Quiz #102. January
"New Year, New You?" Not so fast! Reflections on the first 10 days of a tumultuous 2021 in Steve's Stay-at-Home Coronavirus Quiz for January 11, 2021.
“New Year, New You.”
It happens every year. We’re bombarded with this same message.
It’s a phrase I have always hated.
Again and again.
Year after year.
As if the turning of the calendar could somehow change us.
Maybe this time.
Maybe this year.
Clearly, “New Year, Same Old You” doesn’t have the same appeal, but 10 days into 2021, it doesn’t feel like things have changed at all—at least not so far.
On social media, I’ve seen people posting this message about cancelling their subscription for 2021 now that the trial period is over. Clearly, it’s meant as a joke, but things were supposed to be getting better—and they haven’t. Not yet. The message of January shouldn’t be change is magically here. The month’s real message is that change isn’t easy. In the day-to-day, it’s hard to see the difference even when help is on the way.
The pandemic is raging out of control. Each day, we hear about record numbers of deaths. Each day, we also hear about record numbers of new cases--which means in several weeks, no matter what we do now to up the ante on social distancing, we’ll still be hearing about record numbers of deaths.
Delays continue to plague the delivery of coronavirus vaccines which seemed to hold so much promise at the end of 2020.
The events of this week in Washington are equally grim. Death and destruction in the U.S. Capitol. An angry, out of control mob forcing lawmakers and journalists to shelter in place.
In writing this quiz, I take notes throughout the week of things that strike me and which might make it into the next quiz. A few hours and seemingly a world before the madness unfolded in Washington, on Wednesday morning, January 6th, I read an article in the New York Times because the sub-headline grabbed my attention. “Hint: Check your cup holder.”
I read the article because I actually thought there was a problem with cup holders which thieves had somehow discovered and were now exploiting. Like most people, Sara and I have cars with cup holders. Were we at risk? According to the article, the number of stolen cars dropped significantly with the invention of key fobs which made it impossible for thieves to break through a car’s technology to start it without a key. No more hot wiring a vehicle. Car thefts dropped by 50% with engines equipped with “immobilizers that only a microchip in the key fob could unlock.” That’s the good news. The bad news is that so many people now leave their key fobs in the cup holder that thieves don’t have to do much to steal a car. Check the door handle, if the car’s unlocked and the key’s in the cupholder, the thief just drives away. Sarah Maslin Nir writes:
“This is a very stupid problem to have,” a Hartford Police Department official said to reporters last month, on a day when five stolen cars were recovered in the city, and 12 people — about half of them teenagers — were arrested. “The technology that was created specifically to eliminate car thefts, such as key fob technology, is now being used against us.”
There’s no problem with cup holders. The problem is with people. We can be really stupid. That’s what I thought I might highlight in a quiz--and then January 6th happened.
The deadly attack on the Capitol was deeply disturbing. Working from home and working in TV news, the insurrection and late-night Georgia election of the night before meant long and difficult hours for me. I didn’t sleep more than 4 hours in a stretch all week.
On Thursday, January 7, 2021, I needed a break from work and the madness of the world. I began reading the essay, “These Precious Days” from author Ann Patchett as published in Harper’s. Earlier in the week, I’d seen the vibrant cover painting that Patchett used for the essay pass by on my social media, but I didn’t start reading the essay until Thursday. That’s when I saw it recommended in the weekly newsletter from Tommy Tomlinson. Tomlinson called it “… one of the most beautiful things I’ve read in a long time.” Tomlinson’s right. It’s the perfect antidote to these dire times of human darkness--and yes, incredible stupidity.
Patchett is a wonderful writer and an acclaimed novelist, but the essay itself is a true story. I don’t want to spoil that story and, as always, it’s best to know as little as possible about any story before reading it. Simply put, it’s a story about good people doing good things. A story of goodness on a grand scale. Of forging a friendship and fighting a life-and-death struggle during a pandemic.
