Early one summer my family ventured south on one of our rare vacations. A rented travel trailer bobbed behind our packed car. A small carnival was attached to one of the campgrounds and it did not take long for me to find the midway. The flashing lights of the “fun house” caught my eye and I immediately felt the need to explore, but within 5 minutes I had regretted the decision. Once inside, my heart began to race, and my head darted about the room searching for a way out. All I could see were images of my own scared 9-year-old face staring back at me. I started to cry. A loud voice from a speaker above guided me out of the scary unknown. What a relief it was to have this direction during a period of uncertainty, allowing me to leave confusion and fear behind.

Like the childhood fun house, anxiety in the era of COVID-19 in not uncommon. A sleep deprived colleague recently shared with me that he was self-isolating from his wife and four young children.  He explained that he was doing this in the hopes of sparing them from COVID-19 but losing sleep as a result. He went on to say, “I feel like we are all a part of the band on the Titanic”, playing music as we take on water.  These words did not sit well with me and I refused to let them stick.  I told myself that I am not a band member pretending that all is well, fine and good. I am one of the lifeboat tenders preparing for a time of uncertainty.

As a lifeboat tender, I have attempted to reduce my inner chaos with preparation. I dug out an old N95 mask from our kitchen closet. I had purchased it from the Home Depot during a spray-painting project about 4 years ago. I took it to work and wear it with a washable cloth mask over the top in order to prolong its life. Fortunately, a dear friend sent me two N95s in the mail, God only knows where she found them. I later received an additional 2 from the hospital where I work. I keep all these masks, along with protective goggles, cloth hair coverings and a face shield in a special bag next to my desk for easy access. Hand washing is also big on my agenda.  I have direct patient contact and have always washed my hands A LOT, but now I feel a bit OCD, intently focusing on the duration and thoroughness of my ritual as I sing Happy Birthday a million times a day. When the shift comes to an end, I return to my locker, change out of my scrubs, take a shower, put on fresh clothes, dispose of the dirty scrubs and walk to the car. But before getting in, I change my shoes and store them in a plastic box and garbage bag.  And finally, after a very long day, I hand sanitize and take the seat next to my dear husband who comes to pick me up from the hospital and return us to the safety of our home.

I believe that individual preparation is important, but for our Nation to move forward both medically and economically, we must put universal measures into place. For example, if a patient presents to a hospital with symptoms of COVID-19, a series of questions are asked to determine if testing is necessary. If the questionnaire results in a high probability of disease, the patient receives a test. The patient then becomes a PUI (patient under investigation) and must be transferred to either an isolation room or special medical unit to await results. This can take anywhere from 1 hour to 5 days, depending on who you are or where you live in our country. While the patient awaits the results, those who enter the PUI’s room; the patient’s nurse, provider, CNA, phlebotomist, respiratory therapist, registration or janitorial staff, must wear special PPE (personal protective equipment); gowns, gloves, masks, face shields and eye wear in order to protect the PUI, other patients, fellow staff members and themselves.  This requires a great deal of time, attention, and costly equipment, all necessary because of a potential COVID-19 infection.

Without the appropriate testing and the knowledge that it provides, we are simply operating in the dark, squandering precious resources and creating an environment of fear. Currently there is a 1-hour test available in certain regions of our country and limited access to testing in others. A Federally run COVID-19 testing program with National guidelines, established protocols and CDC over site would help in creating a uniform strategy against this virus.  The data obtained from the project could then be used to inform important decision making, allocate resources, ease National anxiety and ultimately enable our people to safely return to work, school and recreation.

We do not need to drown in a sea of sickness or economic despair. We can be prepared for what is ahead. We can choose to ready ourselves as a country and commit to Nationally guided COVID-19 testing, avoid a possible iceberg and steady this great ship! The idea of mass COVID-19 testing is a large, but necessary endeavor. It will be costly and cumbersome, but a wise investment.  Just as the guiding voice in that childhood fun house, mass National testing is direction in the dark, enabling us to move beyond confusion and fear.

I wish you peace and understanding. Thank you for your sacrifice!  We are ALL essential and so is our health!

