Author Archives: Jane Cawthorne

About Jane Cawthorne

Jane is a writer currently living in Victoria BC. She grew up in Toronto and also spent many years in Calgary where, among other things, she taught Women's Studies at Mount Royal College (now Mount Royal University). Her work is about women on the brink of transformation.

Covid Is Never Going To Be Over

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Covid is never going to be over. Never. And I’m tired.

I’m tired of being one of the very few people who remains masked and cautious. Even my doctors don’t. I’m tired of hearing the pandemic talked about in the past tense when, in the past three months alone, six people in my immediate circle have had it. And those are the ones who admit it. Most people pretend they have a cold or allergies. Dollars to donuts, it’s covid. But we’ll never know because no one tests, and tests aren’t available, and when they are available they are expensive, and the rapid tests are shitty anyway, so why bother? I’m tired of hearing people talk about their new mysterious illnesses as though they are completely removed from their covid infections. Raynaud’s disease. Shingles. Heart problems. Inflammatory diseases. A stroke. Brain fog. Memory loss. Accelerating dementia. It’s related to covid. It’s infuriating.

Speaking to a friend today, I said that if she ever sees me in a crowded room without a mask, she will have to know I’m suicidal. It will mean I’ve given up on trying to live. And I have tried really hard to live. In the past ten years, I’ve recovered from a terrible brain injury. All the more reason to protect my brain. I know what’s at stake. I’ve been through my own memory loss and loss of executive function, and I hate to tell you this, but I recognize it in others. I’ve had three open heart surgeries and part of a lung removed. All the more reason to protect my cardio-vascular system. Everything I love to do involves the use of my brain, my heart, and my lungs. Everything. You bet I’m going to protect them. I have lived through so much. And it’s been made exponentially more difficult by also having to protect myself from this monstrous octopus that invades the air we breathe and does everything it can to get its tentacles in every part of our bodies.

Did I mention I’m tired? Early in the pandemic, I realized that covid is doing to the world around us what it does to the world in us. It is a destroyer. What it does to our bodies, it does to our relationships and our society. I can’t be the one to list everything that covid does. Everything it costs. How it moves. Why masks work. The link between covid and fascism. Other people are doing that work. Look for it. Believe it. But I can be the one to reach out from this computer screen and say that too many people are careless with their lives. Careless. I see them. I see them as part of a death cult.

On second thought, maybe it is all the covid deniers who are suicidal. It’s sure not me. I’m not in a death cult. I’m in a life cult. And I’m staying in it. I’ll be here with my masks and my tests and my air filters and my belief that we can do better and whenever anyone wants to join me, they will be welcome. I hope to see you here with me soon.

The Bad Paramedic

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In January 2024, I asked my husband to call 911 because I felt certain I was dying. Beyond something being very wrong with my heart, I felt a sudden and overwhelming sense of doom. I needed to go to the hospital.

I had been diagnosed with a heart problem in the fall of 2023 for which I was supposed to receive open heart surgery in the near future. When the paramedics arrived, I was having trouble concentrating and answering questions. I was busy trying to stay alive. I believe I wasn’t fully conscious. Nevertheless, they persisted with the questions. I remember hoping my husband was answering them. I was in and out. I remember trying to tell them it was my heart, and that I was waiting for surgery but something was really wrong. I remember very large people in my living room. Several. The room felt small and tight.

There seemed to be some debate about whether I would go to the hospital. I panicked. I knew I had to go to the hospital. How could it be up for debate? I sank into myself, tuned out the giants in the living room, and told myself their questions had nothing to do with me. All I had to do was keep breathing. They didn’t seem to understand my heart was a real problem.

I remember they said they couldn’t get the gurney into the house. Could I walk? I remember thinking if I said no, I wouldn’t get taken to the hospital. Somehow I did it. I got to my feet and I walked to the ambulance, eyes closed tight, breathing, holding onto a paramedic for dear life. It was very cold, a rare skiff of snow on the ground. I wondered if I was dreaming the snow, if I was still alive, and I opened my eyes to check, surprising the paramedic who was eye to eye with me, on the step below me, walking down the stairs backwards while guiding me down. And then I was on a gurney and in an ambulance and on my way to the hospital, panicking.

I realized suddenly that I did not have a mask. This only added to my panic. I asked for a mask. The paramedic (not the same one who lead me down the stairs) rolled his eyes. He did not give me one. He kind of laughed. Dismissive. He said something to me about it. I can’t remember exactly what he said, but the implication was that if I was with it enough to ask for a mask, I did not need to go to the hospital. I knew then that he thought I was wasting his time. I think I cried then and said out loud to myself, “What is happening to me?” And he said, “You tell me,” sarcastically. I felt like an old hypochondriac lady. I didn’t feel safe with him.

The next thing I remember I was in the hallway leading from the ambulance bay to Emergency. Everything was backed up. The hallway was packed with sick people. I was relieved to be in the hospital, but still didn’t have a mask. I asked for a mask again. I did not get one. I asked a third time. Someone finally gave me one. I’m fairly certain it was not the paramedic.

I tried to get control of my breathing again. Thirty years of practicing yoga came back to me. I breathed in. I breathed out. Several times. Then the paramedic said, “It looks like you’re feeling fine now.” I knew he didn’t believe there was anything wrong with me. He was looking at me with disgust. Disgust. Of this, I am certain.

