This is a current situation which has struck me on a personal level, recently.
I believe this experience is going to become a story that will play over and over amongst Conservative and Fundamentalist religious families. Our country is rife with pride, entitlement, and grandeur thinking; the past president was a fine role model of such behavior, and for some reason he’s thought to be a savior of sorts for the American people of faith.
I believe this is detrimental to the Covid crisis. I’m not a medical professional, but I am personally touched by people with these mindsets, having been one of them, not long ago. Their faith in their god to protect and inoculate them is phenomenal. Their zeal is overwhelming. Their patriotic streak runs as deep as the Grand Canyon and Lake Superior combined, and their distrust in science is intense, denying all forms of evolution, even with overwhelming proof.
I share this story in hopes of exposing the dangerous denial going on in America, patriot American Christians and zealots, alike.
This is the story of Cass and Vette, two of my friends from long ago in my “faith filled” days.
Names and some details have been altered to protect any innocent children and loved ones.
Cass and Vette were close friends, but not. They’d been on and off for years; they’d met at the local mega-church, originally. Both were discerning, shrewd women.
Upon first glance Cass thought Vette was a tart, and Vette feared Kass was an illegal immigrant; but both homeschooled their kids, were proud, patriotic Americans, and conservative Christians. Upon learning of their common qualities, they brushed aside their first impressions and realized they’d both found a compassionate listener. Together they agreed that their God was an awesome god.
Kindred spirits, Cass and Vette each had precious children to care for, men to hate, and felt miserably lonely; they grew to be close friends, fast.
At first, they met up at church functions, then called each other on the phone; they rang up their bills, accepting talk-therapy from each other for over 2 decades.
It felt good bearing their woeful life’s stories to each other, trumping each other with one-ups far worse than the last until they both finished, heaving with exhausted grief, grateful for the space to keep it real and feel trusted. It was a relationship with rocky shores, tough roads, and lots of sharing, and both felt the other was doing their life wrong, but both clung to the other with the exciting story of life keeping them anchored, oh! -and relying on their glorious, faithful god to rescue them in the end.
Vette’s 80+ year-old mother had come down with the recent virus the year before. She watched her mammy lose her ability to breathe, then insisted the nurses use one of the few ventilators in the hospital to keep her alive. The staff reminded Vette of her mother’s frailty, but Vette insisted; they could be together when God chose to take her, not sooner.
Her mam lasted 40 hours or so while ventilated before passing on. Vette was in denial. She saw the facts, she knew the virus was made by the government and it had killed her mother; but there was no virus, Fox News said so; the president said so. It was something nefarious. Vette felt in danger; she didn’t want the mark of the beast.
Cass had a health issue and couldn’t go out much during the pandemic shutdown; she had been waiting with bated breath for a vaccine to be created, and when it was approved, Cass stood in line and got her shots.
Vette wouldn’t. Vette waited to see if Cass would grow another arm or start reporting to the New World Order. She watched to see if Cass’s personality changed; if she started reciting satanic scripture, whatever that is, she’d have to depend on God to help her bring Cass back to Jesus. They’d been through a lot over the years.
Many talks ended with Cass saying, “Good night, I love you, Vette,” and vice versa, but one night they visited on video chat and at their goodbyes, Vette had a request.
“Cass, tell me you’ll take care of my children when I die.”
Cass looked sternly into Vette’s eyes, “What the hell? Why are you saying this? They have their dad.”
Vette’s eyes widened, her pupils shrunk to specks, “He’s dangerous, I can’t trust him. He’ll kill me. You remember how our relationship started? He’s a criminal. I can’t trust him, he’ll kill me; I’m convinced of it. He’s Italian, and you know what that means.”
Cass didn’t; it seemed that going to prison for getting caught trying to rob a bank you’re the night cleaner of was worthy of Sicilian reputation to Vette.
Cass cleared her throat, “I can’t take care of your terrible kids.”
Vette looked pained. “Why,” she mouthed.
Cass said, “Look, I love you, but I’m not taking care of them. I can barely take care of my own, Vette.”
Vette thought about how Cass took care of her own children. She shivered.
“Ok, but at least promise me, if I’m in a coma or I need resuscitation you will keep me alive. If I need to be vented, you’ll vent. If I need to a tube, you’ll say yes. I don’t want to die; not until God is certain,” Vette was serious.