KAKW

I woke coughing like a seal and gasping for breath one Christmas Eve many, many years ago.  I don’t recall how we got to the train tracks, but I do remember being held in my father’s arms while sitting in the front seat of my grandfather’s car.  My mother and grandmother were seated in the backseat and my grandfather was anxiously gripping the steering wheel as we waited for the endless train to pass.  I vaguely recall a doctor’s office, though it was likely the local Emergency Department, because my next memory was walking to a bed wearing a much too large for me hospital gown.  I celebrated my third birthday during that stay.

Every winter for the next decade I would have similar breathing episodes.  My family learned during my hospitalization that a homemade steam-room could alleviate the life-threatening symptoms.  Unfortunately, the shower never quite relieved my fear of gasping for breath.

Now that I am older, asthma is my respiratory nemesis.  I keep a close eye on how many doses remain in my inhaler.  Fortunately, I have access to this medication.  This was not always the case and it may be in short supply very soon.  Seasonal allergies or a common cold can trigger an episode and plague my vulnerable lung tissue.  I work for a healthcare company who has taken away my sick leave, a move that has ignited a new fear within me.  Economic uncertainty.

I work with behavioral health patients who often live in close quarters.  A vulnerable population without adequate healthcare, much less the funds to pay for medications.  We try very hard to care for these people with compassion and understanding, which in the era of COVID-19, puts me and others with underlying respiratory illness at great risk.

Disinfectant wipes have a home in my purse, so when my teen age son and I went to the movies two weeks ago, I used those wipes to clean our tray tables and seat controls prior to sitting down.  My son never objected.  He stood patiently waiting.  A fifty-something man sitting one row behind us had been closely observing my actions and made a loud comment to the teenage girl sitting next to him.  He looked directly at me and said “RIDICULOUS”.  I returned his gaze and notified him that I have asthma, that I work in an emergency department and it is in his best interest that I stay healthy.  He said nothing.

So, no theater for us this weekend.  My time has been dedicated to making surgical masks from tightly woven cotton cloth for myself and some colleagues; a CNA who is a single mother with severe asthma, my neighbor the paramedic, another CNA whose father was recently diagnosed with lung cancer and a police officer who is currently undergoing chemotherapy.  The reason that my machine is humming this weekend is because my community needs protective gear and I know how to sew. The lack of governmental preparation has led to a national mask shortage during a global pandemic, leaving us exposed to illness and unrest.

We as a Nation must seek answers to the cause of this negligence, as well as the overall financial and emotional cost of the inadequate response. Lying, cruelty and denial will not end this chaos, but innovation, understanding and community support will.  We are STRONG and we will RISE!  We need one another and are now being reminded that working together is what makes survival possible.

Please pray for my friend who is caring for patients in the ICU of a busy teaching university hospital in a large mid-western city.  Pray that she has the energy to sustain herself and her staff through the long hours ahead.  Please thank the janitorial team at any given facility who are scrubbing floors, door handles and bathrooms.  Thank a Respiratory Therapist for their bravery.  Order take-out if you can.  Remember to wash your hands and stand 6 feet apart, so that in the future you will be able to sing Happy Birthday for 20 seconds to your grandmother and her friends.  And when we finally get back to the movies, please be kind to the woman cleaning her tray table and seat controls.

 

Peace, Good Health and Understanding

KAKW

I went on a girl’s weekend with a few friends several years ago.  We met in a beautiful southern city and one of the women suggested that we visit a former rice plantation turned historical touring site.  I was hesitant about going, but I didn’t want to miss out on an opportunity to spend time with my friends.

The next day we drove down the long, quiet, tree lined entrance of the plantation.  My friends and I eventually arrived at a parking lot crowded with visitors hoping to get a peek into history.  Our group started the tour walking among award winning gardens filled with beautiful flowers, well trimmed shrubbery and intricately carved sculptures.  I recall seeing a vast swath of land, once filled with rice, nestled next to a large picturesque river.  Near this river was a slave chapel built atop a Spring House.  I remember walking into that small church building, looking at the pews all lined up within the room and wondering if the congregants had ever sung that old tune about Pharaoh and Moses, letting his people go.  There were so many thoughts demanding my attention as we exited the chapel, but I pushed them aside because we needed to make our way to the other side of the property, to a place where the stable yards and slave quarters were located.

