Gentle Reader,
Sunday marks 10 years since I came up with my suicide plan. I wish I had the energy to celebrate the fact that God foiled my plan and I’m still here. And really, I am grateful to God. I have learned much about and from God during this decade. I appreciate God’s love more today than I did yesterday, and I pray I appreciate it more tomorrow. But truthfully, I’m exhausted. Just exhausted.
Kate says: purpose.
Go.
The Idaho Department of Health and Welfare shared this graphic on their Facebook page today:
We never had to get to this point.
The least of these.
As I said above, I’m exhausted. I’m also furious. My father will be 64 in two months. He’s in the age bracket that is unlikely to receive care at my local hospital should he be involved in an accident or become seriously ill. My community has chosen to engage in beliefs and practices that communicate a giant “F— you” to him and others. Others who are older. Others who are chronically ill. Others who have cancer.
What’s the purpose of this?
How did we get to the point of being so distrustful of those with medical expertise while blindly trusting political propagandists who know nothing of medicine at all?
Bluntly, but with the truest of love: There really are people who know more than you and I do about these things.
I’m exhausted and furious not because I think I’m better than or smarter than those who choose not to wear masks, not to social distance, and not to be vaccinated. I’m exhausted and furious because people are needlessly dying. I am very aware that our days on this earth are finite. There will come a time when each of us draws our last breath and enters into the life beyond this one. I get it.
I also think that’s a really poor line of reasoning to use as a way of waving off the communal responsibility God calls God’s people to.
There are people in my life who sharply disagree on all things pandemic. I don’t want any of them to get sick. I don’t want any of them to wind up on a ventilator. I don’t want any of them to die. I can say without hesitation that I love people who aren’t vaccinated, and I love people who are vaccinated.
What I don’t love is denying reality.
This is real. This is a crisis. Our hospital systems are on the verge of collapse. There are very simple things that we can do, things that are at the most mildly inconvenient, to be responsible and to truly love others in the midst of this crisis. If you’re reading this and you’re anti-vaccination, I know I’m not going to convince you. I’m not even trying to. I just want you and me and everyone else to be as safe as we can be. I want us to think about the elderly, the ill, the too young, the fragile. I want us to use our strength and power to take care of them, just as we’re consistently told to do throughout Scripture.
I’m not above begging you.
On bended knees and with clasped hands – please.
Wow! I’ve never heard of a hospital refusing care to someone because of their age. And 64 isn’t even old. That’s inhumane. What neck of the woods do you live in?
LikeLike
That’s what “crisis standard of care” means. Doctors and nurses are put in the position of having to determine who receives treatment based on likelihood of best outcome. The elderly, the chronically ill, and cancer patients wind up suffering the most because people refuse to social distance, wear masks, or be vaccinated.
LikeLike
Glad you didn’t check out early, Marie.
I’m worthless to society;
that point’s been duly made,
but it don’t cause me misery,
it’s how the game is played.
I’m too far gone to try to heal,
but when the worst betides,
they’ll offer me a real good deal
on assisted suicide.
Now that, my friend, sure is a gas;
the world will help me die!
A size-twelve boot right up the ass
and a sharp stick in the eye,
so while I live and while I linger
I’ll give mankind middle finger.
LikeLike
This one sure does hit me, brother.
LikeLike