Book Reviews on @jenisbooks

I love reading, and I love sharing what I read with my friends. I originally started sharing brief book reviews on my personal Instagram page, but quickly realized there was an entire community dedicated to sharing books called, what else, Bookstagram! I’ve been sharing there for over a year, so I invite you to join me there!

I just finished The School for Good Mothers by Jessamine Chan and it was riveting! What an achievement - and perfect for book club! Click through to read my full review on @jenisbooks.

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The Third Dose: What Immunocompromised People Need to Know

As the Covid-19 pandemic rages on, you've probably been hearing a lot about the third dose or the "booster shot." It's currently available for immunocompromised folks, and while my medical issues certainly don't feel like a gift, receiving that third dose did. 

I'll preface my story by saying I've never had COVID-19 (that I know of). I'm 41 years old, and I have several autoimmune diseases, which, unfortunately, mean I'm dependent on a medication that suppresses my immune system. I've been on a biologic (a drug produced from or containing components of living organisms) for the past 17 years, save my two pregnancies. I still live with chronic pain, but I'd likely be unable to walk without the aid of these medications. Biologics help millions of people who have conditions like Multiple Sclerosis, Diabetes, Rheumatoid and Psoriatic Arthritis, Crohn's Disease, Ulcerative Colitis, and many types of cancers. Some biologics you might know include:

• Enbrel (rheumatoid and psoriatic arthritis, ankylosing spondylitis, psoriasis)

• Humira (Crohn's Disease, Ulcerative Colitis)

• Herceptin (breast cancer)

• Lantus (diabetes)

• Rebif (MS)

• Lucentis (diabetic retinotopy, macular degeneration)

Like many in my position, I was extremely anxious to get an appointment when the FDA initially approved vaccines in late 2020. I received my vaccines in February of 2020. Within 12 hours of my second dose, I was miserable. I had an intense headache, fever, chills, and severe joint and muscle pain. I couldn't sleep. These side effects went on for about three days, and at the time, felt unbearable. If this was even a glimpse of COVID-19, I knew it was not something I wanted. 

And for me, the vaccine has worked. I felt a little freer this past spring and summer. I was less worried about bringing Covid-19 home to my two daughters, who are too young to get vaccinated. We went out to dinner occasionally. We spent time with friends, and we even went on vacation! But, when the Delta variant started to take over, my anxiety began ramping up. I heard of breakthrough case after breakthrough case. My dad got Covid-19, and so did my stepmom. Unfortunately they live in an area with very low vaccination rates, so their breakthrough cases weren't that surprising. But when a neighbor my age, with whom I'm close, had a breakthrough case, I started to worry. We are lucky to have a very high vaccination rate in Colorado, but it isn't perfect. Now we know that breakthrough cases are still relatively rare, but I was concerned.

My daughters were back in elementary school, and even though they were masked, I was terrified that they'd bring it home. Or that my husband or I would get a breakthrough case from the office or the grocery store, even though we still mask too. What happens if I do get Covid? Who knows? I could have a mild case. But I could have a terrible case and end up hospitalized, or worse. What I do know is that my immune system doesn't work as well as the immune systems of some other people. As someone who deals with anxiety regularly, the idea of dealing with Covid has sent me into countless tailspins.

So, per my doctor's recommendation, I got my third dose of the Pfizer vaccine a few days ago. I immediately went home and spent 45 minutes exercising, trying to get my heart rate up in the hopes that it would help circulate the vaccine more effectively (solely my idea, no one told me to do it). I ate some protein and then lay on the couch for the rest of the afternoon. I felt fine at first. I watched Netflix. I doomscrolled Facebook and Twitter and let the kids run wild. 

I did have side effects, but they weren't as awful as I had feared. They were similar to the impact I felt after my second dose but not quite as intense. I woke up in the middle of the night again with moderate to severe body pain. My muscles and joints ached, and I couldn't sleep. My head was pounding. I slept most of the next day, hydrated as best I could, and let my body do the work. Reacting to the vaccine was good news; it meant my immune system was working. By the third day, I was back to working, taking the dog on long walks, cooking dinner my kids didn't want to eat, and obsessively checking COVID numbers in my state.