The Stable Yard was a dry and barren place, a striking contrast to the lush gardens and spring water that existed a world away.  I spotted the Slave Cabins. They were sparsely decorated living quarters, where multiple people shared a cramped space.  Adjacent to these cabins were the skilled craftsmen shops.  I was drawn to the blacksmith’s lodge.  Upon entering, I immediately felt the stifling heat and smoke steal my breath.  When I could no longer tolerate this oppressive space, I returned to the light filled courtyard to breathe fresh air and clear my head before journeying up the path to the Family House.

The Family House was made of brick and overlooked the estate.  A slight musty odor filled the air inside the house.  I could hear an occasional floorboard creek as we made our way from room to room.  In one of the rooms was an old wooden cabinet with a glass top, this made it easy to see the artifacts displayed within.  Among these artifacts was an old, somewhat yellowed embroidered cloth.  The writing on this sack cloth told of a 9-year-old girl separated from her family after being sold at a slave auction.  The sack contained items for her departure.  The stitching recorded a dress, 3 handfuls of pecans, a braid of her Mother’s hair and a lifetime of her Mother’s Love.  My throat tightened and tears filled my eyes as I read the message on the cloth.  A deep sense of sadness gripped my heart and I questioned how any human being could separate a 9-year-old child from her mother and dismiss their lifetime of pain.

Unfortunately, separation of children from their parents is not a heartless practice of the past.  It continues today at our southern border where children have been taken from their parents and placed into cages with no plan to reunite them with their families. A punishment for seeking refuge from harm.  The cries of these children have been met with judgement, anger and indifference.  Their desperation has been demonized and the actions of their captors supported with a twisted idea that compassion equates weakness and acts of cruelty demonstrate strength, all to justify a separation policy driven by fear.

Those who have become isolated, powerless, financially compromised, or psychologically injured are vulnerable to emotional manipulation, racism and fear.  As fear builds within a person and anger seeps in, their empathy slowly vanishes away, leaving a large void where decency once lived.  Separation from one’s own feelings and the lack of empathy towards a perceived threat, enables a person to look the other way, to blame a victim and eventually deny personal responsibility for inhumane behavior.

The seeds of fear and distrust were planted centuries ago; telling people that community separation was necessary to avoid threats from angry individuals yet failing to acknowledge the brutal mistreatment of those who were angry.  This type of emotional manipulation is still around today, discouraging meaningful dialog between groups.  This lack of communication between people allows for inaccurate information to go unchecked.  Such as planting the idea of a national scarcity, where people are told that there is “not enough to go around” and then encourage the separated groups to blame one another for their economic struggles.  This blame, shame and finger pointing become a distraction from corporate greed and societal exploitation.  If we could put aside fear long enough to truly listen to one another, we would discover that the scarcity scam is a method used to maintain the financial status quo for a few individuals.

We must gather the courage to dismantle years of fear and falsehood through personal interactions and honest communication, because with compassionate listening comes understanding, which then allows us the opportunity to heal the divide that has been used to separate and distract.  The Reverend Dr. William J. Barber II speaks of this idea as “Fusion Coalitions”.  In his book The Third Reconstruction, he writes “if love does not drive out the fears that so easily divide us, we will never gather together in coalitions strong enough to challenge those who benefit from injustice”.  Let us listen with our hearts rather than judging with our heads.  Let us follow the principles of understanding rather than fear the unknown.  We were created for more than fighting over scraps.  This can work for individuals, groups and nations.

