Midnight Musings – A journal by Jade Walker

What happens when a penpal perishes?

April 4, 2020 / No Comments

Nearly 30 years ago, while I was away at university, I received a letter. It was from my Aunt Mona, a woman I hadn’t seen since I was a young child.

I remember only three things from our last face-to-face encounter:

* It was Thanksgiving so all of the family had gathered together at my grandmother’s house in suburban Chicago.

* I lost not one but two baby teeth while biting down on a carrot.

* Aunt Mona held me in her arms and comforted me while my mouth bled. Then we sat on the couch and read together.

It was the late ’70s-early ’80s. She and my uncle lived in Kansas with my two younger cousins. Although they had traveled to Illinois for the holiday, they returned to their home state, divorced soon after and I never had the opportunity to see her in person again.

Fast forward to college, the early ’90s, and the arrival of that letter. It was handwritten in blue ink on lined notebook paper. She reintroduced herself and asked if I remembered her. She said she’d once had an aunt who became a special friend and she wanted to be mine. Although I hadn’t seen her in many years, her kindness had made an impression.

From that point on, she and I began exchanging letters and gifts, stories and friendship. I told her about how I wanted to write full-time and live in New York City. I described falling in love with my husband and sent postcards from our travels overseas. She wrote about the books she read and the animals she cared for. She called me her “first niece” and said she always knew I would become a writer. She also told me about the dreams she had for her daughters’ future and how she hoped they would find happiness.

Aunt Mona died last night. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around it.

She’d been ill for a while and living in a nursing home. Apparently she started having trouble breathing yesterday and was put on oxygen. Then she developed a fever and her lungs filled with fluid. I suspect COVID-19 but in the end, it doesn’t really matter. Her body just gave out.

And just like that, the world is a little less sweet.

I keep a list of Christmas presents that I update all year long, adding new ideas next to the names of dear friends and family. By sheer coincidence, I had the file open because I needed to buy a present for a friend’s upcoming birthday.

After my cousin told me the news about her mother’s death, I returned to the list. There were still six gift ideas written under Aunt Mona’s name. I’m so sorry I’ll never have the opportunity to send them.
Much ado about coughing

March 27, 2020 / No Comments

People who’ve met me in person — and spent a considerable amount of time in my presence — know that I suffer from a chronic cough. It’s the terribly annoying and sometimes painful remnant of an evil zombie death flu I contracted in the spring of 2008, one that morphed into pneumonia and then eventually departed, leaving me depleted and coughing.

When the cough didn’t stop after several weeks, I went to my doctor, an elderly physician who’d been practicing for decades. He took one look at me and decided it must be acid reflux. While I didn’t experience heartburn very often, he prescribed a daily dose of Prilosec to keep my stomach acids from climbing into my throat and making me cough. After taking it diligently for six months, I was still coughing. I returned for another examination.

This time, the doc thought I might be suffering from adult-onset asthma. Over the next two years, he had me try a variety of inhalers and daily asthma meds. None of them worked. The cough persisted and even seemed to be getting worse. “I can’t help you anymore,” he said, so I switched to a new doctor.

After looking at my medical records, she sent me to the hospital for an x-ray and a breathing test. The x-ray revealed that my lungs were clear but the breathing test showed they were working at only 91% capacity. The doc gave me new meds to try, new inhalers and ordered a nebulizer for the bad coughing fits. The coughing did not improve. In fact, now it was getting so persistent that I had started coughing in patterns: every time I went out into the cold, whenever I exercised, right after I woke up as well as random times during the day. The coughing fits would sometimes make it difficult to breathe. My lungs would ache from the effort, my back muscles would feel strained and during particularly bad fits, I’d become incontinent.

After two more years of trying to figure out what was wrong and failing, she sent me to an allergist. He took one look at me and said it was probably acid reflux. I explained it wasn’t, that I’d been on Prilosec for several years on doctor’s orders and the coughing had continued. He was still convinced that the reflux was the problem and had me change my diet, buy more pillows and elevate my bed to keep the acid down. A year later? Still coughing.

Frustrated and desperate, my doctor wrote a referral for me to visit the ear, nose and throat experts at a prominent hospital in Boston. So M and I drove all the way into the city, a trip that took more than two hours each way. These doctors stuck a tube up my nose and down my throat to examine the damage. It was considerable. Years of coughing had taken a toll on my vocal cords and throat and had even lowered the timbre of my voice. They diagnosed me with a damaged vagus nerve. The damage had been caused by that flumonia years ago and there was little to be done to fix the problem.

Since then, I’ve tried breathing exercises and various neuropathic remedies, but those didn’t alleviate the cough. When the dentist pulled a tooth last year, he prescribed a treatment of antibiotics, acetaminophen and the opioid known as oxycodone. For the short time I took the oxy, I didn’t cough at all. It was like a miracle, albeit a limited one. For fear of getting addicted, I refused to take the whole course of meds and the coughing returned.

For now, hot tea helps and light knows I drink a lot of it, even in the summer months. I keep a humidifier on my desk and also on my nightstand table. I’m vaccinated for the flu every year; my lungs just couldn’t handle another bad bout with pneumonia. I also stay hydrated and keep cough drops and gum on hand. Although the cough was an annoyance in my life, I had learned to live with it.

Until the arrival of COVID-19.

Cough in public now and you’ll receive dirty looks from strangers. Cough, even into your elbow as the experts suggest, and people will act like you have the plague. Even worse than the shunning was the knowledge that my condition made me more susceptible to contracting a severe form of the novel coronavirus, one that could land me in the hospital or worse, in the morgue.

I’ve been covering the virus’s devastating effects in China and other countries for months. I knew it would come here eventually and that I’d be one of the millions who would be at risk. This is why other than a single book club meeting last month, I’ve remained inside my house for nearly eight weeks now. Thankfully, as a writer, I’m pretty good at self-isolating.