Woven into this true story are Patchett’s reflections on the connections between writing a fictional novel and living a real life.
Putting together a novel is essentially putting together the lives of strangers I’m coming to know. In some ways it’s not unlike putting together my own life. I think I know what I’m doing when in truth I have no idea. I just keep moving forward. By the time the book is written, there is little evidence of the initial spark or a long-ago conversation in California Pizza Kitchen. Still, I’m able, for a while at least, to pick up the thread and walk it back. Everything looks so logical going backward—Yes, of course, that’s what we did—but going forward it’s something else entirely. Going forward, the lights may as well be off.
My “Happy Brain Surgery To You” cake given to me by coworkers on my last day at work before my 2017 brain surgery.
January also reminds me of the times in my own life when I have endured (and witnessed) life-and-death struggles. In 2016, three days before Christmas, doctors discovered I had a brain aneurysm. A second test in the first week of January showed a second aneurysm. The first aneurysm was a so-called “incidental” discovery, found when doctors were looking for something else. The aneurysms were large, 6mm, and the first of the three brain surgeons that treated me told us that 7mm was the size at which they’d do surgery right away. I remember remarking that 6mm seemed pretty close to 7mm, but all three brain surgeons assured me that the scans showed that I was not in imminent danger. Still, I needed to have brain surgery sooner rather than later to have the aneurysms clipped so they wouldn’t burst. If they did, I had a less than 50-50 chance of surviving.
For Sara and me, January, 2017 was a slow-motion disaster which reminds me of January, 2021. A raging virus. A stalled vaccine. An election that some people don’t want to see end. Four years ago, we spent the month getting ready for the surgery which was scheduled for February 9th. Putting my affairs in order. Cleaning out my desk at work in case I wasn’t able to come back. Ordering books to read because the surgeons told me that one of the best forms of therapy after brain surgery was “trying to read.” (I alway got tripped up by the first part of that advice, “trying to read.”)
In the surgery, a so-called craniotomy, doctors made a 9.5 inch incision across the top of my scalp, cutting open up a small hole in my skull with saws and drills, clipping the aneurysms, putting the skull back together with a few screws and stapling up the incision. I was out of work for 12 weeks and mid-way through that recovery, I began writing a journal about the whole experience, “Steve’s Accidental Brain Surgery Quiz,” a 101-question “What did not happen?” quiz.
In writing my brain surgery quiz, as with this coronavirus quiz, I am aware that bad things may be just around the corner, just outside my door. And yet, that does not mean the good things have disappeared. Are these quizzes ridiculous? Yes, guilty as charged, but I hope they make you smile—and maybe laugh—as I focus on the unlikely moments that make up my life. As always for me, the things that are incredible are the things that did happen.
Beyond keeping a journal of my diagnosis and recovery, however, “Steve’s Accidental Brain Surgery Quiz” was also my attempt to figure out my own story. In April, 2016, I was driving alone in our minivan, hours early and less than a mile away from the site of a memorial service for my father who died a few weeks earlier. I was stopped at a red light when I was rear-ended at 50 MPH by a distracted driver. The minivan was totaled, but I made it to the memorial and delivered a eulogy. That afternoon, I had bad headaches so Sara and I went to the ER. They ordered a brain scan which showed I had a cyst. I was hospitalized overnight and found out later the next night that the cyst was small and benign. It had probably been there my whole life and had nothing to do with the accident. I needed to come back for a second scan in 6 months to make sure the cyst hadn’t moved or grown. It was that second scan which revealed the brain aneurysm. Did the distracted driver deserve some thanks for getting me into a hospital and literally having my head examined? Was my father somehow looking out for me as I headed to his memorial service? Remember Patchett’s words:
Everything looks so logical going backward—Yes, of course, that’s what we did—but going forward it’s something else entirely. Going forward, the lights may as well be off.