We as a country have work to do to atone for the practice of slavery and ongoing racial injustice.  My hope is that we have the courage to acknowledge the pain that has been caused by cruelty, take responsibility for our actions and make amends, so that forgiveness can help us heal and unite us as a people. Let us also pursue ways in which to secure our borders and create pathways to freedom in order to honor the country’s founding aspirations.  We do not have to agree on everything, but we do need to respect the beliefs of others in our discourse.  I believe that this can be achieved through well thought out compassionate practices, rather than cruel indifference and institutional shaming.  Our connection to one another though a shared flawed history can help us heal and mend the divide.

I must admit that I have made many mistakes in my lifetime.  Semantics have never been my strong suit, but my sense of compassion runs deep.  I have at times unknowingly used the wrong word, said things that have been taken out of context or uttered something that was just plain ignorant.  Then, every once in a while, a brave someone would come along and enlighten my open mind and caring spirit.  So, please know that if my words have hurt you in any way, it is not my intent and I apologize.  I know that it is difficult to trust after centuries of cruelty, but let us choose to connect with one another rather than adhere to this ongoing Separation Policy.

The embroidered cloth that I viewed so many years ago has a name.  It is known as Ashley’s Sack.  It had been a departing gift for a child named Ashley, given to her by her mother, Rose.  Rose’s great granddaughter Ruth later embroidered the history of this separation onto the sack.  It was found many years later at a flea market in Tennessee, where a woman purchased a bag of material and discovered this treasure buried deep within.  The woman went on to research the cloth’s origin and ultimately returned it to Middleton Place in Dorchester County, South Carolina.  This piece of history is now on loan from Middleton Place and can be viewed at the Smithsonian Natural Museum of African American History and Culture, where it is on display for all to see and ponder the pain of family separation.   You can learn more about Rose, Ashley and Ruth Jones Middleton by searching the work of anthropologist Mark Auslander, PhD.  (Southern Spaces, November 29, 2016, USA Today, February 20, 2017).

 

“I am convinced that men hate each other because they fear each other.  They fear each other because they don’t know each other and they don’t know each other, because they don’t communicate with each other and they don’t communicate with each other, because they are separated from each other.”   (Martin Luther King Jr.,  October 15, 1962).

 

I wish you great Peace and Understanding.

KAKW

 

It was the early 90’s, pre-Clarence Thomas Era Washington, DC.  I was a young twenty-something professional who had moved to the big city from small town USA.  I worked as a secretary for a large organization.  I enjoyed my job and my co-workers.

Our department was large and office space was at a premium.   The support staff desks were located just outside the offices of those to whom we were assigned.  Basically, it was a large open space in what was a long hallway with desks peppered throughout and many file cabinets lining the periphery.  One day, as I was filing, a large familiar man walked up to me, pulled me towards him and kissed me on the mouth, right in the middle of the department, for all to see.  I was shocked and in disbelief.  This was a married man with two small children.  What were my co-workers thinking?  Did they assume that something was going on between this man and myself?  Did my boss witness this and if so, would he fire me?  I was ashamed, embarrassed and angry.  I was flooded with self-doubt.  I began to second guess my own professionalism.  Had I behaved in a way that would invite such behavior?  Did I give the impression that I would welcome these advances?

I could not wait for the work day to end!  I felt such relief walking through my front door.  I heard two of my housemates in the other room and immediately went to tell them about what had happened that day.  My relief soon turned to shame.  “What Were You Wearing?” was the immediate reaction from one, quickly followed by “That Is Why Women Don’t Report These Things!” from the other.  A heated debate ensued at our kitchen table.  As a result, I never reported the situation to the appropriate people.  I didn’t need any more shame and blame thrown in my direction.  I was confused enough.

Why do people blame the victim, believing as if one person has that much control over another person’s actions?  Yet, I too initially questioned myself.  I later came to understand that if I had had that much power over the situation, it NEVER would have happened in the first place.  I am not responsible for another person’s actions or lack of self-control, THEY ARE.  It is their character that is in question, NOT MINE!

Denying one’s personal responsibility, does not make it truth.  Dismissing accountability and responsibility by giving excuses such as “boys will be boys” is an insult. These are MEN, not BOYS.  Attempting to minimize acts of violence does not negate the trauma that was inflicted.  Unwanted sexual advances are a crime, not a preschool play date.   Children are not permitted this behavior, why are adults?  This is an act of entitlement, not child’s play.