“Really? You mean if you’re in a coma for like 20 years and they say there are no brain waves, I can’t pull the plug?” Cass was getting nervous. What was she saying? Vette wanted to be kept alive –even after God tried to take her, even if there was no one upstairs? Why was she so keen on staying here, living? She had to be in a state of fear or something, she needed assurance. Cass felt compassion well up inside, she knew how badly that deep worry felt, too. For so long she’d worried her kids would be orphans, so many, many times.
To her surprise she heard Vette say, “Yes. If I need to be jumpstarted 5 times or 25 times, if that’s what it takes, you keep me alive. Don’t let me die alone, Cass. Promise me.”
Cass was familiar with death. It had evaded her since she first became ill. She had made out with death enough times, surely, she’d succumb first. Vette would outlive her, for sure. She promised, “Alright, I promise,” unaware of how she’d be held to a standard unlike anything she’d ever expect.
But Vette was serious. She demanded a sincere answer, “You promise? I swear Cass if you lie, I’ll—”
“Don’t worry, Vette, you can count on me. If you’re on your death bed I won’t let you go alone. I will be there, and I’ll do whatever I can to keep you here, if that’s your desire.”
“It is, Cass. It is.” Vette was looking at her like a lioness finding prey. “Can you promise me this, a dying woman’s last wish?” Cass didn’t know about her dying of any mysterious illness, she just accepted her friend’s demand and acquiesced.
When she promised Vette accepted and her body visibly softened. She relaxed on her barstool in her scoured kitchen. The floors were scrubbed white, the walls were bare and freshly painted, her hair was literally everywhere, she was beautiful, but so tired.
At home, Cass slumped in her recliner before the busy screen on the television, unaware of what was to come, and certainly ignorant of what she’d have to do to follow through on that odd promise before the year’s end.
As the virus raged around the world, Cass kept to herself as much as she could, staying home, playing with her toy sized dog and searching through histories, online. Her grown children stayed home, under her anxious wings and they braved the storm.
Spring arrived after a gentle winter, and Cass started venturing outdoors and feeling hope in her heart about the pandemic.
But, after seeing Vette’s political and anti-vaccination posts, Cass “unfriended” Vette on social media. This didn’t cause a rift, but Cass felt inclined to point out to Vette her memes were radical and obscene. The rebellion had been entertaining for a while, but now it wasn’t funny, anymore. When would Vette stop pretending to adore that orange fool and cease supporting his outrageous claims? How could Vette think this whole MAGA thing was God’s plan? How was this virus a precursor to Christ’s return? What was Pizza Gate and Q? Why were supposedly loving, godly people ready to kill others to defend their property?
Vette had never impressed Cass as a zealous, obedient follower but recently Vette’s mindset had grown paranoid and selfish; it was nothing like Christ; Jesus wouldn’t protect his property nor friends with a weapon. He was a pacifist!
She asked Vette how she could adhere to such controversial opinions, all based on fear. Vette didn’t see anything unjust in her beliefs. Cass wasn’t aware. Fox News was telling the truth, any news otherwise was Fake News.
Vette thought Cass was just a ‘sheeple.’ Couldn’t Cass see how gullible she was, allowing ‘them’ to inject her daughter, even, with who-knows-what? That vaccine wasn’t safe, it hadn’t been tested long enough. Cass had to be crazy to accept it –want it, even. What if the vaxx contained software that would begin the New World Order? Then Cass could say goodbye to all her freedom, but Vette wasn’t going to give in to fear. She was tough as nails. She was a fighter; Jesus was her Lord and Savior. Long live God, Almighty.
As summer of 2021 rolled by, both women learned of someone close to them who’d become infected, some had passed away, even. Cass was grateful for the protection her vaccine assured her of.
Vette was hit hard when her son succumbed to the virus that summer. He had to be resuscitated after coding and was ventilated for 39 days. He survived, miraculously, and when he was healed enough, he was sent home to finish up his bout of Covid-19. He couldn’t walk down a flight of stairs without several pauses when Vette invited him back home to recuperate.
In October news about the pandemic was slowing down, it seemed the stores were full of unmasked, confident shoppers. There were rumors of new strands of the virus circulating, but no one in Duluth seemed worried.
Cass and her daughter decided to book a flight to a warm city and see a pro football game, for fun.
They flew to Cincinnati in late November and stayed in a lovely hotel, facing a city park with pond and an arched bridge.
As they sat at the game in the warm summer-like air in an outdoor arena, Cass’s cellphone began notifying, nonstop. Cass looked at her daughter and they laughed; would it be her son, sending silly memes about their favorite football team? She looked at the screen. It was Vette.
