Since March 18, my family and I have been nearly entirely secluded at my in-laws’ secluded property in the Piney Woods of East Texas. We usually reside in a bustling suburb of Houston, but when stay-at-home orders were issued during my three young children’s spring break, we made the decision to drive two and a half hours to what we affectionately call “the ranch.” This spacious property boasts a large house with separate bedrooms for everyone, ample room to spread out, and 36 acres of outdoor space with hiking trails, a pool, and a long winding driveway—perfect for scooter rides and creative sidewalk chalk art.
The primary reason behind our significant retreat from life in Houston was the health and safety of our oldest son, Leo, who is nine years old and medically fragile. Leo has profound disabilities, and our typical year features multiple hospitalizations due to viral infections that most children would easily recover from at home.
In early March, I was particularly worried about two things: 1. The possibility of Leo contracting COVID-19, which could threaten his life, and 2. The chance that he might become ill from another virus, leaving us with no access to hospital care. While the latter concern has eased as his doctors assured me there are enough hospital beds available, the first fear still lingers in my mind as I ponder how to approach these upcoming weeks and months for our family.
While children generally recover from COVID-19 more easily than adults, Leo’s situation is not typical. Last year, he spent two weeks in the hospital due to the flu, and he has had numerous hospitalizations for strep throat. We have no way of knowing how his body would respond to a COVID-19 infection.
I recognize the privilege we have in being able to isolate our family from the outside world for these past three months. My husband, a high school teacher, has managed to complete his academic year through Zoom calls with students while here in East Texas. His income remained stable, and he has enjoyed countless hours with our children.
I work part-time as a managing editor for a parenting website, which I do remotely, and I also have a job as a receptionist at a pet care facility. My editing job has continued without interruption, while my boss at the pet care facility has generously allowed me to take this time off to focus on my family. Financially, we have been okay, especially with stimulus funds compensating for my lost wages, and I am grateful for that.
As Texas begins to reopen, I’ve watched my social media feeds fill up with friends and acquaintances diving back into “normal” life. There are selfies of friends flaunting fresh highlights, manicured nails, and enjoying drinks on restaurant patios. I see people returning to gyms, attending socially-distanced church services, and children back in gymnastics classes or playing outside with friends. Although these images are somewhat jarring to me, I hold no judgment. I believe that most people are genuinely considering their neighbors and making choices based on their own risk assessments, which don’t negate our family’s unique circumstances.
My current struggle centers around evaluating our own risk. How can we protect Leo from this virus while also considering the needs of the rest of our family? While our current living situation is idyllic, it is not sustainable long-term. It may be easy to overlook my graying roots, but I can’t ignore my children’s social and emotional needs. They have had almost no interaction with peers for a quarter of a year, aside from awkward Zoom meetings that hardly suffice.
My daughter is slated to attend sleepaway camp for the first time in July, and I long for a definitive answer on whether we should let her go. Yet there are no clear answers, and the opinions I see online often feel politicized and don’t cater to our specific context.
As the months roll on, I question whether staying here, in our safe yet isolated bubble, is truly safeguarding my son or simply a manifestation of my paralysis in decision-making. I acknowledge the severe threat posed by COVID-19 and cannot overlook the over 100,000 American lives lost. But it’s challenging to assess the true impacts of our quarantine, both positive and negative.
Have I genuinely protected my son, or am I merely delaying the inevitable return to a world rife with risk for him? Is the exposure to the great outdoors a net positive for my children, or are we impairing their social and emotional development by limiting their interactions with others?
This pandemic isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and at some point, I will need to figure out how to reintegrate into society while managing the real risks to my vulnerable son. A perpetual lockdown isn’t feasible. Eventually, I will have to return to work, my children will go back to school, and we will reconnect with friends and neighbors.
I just wish I could pinpoint the right moment to leave this beautiful, safe bubble and step back into the complexities of real life.
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Summary:
In the wake of three months of isolation, a mother grapples with the decision of when and how to reintegrate her family into society while ensuring the safety of her medically fragile son. As she observes others returning to normalcy, she reflects on the balance between protecting her child from COVID-19 and addressing her other children’s social needs. Ultimately, she recognizes that navigating this new reality is a complex journey that requires careful consideration.
Keyphrase: reintegrating after isolation for medically fragile son
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