their beautiful comforting smiles, unmasked, and pure joy to hug them, without caution.

We will be there by Mother’s Day. That seems fitting; we all need nurturing right now.

My mother and my son this winter before the Covid outbreak.

The other day I overheard someone say, We are all essential workers. The work some of my friends are doing as solo parents - and as dual parents - working full time, homeschooling and taking care of children - is nothing short of monumental. We are all a little bit heroic and a pandemic like this can show us is what we are made of, what we are capable of becoming and most importantly, reveal to us the things that are most essential - like our humanity.

Thoughts and Reflections:

What is the most essential work you are doing while quarantined?

Who do you miss? Who are your essential people?

What do you miss most during this time?

What do you not miss so much?

Mantra and Meditation:

I am an essential human. Today I am going to __________ - it is important and necessary.

Resources:

Click here to book your free test if you live in Los Angeles.

If you have a child, contact your pediatrician. They will advise how, when and if you should test them.