Paramedic, if you are reading this, know that I was admitted to the hospital after you took me there. I didn’t leave for over a week. It was the start of a health care odyssey that remains ongoing and a diagnosis that was so much worse than anything I could have imagined that night. Know that I’ve had three open heart surgeries since then, and another major open chest surgery. I am grateful to everyone who helped me. You are not one of those people.

You made an already traumatic event worse. I try to figure out why you would imagine someone with an already diagnosed heart problem who called 911 didn’t need help and I can’t. You made me question myself and whether I was panicking for no reason. There was a reason.

In the intervening time, more than once, my doctors have told me I would know if I need to “go in.” They would tell me what to watch for, but would also say, “You will know.” And I have. But I’ve never called an ambulance again.

Rattle and Screech

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I’m disoriented and I can’t really write about it. I make it a policy not to write specifics about other people. They didn’t agree to be part of this blog (or any of my writing, for that matter). They are not content to be scraped. I can’t even be vague because even vague would be identifying.

But let me just say: things are changing around me. I’m going to ignore the fine writing advice of George Orwell and use an over-used metaphor. The ground is shifting.

And I don’t like it.

I’ve spent the day dwelling on it all, to no avail. There are no conclusions to be drawn. There is no plan to be made (at least, not by me), and no action to take.

To use another over-used metaphor, the train is barrelling down the track. But instead of getting on it, I’m a literal bystander, feeling the rattle and screech of it, almost paralyzed by the ease with which it could kill me.

Meanwhile, the Disney cruise ship about to leave Victoria just blasted the first seven notes of “When You Wish Upon a Star.” Seriously. That just happened. It’s loud and ridiculous and maybe funny and also a little too much sugar, enough to make a person feel a bit sick. Or maybe it’s just enough to remember to look for something other than disaster, even if you would NEVER find it on that floating petrie dish spewing pollution into the ocean and air.

What am I saying? People are not at their best right now. Everyone is going through something, whether it be personal or on a bigger scale, we are going through something. We are, if we’re lucky (and have some privilege), bystanders to disaster right now. If we’re not lucky, we’re more than bystanders. Be kinder. Don’t honk at people if they hesitate an extra second at the intersection or fumble at the grocery store self check-out. Everyone needs a minute to get their bearings.

Feeling Human

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Gratitude can live side by side with resentment. They are unhappy neighbours but learn to co-exist somehow.

Ask any chronically ill or disabled person. Or their care-givers and loved ones. We know the good and the bad live together.

We can still grow from what was. Like new trees from fallen giants. Growth can come from disaster.

We are only human after all with all kinds of feelings.

And feelings are better than no feelings.

Love is in the Air

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Wedding flowers

Love is in the Air! What can be better. And in the wise words of Mary Oliver, “If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it.”

I’ve had “Don’t Hesitate” pinned up by my desk for years, but never was it more apt than now. It was read as part of my daughter’s wedding ceremony. She and her partner are two of the kindest, most committed people, all too aware of lives and whole towns destroyed. They are active in the causes that matter to them (which are many) and live their values in all ways. In a world of unkindness, they are kind. Their kindness is a way of fighting back against the darkness. Their joy will never be made a crumb.

We all feasted on joy this weekend. The wedding was outdoors. We were surrounded by old cedars, the meadow was full of daisies, and we could hear the crash of the ocean waves in the background. There were friends and family, babies, and people soon to have babies. There was cooperation and full participation. Everyone took on something that helped make the day beautiful. Even the weather cooperated with the rain giving way to sun at the same time as the wedding started.

This was a three day gathering and a community that made it happen. We got to know everyone better. My daughter’s partner’s family is lovely, thoughtful, creative, full of heart. There were wonderful conversations and I came away amazed and heartened by the awareness and optimism of my daughter’s generation. They are living their values, using their skills, and committed to making this difficult world a place where there is still love and hope.

My deepest gratitude and love to all.

“Joy is not to be made a crumb.”

What Doesn’t Kill You

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My cardiologist told me this week that more extensive testing reveals that one of the things that could kill me is not really a thing.

Good news.

Another thing that was trying to kill me, a complication from the last open heart surgery, has been fixed by a simple but gross procedure.

That’s two things that could kill me crossed off the list in one week. Not a bad week.

The other thing trying to kill me is still a thing, but there is a plan and there are options and I am not out of time.

I was expecting this thing to progress quickly and cause dramatic symptoms. That’s how it’s been in the past. This will allegedly progress much slower. There may be yet another open heart surgery in my future, but not immediately. There are other options to try first.

I am, once again, going with the optimism. Foolish? Maybe. But if you’ve been reading this blog, you’ll know this is what I do. Know the worst outcome, wrestle with it, and then choose to believe in the best. I have occasional lapses. Some news is pretty dark. But mostly, I get there.

As for the last two things trying to kill me, they remain under surveillance. I try mostly to forget about them. Mostly I am successful.

And, it’s worth noting that I could get hit by a bus or by falling satellite debris. Anything is possible, including living.

For the record, none of the things not killing me is making me stronger. If you’ve ever said, “Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” to someone, go apologize at once.