Tonight, at 11:59 p.m., the state of New Hampshire will go into lockdown in an effort to stop the spread of the virus and “flatten the curve.” Based on history and practice, I know such social distancing will help.

I do wonder, though. When the worst is over, when the virus has done its damage and society begins to churn into motion again, will I be the only one left with an annoyingly persistent cough? And if so, will researchers finally figure out a way to ease it?
Giving thanks during the COVID-19 outbreak

March 15, 2020 / No Comments

It’s completely understandable to be stressed out by the pandemic. After all, this new strain of coronavirus is affecting every aspect of society. Many people are becoming sick, some critically so. Others are worried about contracting the virus or passing it on to vulnerable populations.

Today, I’d like to share my gratitude for some of the people whose words and actions are helping us through this difficult time. Thank you to:

First responders, who continue to fight fires, keep the peace, ensure public safety and provide help during such a trying time.

Doctors, nurses and medical personnel, who are working tirelessly to care for the sick and dying. You are literally putting your lives on the line and that sacrifice is appreciated.

Scientists and researchers, who are studying the causes, spread, identification and treatment of the virus, and attempting to find ways to mitigate its effects.

Educators, who are adapting at lightning speed to a completely new form of teaching in order to provide an education to millions of children and adults.

Utilities and cities, for keeping the electricity on, the water clean, the trash removed and the internet running, and for agreeing to continue providing service, even when people cannot afford it.

Thousands of companies in a wide variety of fields, that are producing much-needed goods and supplies while also helping their employees deal with this difficult situation.

Distribution center staff, pilots and truck drivers, for organizing and transporting these goods around the country.

Local businesses, for figuring out novel ways to provide goods and services to the community.

Postal workers and delivery drivers, for serving as a crucial lifeline to people who are self-isolated, quarantined, disabled, elderly and otherwise home-bound.

Grocery stores and pharmacies, for handling an insane influx of customers, many of whom are panicked and not thinking rationally.

Senior center workers and home caregivers — your efforts in helping the most vulnerable in our society are too often overlooked.

Public transit workers, gas station attendants, convenience store clerks, baristas and restaurant staff, for helping all the folks who can’t work from home stay mobile, fed and caffeinated.

The staff and volunteers who work in zoos and animal shelters, for providing food, water, shelter and care to the creatures that live there.

Cleaning specialists, facilities staff and public works crews, for sanitizing public spaces.

Artists, comedians, actors, musicians and writers whose talent lifts our spirits and free our minds.

Neighbors and volunteers, who are assisting others when they can and self-isolating when they must.

My colleagues in the media, who are covering every aspect of this pandemic in order to provide useful and accurate information to a worried public. Please remember that this is a marathon, not a sprint, so try to take a break and get some rest every once in a while.

Monty Don, the cast and crew of “Love Your Garden,” “Big Dreams, Small Spaces” and “Gardeners’ World,” as well as the gardening experts on YouTube, for giving me the tools I need to learn a new skill and for providing me with a reason to look forward to the future.

Everyone at America’s Test Kitchen and “The Great British Baking Show,” for cooking/baking help and inspiration.

My husband, family, friends and cats, for keeping me sane.

The late Fred Rogers, for this sage advice.
Reading recommendations from the dead

February 1, 2020 / No Comments

People often ask me where to find new books to read. I tell them to peruse book reviews, ask friends for recommendations and read profiles of authors. I also encourage them to go on treasure hunts, discovering books by wandering through a book store or library. You never know what wonders you’ll find, particularly on the upper or lower shelves.

Today I realized that I also find good book suggestions by reading obituaries. The obit may be about an author who wrote in a genre I favor. Or the deceased may have lived a particularly interesting life and because an obituary is just a snapshot, I yearn to learn more. Either way, I’ll make a point of hunting down related titles and adding them to my “to be read” bookcase.

I did it again today after reading Maureen O’Donnell’s wonderful obituary for Michael Cafferty, a 49-year-old Chicago attorney who overcame more obstacles than I will (hopefully) ever face. Cafferty’s memoir, “Driven,” was published mere days before he died.

And now that I own a copy, I’m really looking forward to reading it.
A rose by any other name

January 5, 2020 / 1 Comment

Twenty years ago, I became Jade Walker. For those who didn’t know, this was not the name my parents gave me at birth. It’s one I adopted back in 1999.

My reasons for making the decision were many: a terrible birth name, literary inspiration, the desire to cheat death. Thankfully, the alteration process was relatively simple. I just went down to the courthouse, completed some forms, paid $200 and waited for a judge to approve my application. Once it was clear that I wasn’t planning to change my name for fraudulent reasons, the request was granted.

Selecting a new name takes careful consideration. It is more powerful than any spell and more permanent than a tattoo. You need to make sure the words feel right on your lips, on the page, in your life.

As many married women know, it’s the paperwork processing of a name change that’s a hassle. Once you adopt the new name, you have to request that every document and form of identification, every bill you receive and every service account you utilize agree to forever use the updated moniker. It takes time but most of the world eventually catches up to your new identity (although you will receive mail under both names for many years to come).

There are fun aspects to this change, though. Creating a new signature was a treat and I practiced until writing it flowed with ease. Discovering my new initials also prompted a few laughs. I even got to imagine new nicknames and anagrams.

I had my original name for 26 years and my current one for 20. While there are people in my life who first knew me by the old name, they rarely use it. Most respected my wishes and kindly changed their identifying habits. Several friends told me that the new name suits me better. I wholeheartedly agree. It is as Jade Walker that I’ve felt most myself, as if I’ve always been this person with this name. Adopting it as my own was one of the best decisions I ever made.