Lately I’ve been thinking, “Did families just avoid talking about slavery in the years before the Civil War?”
In my family, we don’t talk about politics. We’re mostly successful, but it is hard as more and more things feel political. Also, we often discover that we live in two separate realities without realizing it. When I do realize it, it’s disorienting, strange, alienating even, and I suspect it’s the same for my family.
On Christmas Eve, my sister, who lives 1600 miles from me, tested positive for Covid. I knew she and her husband and most of her children and their spouses were unvaccinated. Honestly, I had been more worried about her husband, who is diabetic. Worried and a bit angry that he would take such a risk when so many people, including my parents who live with them now, my sister, and two sons who work for his construction company. But I mostly didn’t think about it at all. It was their decision and I wasn’t going to change their minds.
My sister’s case was bad. For the first time I thought about her mortality, my seemingly invincible sister, and it was terrifying. And yet, I couldn’t find a way to approach her, even in texts. I checked in daily with my mother to find out how she was doing. My sister and her husband had moved into the garage apartment to ride out the illness. Days in, we didn’t trust the information we were getting back from her, thinking she was probably downplaying the seriousness of her symptoms. She still had a fever and was still in bed, and was eating sporadically. What about her oxygen levels? I didn’t feel like I could ask her how she was doing. I didn’t feel like I could ask if she had a pulse oximeter. It might be seen as challenging her or meddling. She might think I didn’t trust her to take care of herself.
And she would have been right. On Day 6, my mother reported, my sister went to a doctor and got medications to treat Covid. I wondered what those medications were, knowing the pill the FDA approved was not available yet. I texted and told her I was glad she went to a doctor and asked her, as objectively as possible, what meds she was taking.
She texted back very specific information, including doses. The first three things on the list were initials: HCQ, IVM, Azm. Also Prednisone and some other things in a nebulizer that are regularly used as asthma treatments. My heart dropped. I looked it up to be sure, but could easily translate the first two: hydroxychloroquine and Ivermectin. It took me 12 hours to respond to this text. I checked in with some of my networks. I also learned that our son-in-law, who is vaxxed, was taking these meds for his current case of Covid, which was significantly milder. So the next day I texted her that A had also had these meds and they seemed to give him relief, and I hoped they did the same for her. I did.
I consider HCQ, IVM and Azm frauds. Scams by people benefiting off the pandemic. And not a substitute for the vaccinations. Studies have been done and there are reasons the FDA has not approved them as treatments for Covid: they are ineffective. I do believe the nebulizer and fever reducers helped her get over the hump. But a quick internet search lists the side effects of HCQ as nausea, hearing loss, and seizure. The side effects of the vaccine are a couple days of flu-like symptoms as immunity builds. More than a month later, she still has no taste or smell and considerable fatigue. My sister’s family believes there is a high risk of blood clots with the vaccines. A blood clotting disorder was found in 54 of 17 million people who received the J&J vaccine, none for the other vaccines. (By comparison, up to 1 in 100 women taking certain birth control pills over a 10-year period get blood clots).
The exchange had opened a door of communication. I love my sister and we have been committed to that line of communication. And truthfully, I don’t know why I couldn’t text her right away and say I was praying for her (which I was) and ask how she was doing.
It has been difficult for me and, even though it doesn’t seem like it since she seems to care for me so easily, I imagine it has been hard for her, too. We don’t agree on the “eldercare” issues, or politics, or religion, or much of anything. I love her and admire her, and she loves me. We have worked to speak directly to each other, not going through our mother, a pattern that has not served us well. When I was diagnosed with cancer, in 2016, my sister came out nearly once a month to take care of me. That was a tough year politically, and she watched the debates and conventions with us. We remained civil. I was at her house for Trump’s inauguration in January, and she watched happily as I watched in horror, seeing the “American Carnage” speech as an announcement that Trump would not even try to be a president for everyone, only his base. But we mostly kept our opinions to ourselves.
When I was in remission, I took her with me on an Alaskan cruise, and it was absolutely lovely. We had a great time together, and laughed a lot. She put up with me when I was tired and cranky. I didn’t have to put up with her at all, because she is wonderful, kind and fun and up for anything. My friend Doug came too, and the two of them could do things when I needed a nap.
When my sister was mostly recovered and back in the house three weeks later, I was still checking in. And she texted that she and her husband were now testing their workers regularly and she had a lot of early treatment and preventative stuff in stock. I said it sounded good, but I wanted to say “a vaccine is excellent at preventing serious illness.”
I still don’t know why I was surprised when my mother conveyed that my sister really wanted me to get some of these things — immunity boosting vitamins and natural remedies, but also the HCQ and IVM (from a doctor) so I’d be prepared. I know everyone worries about me like I worry about my diabetic brother-in-law. I am immunocompromised and have a severely compromised lung. Even vaccinated, Covid is life-threatening for me. I let my mother know what I thought about those medications and that I had a plan with my oncologist to get monoclonal antibodies, and hopefully soon I’ll be able to have access to the pill as well, should I get Covid. She was glad to know I have a plan.
And again, I was taken aback. My sister is as firm in her opinions about Covid as I am. And the reason she was disclosing so much about her treatment was because she hoped I’d see the light and get the treatment she believes helped her. Somehow, despite all evidence to the contrary, we believe we are more or less alike, with the same outlook on things. We know we get our information from very different sources and our world view is not aligned all the way down to the issue of evolution and up to the issue of immigration.
Does this mean our love for each other is some kind of abstraction, or not real? No. We continue to find ways to express our love for each other. But as our nation continues to split, as the stakes feel like they’re getting higher and higher, I really don’t know what our relationship will be like. Already we have very little time to talk to each other. Mostly that’s because my sister has a LOT on her plate, including my parents, grandchildren, running their business. I’m glad we took that trip while we could both get away and do it. My health is such that travel seems increasingly unlikely. And when we do talk, we have no trouble talking, and supporting each other. I care about what happens to her and is happening in her life, and she cares about mine. That includes some very real on-the-ground struggles we have. I am committed to loving my sister. We are doing the best we can.