“I’m sick. The kids were sick last week; we’re all sick. I may go in to get checked. I’m having a hard time breathing.”
Cass put the phone back into her purse. “Vette’s sick. I hope she doesn’t have Covid.” Her daughter nodded, concerned.
After the football game Cass noticed her phone was jammed full of calls and texts. She must have struck the silent option on accident, she read the last text:
“Going to the ER. Can’t breathe. Hope the nurse is hot.” Cass laughed. She dialed her friend, but it rang infinite. They boarded their rental car, and she drove them back towards the hotel. As she steered the headlights through the lamp lit streets, she felt a cold pit growing in her stomach. This wasn’t a vacation anymore. She needed to get home.
The phone began ringing as Cass came out of the shower. She touched the screen with her swollen fingerprints, needing to warm and dry them for the phone to respond. “Hello,” she blurted, excited and afraid.
“Hello, is this Cass Mitchum? I’m Dr. Plebote at St. Judas’ Hospital, your friend Vette has been admitted into the Intensive Care Covid Unit, here. She has tested positive for and is expressing severe symptoms of Covid-19. Have you been in contact with her in the past 14 days?”
“No, what? What’s her status? Is she alright?” Cass felt useless. She was hundreds of miles away. How had this happened? Vette had been joking only a few hours ago.
The doctor informed her of Vette’s condition: she was being kept in quarantine, but her breathing was growing dangerously difficult, and her blood/oxygen levels were dropping, steadily. “We may need to ventilate, soon. You do realize Vette decided against the Covid-19 vaccine?”
Cass knew, “Yes. I understand, I’m high-risk so I’ve been keeping my distance; she’s been too dangerous to mingle with.”
Cass continued, “Her wish is to not die alone; I’m in Cincinnati, can anyone else be with her?”
“That’s against safety protocol, I’m sorry. You’re the only name on this list; I can’t allow anyone she’s not cleared first. She has specific instructions on her Advanced Care Directive. You are to delegate; do you accept this responsibility?” The doctor sounded concerned, “We need to move on this decision; every minute counts.”
She remembered her promise. Her stomach clenched, she couldn’t dare say, “Oh sure, get one of the few ventilators for my entitled friend so she can live through a virus she could have prevented if she had “succumbed to fear” and gotten the shot, go ahead and ventilate her…” How could she endanger everyone on Vette’s care team? This was horrible!
She felt her knees weaken; her hypervigilant daughter rushed to her side to comfort her.
Cass felt her lips open; she heard her mouth say, “Keep her alive until I get there. It’s what she wants.”
Dr. Plebote tried her best to quietly wring the phone while saying through tight teeth, “As you wish.”
They vented Vette at 3pm.
Cass packed her bag, rolled it to the curb, then shoved it into the waiting taxi. Her phone rang, and she hurriedly poked the green icon to answer. She heard someone say, “It’s Dr. Lingstone at St Judas’ Hospital, we’ve run into some trouble with Vette. Her lung has collapsed. If you’re determined, we will need to tube her immediately. Do you approve of this procedure?”
Cass squirmed as she approved. “I’m trying to get there as fast as I can,” she assured Dr. Lingstone, “I apologize but I’m honoring her wishes.” The doctor mumbled something vague, and Cass climbed into the cab, trembling. She knew what she was asking. She knew the strain it caused –but she couldn’t let her friend down, she’d promised. Wasn’t this exactly what Vette had been talking about? She couldn’t take this lightly, could she? Who would even know? Vette would…Cass would never forgive herself: she had to go through with it, till the end.
Not long after, a nurse called.
He told Cass that Vette’s blood/oxygen levels were dropping fast. He warned her that staff may have to resuscitate her as her organs started failing. She listened, hoping that things wouldn’t come to that extreme. She assured him she was hurrying and excused her choice, saying, “She wants me by her side, I’m sorry.” She heard him huff. She knew what everyone was doing, how everyone in Vette’s world was being manipulated to Vette’s wishes. She couldn’t bring herself to think on how their own safety was being stress-tested each time they had to interact with Vette’s contagious, failing body.
The next call came in while Cass was waiting to board her flight, which was suddenly delayed. Her anxiety rose to fever pitch as she unloaded her story onto the flight team. She excused herself, much to the flight team’s relief, answering her phone, “Hello!”