Our current political leader has normalized this idea of entitlement.  He was heard on national television saying, “I’m automatically attracted to beautiful women.  I just start kissing them, it’s like a magnet, and when you’re a star, they let you do it, you can do ANYTHING.”  Do they really LET you Mr. President, or did you TAKE what you wanted, because you felt entitled to do so?  Did you ASK their permission?  Do you see us as “Paper Towel People”; expendable items to be tossed away after use?  Do you view us as humans of lesser value, disposable objects?

Is this why it appears so easy to dismiss a woman’s claim of abuse?  To deprive her of her dignity and safety?  Is it because she is so easily thrown away?  As I listen to the Judicial Committee debate over seating the next Supreme Court Justice, I am disappointed in how some of them have learned so little from the past.  What happened to seeking the truth?  This is supposed to be the “Judicial Committee”, the keepers of justice.  Where has due process gone, when someone who asks for an investigation of a potential crime is DENIED?  It appears that the quest for POWER has surpassed the pursuit of truth and victim shame, blame and disrespect are treated as collateral damage in a high stakes entitlement package.

Why would anyone subject themselves to a nationally televised trauma?  “Don’t Go!” I tell my television set as the reporter gives an update on the status of sexual “misconduct” negotiations.  If no one is listening to what you have to say, why say it?  What will you gain?  What is the incentive to report such an event when the conclusion has already been reached?  Why would anyone subject themselves to yet another trauma? Then I remember, YOU have everything to gain despite the judgement of some powerful men who refuse to believe you.

Years after the “What Were You Wearing” incident, I found myself on the other side of the country, miles from home, alone in an elevator with a fellow employee at a large organization.  I had finished my errand, stepped onto a crowded elevator and started the journey back to my department.  After a few floors, all but one individual left the space, suddenly I was alone behind locked doors with a stranger.  Within moments this man began hurling sexual comments my way.  I was trapped!  Once again, I felt scared, angry and embarrassed.  Fortunately, the doors opened after one floor and I was able to flee the situation quickly.  I pondered this event for days, then after much thought, I contacted the man’s department.  I had briefly glanced at his employee badge while trapped in the elevator with him.  I had registered his department, but not his name.  I reported the situation to his manager, who ultimately said that they were not going to pursue the situation because I was unable to give a name.  I asked the manager to educate the entire staff about appropriate work place behavior.  I also reminded her of how inappropriate and unprofessional her employee had behaved and how frightened I had been. My request landed on deaf ears.  I was disappointed by the manager’s response, but not surprised with her answer.  What did surprise me however, was my own deep sense of empowerment.  In my act of coming forward, I reclaimed my sense of self-worth.  It did not matter the outcome.  I SPOKE UP!  I had reminded myself that I am NOT a “Paper Towel Person”.  I have VALUE even if someone else refuses to believe me!

 

May your continued search for wisdom bring you peace and understanding.

KAKW

The first year of marriage was a challenging time for me.  I had gone years surviving on my own and I wrestled with the many compromises that were newly required of me.  My husband and I were both strong, independent, capable individuals, who brought decades of experience to our union.  Suddenly, there were two separate opinions that needed to be considered on a regular basis.  Negotiation talks felt like UN debates; lively discussions, jockeying for control and ultimately fearing loss of personal power.  I struggled that first year much more than my laid back husband.  I guess he had an easier time letting go than I.

To ease myself into the world of compromise, I started calling the Year One negotiations “Red Decisions”.  I benignly labeled my ideas “Green” and my husband’s “Blue” and through lengthy, intense conversations, we would arrive at a “Red Decision”.  These were our mutually agreed upon choices, where the outcome was not original to either, but the overall goal was met when a Red Decision was finally made.  Only recently did I realize the significance in the name that I had given this process.  I guess somewhere in the back of my mind, flags were flying, calling attention to these conversations, warning me of the potential danger in ignoring or miss handling important issues.