In Patchett’s essay, she writes about how the story of her unlikely friendship with a woman named Sooki unfolds. She writes that their story “begins and begins.” In recounting each twist of fate and turn of events that brought them together and deepened that friendship, she writes that the story “starts again here.”
Can I separate my brain surgery from being rear-ended by a distracted driver? Can I separate that accident from the fact that I was headed to the memorial service for my father? Can I separate being stopped at that red light before being hit by the distracted driver from the fact that as I approached the yellow light of that intersection I slowed down and stopped, somehow thinking of my father who’d worked in his life as a safety officer and in risk-management?
A montage from “Steve’s Accidental Brain Surgery Quiz”—and yes, onion rings, fries and a cheesesteak from Tony Luke’s were part of the last meal I chose to have before surgery.
Heading into this new year, it certainly feels like the lights are off. As we digest the daily bombardment of the news, it’s hard to see the broader picture. How did one thing lead to another--and another and another. It’s what makes history so informative, “Everything looks so logical going backward.”
In part, we’re muddled because people do stupid things like texting while driving and leaving their key fobs in the cup holder. (Would it really have been that hard for people to have started wearing masks a year ago?)
For my own part, I’d like to think that surviving brain surgery has changed me. I’d like to think that it’s made me a better person, hopefully kinder and more empathetic. Sara and so many others took care of me, with moment after moment of unexpected acts of kindness. An overnight nurse feeding me applesauce in the hours after surgery. A gift of pencils and adult coloring books for recovery. Many hot meals and lots of cookies, cakes and milkshakes.
The change in me did not happen overnight. It certainly did not happen in a month. I’d like to think it’s still happening. “Reformed and always reforming” as the Presbyterians like to say.
It took us years, even decades, to get into our current mess. Expecting things to change with the turn of the calendar is folly.
Change, if and when it comes, happens slowly.
If you like what you’ve read here, feel free to share it with others.
What did NOT happen?
A. On Tuesday, January 5th, Sara texted the NJ family that New Jersey had set up a portal where residents could register for the vaccine. After filling out a 10-minute questionnaire, it felt good to get a confirmation email, “You’re on the list.” We’re ready and happy to wait for our turn;
B. Since visiting friends on New Year’s, Will had been quarantining in the basement, awaiting a negative Covid test. After staying up late to watch Warnock win in Georgia, he awoke to the madness on Wednesday and texted Sara and me, “Today had such promise. Warnock won at 2 am and I woke up to a negative Covid test and a coup attempt;”
C. In a sleep-deprived haze on Thursday morning, I saw a picture of my cut-out, “sitting” in Citizens Bank Park, surrounded by cut-outs of other Phillies fans. I thought to myself that some day I’d like to meet the people behind those cut-outs. Afterall, I’d spent several months with them, 24/7, in darkness and in rain. I emailed a friend at the Phillies who works in marketing and recommended that they hold “Cut-Out Day” when this is all over and it’s safe for real-life people to be together in a stadium. The idea: invite the real-life people to sit where their cut-out sat so people could meet their fellow cut-outs;
D. On Saturday, Sara and I “took down” Christmas, putting away the decorations and taking the tree to the recycling center. This year, we decided that we would not put our plastic Santa back down in the basement crawl space. He’s inside in a corner of the front porch, a reminder of the light from the holiday season;
E. Sara’s hooked on “Broadchurch,” the British crime drama that’s on Netflix. On Saturday, she stayed up until 3 am watching the unfolding murder mystery.
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Want more?
Here’s the next quiz in the series: Quiz #103. Ring in the New Year.
Here’s the previous quiz in the series: Quiz #101. “I’d Give My Right Arm To Be Tom Seaver.”
Here’s the first quiz in the series: Quiz #1. Stella and Social Distancing, March 13, 2020
Here is an archive of all the quizzes.
The quiz is explained here: Steve’s Stay-at-Home Coronavirus Quiz.
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