“Is this Cass—”
“Yes! Yes, this is Cass Mitchum, what’s wrong with Vette?” she shouted into the mic.
“Uh, ma’am, I am a nurse here on the ICU Covid wing, Vette’s other lung is leaking blood. Her heart rate is plummeting. You are listed as the power of attorney; do you wish for us to resuscitate, or will you decline?”
“Gimme a minute,” Cass said. How could she make this decision? What would Vette want? What should she do? She just wanted to lie down and sob like a baby.
“We don’t have a minute! Do you wish to resuscitate? It is a decision we need you to make, now, Ms. Mitchum.”
She felt her stomach threaten to visibly expose itself to the room. She felt the blood drain from her feet and was woozy. Why was it all falling on her? Couldn’t someone else do this? She was overwhelmed, too many responsibilities! She was out of state, she had things to do!
She heard her own answer, as if another person was speaking, “It is her wish to live, no matter what. Yes, resuscitate her.” The nurse okayed curtly, then disconnected.
Cass had to take a plush covered airport seat, nearby. Her breath was pulling in in short and labored jags. Why had she travelled so far? Now? Why did Vette have to get sick? Why didn’t she get vaccinated? Why was all this happening, now?
Her phone rang as the got the all- clear to board their delayed flight. “Hello,” she rushed into the mic, “What’s happened?” She dipped out of line, leaving her daughter’s side.
“Ms. Mitchum, Vette’s health is declining, fast. Many nurses and doctors have worked hard and resuscitated her once, already. Are you aware that when we perform resuscitation measures there is a tendency to break ribs and bruise the chest cavity, intensively? Do you realize that Vette’s death score is 98? She’s dying of Covid-19, Ms. Mitchum. She refused to vaccinate, and right now, you have the control. With her stats, it’s very unlikely she’ll survive this. Please consider these decisions; we are all affected on the Covid wing, ma’am.” She could hear his weary, pleading voice; it was serious.
“I understand. I made her a promise, though, and I’m not going to let her die alone,” she said. She could hear his disappointed, frustrated sigh as he told her they’d do their best and hung the phone up.
She folded, pooling into tears, and whooping for breaths of cool, clean air closer to the floor.
The plane was ready to taxi. Her daughter was pulling her arm, summoning her to follow, “Come on Mom, let’s go. Shut the phone off, you can’t do anything more, right now.”
Cass looked at the daughter she’d taken for granted. She was so good to Cass. How? Cass had put that poor girl through so much trauma; Cass was certain by 19 years of age that she’d have moved far away from her. She’d hate herself if she was her own mother.
Cass wrapped up in a blanket, leaning into a soft airline pillow. She tried to rest.
Vette’s husband was banned from the hospital and from any information about her condition. She didn’t want to burden her children with her trouble, so Vette placed Cass in complete control. Vette’s youngest son left work and his girlfriend to stay at the hospital to be close to her. He had no power, no purpose but to wait; he was left without any say in the matter. He had to sit in the waiting room, alone.
Vette’s daughter was with her boyfriend or out cheering with the city’s high school team and no one could locate her.
Vette’s son who’d survived 39 days of being vented due to the Covid-19 virus drove as fast as he could to be by his mother’s side, only to arrive and sit by his half-brother, equally useless. The two of them waited, worried and uncertain for hours while Cass tried to get back home and make decisions for their family, for their futures.
Who put her in charge, and why? She wasn’t even blood related.
As the plane landed, Cass looked through her tiny window screen. She saw the cold, Duluth tarmac. Snow was everywhere, the horizon blended into landscape, glowing an eerie pink. She shivered. The pilot announced the time and temperature, “It’s 9pm Central Standard time and -12*F, have a good night and thank you for flying with us.”
After locating their luggage, she and her daughter rushed through the icy parking lot and jumped into her compact car. It was so cold; they sat as the engine warmed, Cass scanned her phone for any texts she might have missed while in flight.
There were only a few:
“Mom’s oxygen levels are staying steady.”
“They aren’t too optimistic, they told us to not get our hopes up. Who tells someone that?”
“They’re tubing her for a third time. Cass, you agreed to this?”
She felt her body go numb.
She’d never dreamed she’d be held to a promise with this kind of ignorant selfishness. She couldn’t believe she’d agreed to so many extremes, and placed danger into so many lives in only an afternoon’s time. She felt sick. This was a death wish, not a life wish.