Those sessions in compromise were stressful, but also necessary.  Success was achieved at no one’s expense and consideration of the overall partnership was the priority.  We approached the Red Decisions as long-term investments.  We both valued the opinions of the other and knew that a mutually agreed upon outcome would make us stronger.  We trusted the process and each other.  We were willing to experience temporary discomfort for the greater good.

When did it become weak to compromise?  How does one ever “Win” if give and take are not present?  “Winner Takes All” will eventually become a very lonely place.  If one side is doing all of the compromising, resentment and anger soon set in.  It is difficult to trust the process in the depths of humiliation.  There is vulnerability when control is surrendered, but strength obtained in letting go.  I believe that the Art of Red Decision Making can be applied to individuals, groups or even countries.   Consideration of the whole and success for the partnership can be achieved only when one embraces the desire to truly Understand the Other.

Red Decision Making has never been easy for me! Vulnerability was and still is not my friend.  There have been times when I was in tears or needed to suppress my urge to walk out the door.  The arguing styles of my husband and I differ greatly, but we continue to navigate my emotional outbursts and his Spock-like analysis to reach a respectful solution, but ultimately, we both have retained the Courage to Compromise.  I must be honest, I still yell on occasion and logic is my husband’s go to, but Red Decisions are much less daunting than in those early years.  I have learned to trust the process, because I know that our goal of a happy union remains top priority and that requires compromise!  There is no magic formula, but respect is a necessary ingredient for success.  Mistakes will be made, but failure is not an option.

May your continued search for wisdom bring you peace and understanding.

-KAKW

A number of months ago I was in a large retail establishment looking for some pajamas for my son.  I searched up and down the isles without success.  “Where are all the Yoda pajamas?”, I asked myself. It was easy to find sleepwear with images of Darth Vader, Kylo Ren, Stormtroopers and the ever, self-serving Boba Fett.  But NO YODA!  Please don’t tell me that Goodness has gone into hiding and that the rapidly expanding taste for The Dark Side has reached our children’s sleepwear options.  Do people now send their tots to bed dreaming of dastardly deeds rather than the Power of the Jedi?

Is there no longer respect for discipline, worthy achievement, or those who stand for Truth and Justice?  Are people now convinced that if you are loud enough, you can change reality, redefine social norm or discard common decency?  Has the daily distortion and pervasive distractions become so normalized, that adults can no longer discern fact from fiction?  Will this ongoing chaos confuse our children to the point of constant questioning of self, others and their overall reality, ultimately leaving them void of   trust in their world?

I believe that it is our social responsibility to remind ourselves and those that have been entrusted to us, that Universal Truth remains.  Daily distractions cannot erase long held definitions of right and wrong or deafen that inner voice that resides deep within each of us, the voice that guides our decisions and forces us to look in the mirror and face our choices.  The choices that make us better, not at the expense of others, but the ones that allow us to live up to our potential.  Not to exploit the unfortunate or shame the disadvantaged, but to uphold the greater good.  This is not about politics, it is about humanity.

I fear that greed has surpassed compassion and that the quest for power has replaced the importance of wisdom.  I want to wake from this horrible nightmare, where people turn a blind eye to hate and cruelty and falsely label it strength.  When will we put down the selfie stick long enough to see the suffering? My hope is that we begin to listen with our hearts before judging with our heads.  To give one another the benefit of the doubt instead of reacting out of fear.  I hope that it is not too late, that we can come together, seeing our similarities, celebrating our differences and remember what it is that gives us value.

Maybe I’m naive, but I still have hope.  My family and I decided to see a movie in the park one evening last summer.  We had to trek across town on foot to catch one of the latest stories about a galaxy far, far away.  My son was walking to the silver screen in full costume; light saber at the ready, cloak trailing behind.  A twenty something hipster heading in the opposite direction caught a glimpse of my kiddo.  Just as he was about to pass us, he calmly announced to his nearby friend, “oh look, there’s a Jedi”, as if it happened every day.  I chucked and thought, well, maybe it does.  I guess you just need to know where to look.  Thanks for the reminder.

May your continued search for wisdom bring you peace and understanding.

-KAKW

 

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