If you're immunocompromised and scared of getting the third dose, I hope my experience will bring you some peace of mind. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't the worst thing in the world either. We know the vaccine works. If you need extra protection, it's okay to go ahead and talk with your doctor about making that appointment. Take care of yourself and the world around you. It's the best we can do right now. 

* A version of this article appeared on The Mighty

Back to School in Masks: What Pandemic Life is Really Like for Kids in School

We’re back in school now, huzzah! Back to the good old daily grind.

Elementary school seems to be going well, kids and teachers in masks now. The excitement of the first day sure has worn off. Summer is gone, but someone forgot to tell the sun, which still burns with the fiery intensity of, well, the sun.

Oh, and it’s still light out late, but too bad, kids, you have to go to bed so you can get up at the crack of dawn. Thank you, blackout curtains.

For my elementary schoolers, waking up every morning at 6:30, being forced to do horrific things like getting dressed and brushing teeth is akin to torture. They flop about on the floor, moaning about how tired they are and complaining that there is absolutely nothing good to eat for breakfast.

They are asked to get ready, fill up their water bottles, and make sure they have a snack in their backpack. Instead, they sit listlessly at the breakfast table, staring into the middle distance, thinking about the terrible hand fate has dealt.

More often than the listless stare, though, is the death glare directed toward anyone who dares speak out of turn. They sneer at one another, at me, at their father. Even the dog.

I forgot my socks one says to me when a mere ten minutes ago I told her not to forget her socks. She wants me to go up and get them.

No, I won’t go get your socks. You go get them.

But you just told me I have to pack my snack. And, you told me to eat my breakfast. So, how am I supposed to do two things at once?

Oh my god, she sounds exactly like me. What have I done?

I scold myself for saying something similar once, something that she’s picked up on and has thrown right back in my face. I’m ruining her. I’m destroying them. They will be terrible people, and it will be all my fault.

I give up. I get the socks.

It’s not worth the argument.

We get out the door on time, or sometimes we don’t. We have backpacks, water bottles, and lunchboxes. We’ve taken our allergy medication, hopefully. We have our masks on chains around our necks. We wait for the school bus, and the girls dutifully put their masks on before they board.

They don’t complain about the masks. The masks are part of their lives now. They wear them, and they don’t complain because they know there is no point. Of course, there’s no point in complaining about waking up early either, but they still do that. The masks are irrelevant, though. They are a part of our day. Second nature.

What happens when the kids are at school, in their masks? They learn, I hope. They learn social skills, and how to jump rope, and how to multiply fractions. Can you imagine? Multiplying fractions? Hellacious. But they learn it.

They eat lunch next to their friends, masks off. They make up weird games on the playground, and they find out that the music teacher used to live in Africa! They debate whether an aardvark makes noise.

They have the luxury of learning, of existing as children, of days filled with absorbing the world with wonder and joy.

There are challenges, yes. They don’t drink enough water, sometimes, because of the masks. Or they can’t always understand what the teacher is saying, or the teacher can’t understand them. The days are long, seven hours away from home, away from mom, away from the dog. They are forced to learn to type, to answer questions, to engage. To think.

The school bus is hot, noisy, and crowded. They step off, sweaty and exhausted, their hair plastered down against their backs. I ask how their day was. I tell them they can take off their masks, because sometimes they forget. They’re used to them.

I ask again, how was your day?

One says, why do you always ask that?

I balk. I don’t know.

Because it’s… polite? Because I care? Because I’m interested your life?

I shut up. I help carry backpacks home. I try not to pry. I try not to get yelled at. I let them do whatever they want, to decompress. I cut apples into slices, and then I google “deodorant for tweens.”

We go to piano or soccer, and there is dinner and bedtime, and tomorrow we’ll do it again.

It’s drudgery, this back-to-school season. It’s always an adjustment period. But it’s okay, because it’s also normalcy. My kids complain about waking up early every year. They look at me with hate-filled eyes every time I suggest they try some yogurt for breakfast, pandemic or no. They drop their backpacks and shoes on the ground, raid the pantry, and ignore every single question I ask them about school.

No, I’m not enjoying every minute. Not even close.

But I am trying to be grateful. Trying to accept this slog, this daily grind.

Because at least I’m not the one teaching fractions.