She drove as fast as she could home, dropping her daughter off, hugging her little doggy and her son who was pup-sitting, and changed out of her travel clothes. She was across the street from the hospital in 5 minutes’ time, nearly struck by a passing vehicle as she hastily bustled out of her car and jaywalked across the street, panicking.
Within moments she was rushing through the hospital halls and riding the elevator up to the 8th floor.
When she arrived in the waiting room, Vette’s sons rose from their intolerable waiting. She felt so important, but she didn’t want this responsibility.
Vette’s older son said, “What are you going to do? Are you gonna keep resuscitating her?”
Her younger son whispered, “I’m scared.”
Both were wide-eyed and waiting for instructions.
Cass hugged them both, then she walked up to the nurse and asked, “Where’s Vette. I won’t enter the room, but she needs me to let her know I’m here. Can I see her?”
The nurse gave a pitiful look and said, “She’s coded again. We don’t have much time. Are you sure you want to come?” Cass nodded.
“I want to come, too!” the older son shouted, jumping up from his chair.
The nurse asked Cass if she approved, and she did.
Vette’s youngest son dropped his head, too fearful to ask if he could come, too. What if they told him No?
Cass and Vette’s son rushed to keep up with the nurse. When they rounded the corner, they saw the nurse standing beside a window.
He nodded toward it and whispered to them both, “I’m sorry. I will be right here if you need me.”
Cass stepped up to the glass, fearful.
Inside the square of clear protection, she saw the room Vette was quarantined in. Everything was so white. Cass remembered her last of many surgeries since her early teens; she was certain for death that time, but it never came. How many times had death taunted her and pranced around her hospital bed? How many times had it decided otherwise and left her to continue suffering in this life? Where was it hiding? She searched the room, eyes landing on her friend’s form, chest exposed, tubes and monitors connecting her to the plugs in the wall. Nurses were bustling around her, performing compressions, trying to bring life back into her quitting body.
Cass asked the nurse, “Is there a microphone? Can they hear me?” The nurses assisting Vette looked at her, their shoulders dropping in relief at the sight of her.
She said into the room, “Vette, I’m here. It’s okay. You don’t have to hold on anymore, friend. You are okay. I’m here, you can let go.” She was crying.
The nurses continued trying to bring the breath and electricity back into Vette’s failed form, but Vette failed to spark back up. She was gone. Cass was there now; Vette could let go; she would finally be at peace.
The nurses looked so relieved when she nodded and stopped them from reviving Vette.
“That’s enough. Thank you everyone. I’m so sorry; I made a promise to her, I told her I would be here for her. I couldn’t break my promise to her; Vette was my best friend.”
She was crying hard; she didn’t think anyone could understand her excuses. She knew how preposterous all of it was. How could she and her friend have the power to put so many people in danger –for what? Was it to keep Vette alive longer, to prolong her death; for what? Why?
She could feel the resentment they felt for her, for dragging them through so much trauma, for keeping a dead body alive, just for Cass’s impossible promise. She could sense their empathy as well, but she didn’t have anything more she could say. She didn’t know how much she and her friend’s promise endangered the hospital workers who were already stressed, already overworked, and already traumatized.
She headed back to the waiting room with jelly legs, and Vette’s son grabbed a wastebasket and vomited repeatedly, sobbing, “She’s gone, she’s gone. I wish I didn’t see her like that.”
Vette’s teen daughter had arrived and so had Vette’s brother. They saw Cass’s face and knew it was over.
With anguish contorting her face, Vette’s daughter rushed to her, burying her face in Cass’s bosom. “I don’t understand! How? It happened so fast. She’s really gone?” Cass squeezed her thin body tightly.
How were these kids going to get through this? They lost their mother!
Everything felt unreal; why hadn’t Vette just vaccinated? Why had she resisted when she’d watched her own mother be consumed by it –watched as her own son nearly died from it?
Cass’s tear-filled eyes brimmed over, blurring the room, wetting her chest.
She choked on her tongue, it felt so fat in the back of her throat. She didn’t want to be strong anymore.
She didn’t want to be responsible. She wanted to give up.
Through her tears she could make out Vette’s youngest son, pale, sitting alone beside a television that was playing cartoons. He kept his eyes forward, his elbows cradled in his hands as he rocked back and forth. He was self-soothing; he was traumatized. He felt reality, fear, and pain flow through his body. His mother was gone. He’d never get to hug her tight again. He’d never get to hear her strong Milwaukee accent say his name. Tears slid down his sculpted jawline and added to the dark circles on his painter’s pants, below.