Why I’ve Chosen to Homeschool My Kids Again This Year

cartoon pregnant woman in pink clothes with coffee

My infant son lay on my chest, wires snaking across his small form. We were perched on what felt more like a gurney than a bed in the emergency room, where his skin had taken on a blue-gray tint. A stream of mucus dripped from his nose, and tears filled his swollen, hollow eyes. They were both pleading and vacant, somehow. He was stable now, I kept telling myself, trying to suppress the trauma of having already lost a child. He was stable, and he would stay with me. If I repeated it enough, I had to believe it, right? His eyes could focus on mine, and his tiny hands weakly grasped my finger. He would remain with me.

I can’t recall exactly what the doctor said when she drew back the curtain and placed her hand on my shoulder. I recognized that gesture—the universal signal that I was about to receive news that would shatter my world—having experienced it before when I learned that my other child would never come home alive. She mentioned diabetes, a diabetic coma, blood sugar levels, and Nick Jonas. This was the consolation they offered when they suspected my child was diabetic: Nick Jonas, look at how successful and handsome he is. I remember spiraling into despair, crying and screaming as I tried to make sense of the odds against my son achieving a normal life.

What I received was more reassurance about Nick Jonas, interspersed with the terrifying details. Just look at him! Look at Nick Jonas!

Fortunately, my son was not diabetic, as initial tests suggested. (Though, at five years old, he ironically adores The Jonas Brothers.) The comatose state we found him in, his blood sugar levels soaring and then crashing, his tiny organs struggling—was all due to the flu. A later influenza test confirmed it. Over the next week, we would meet with a cardiologist, endocrinologist, neurologist, and genetic counselor while he lay in his hospital bed. We moved from the emergency room to the PICU, where a kind off-duty nurse friend sat with me for hours that first night so I wouldn’t be alone. The image of my son, unresponsive when I tried to wake him, haunted me. After the PICU, we transferred to the pediatric floor and eventually returned home, where we spent six months monitoring his blood sugar and attending weekly endocrinologist appointments until we were finally cleared. The flu’s aftereffects on his little body had faded, but not without stealing months of normalcy.

However, the flu was not finished with us. It returned two years later, this time affecting his ability to walk. I can still picture him in his superhero pajamas, emerging from his room, his legs folding under him like a pretzel. Calmly, he told us his legs weren’t working. I, however, was anything but calm as we spent another week in the hospital, desperate for doctors to restore life to my spirited, strong-willed child.

From the beginning of this pandemic, I have clenched my teeth in frustration every time someone attempted to downplay Covid-19 by comparing it to the flu. I’ve felt anger rise within me as parents boasted about never vaccinating their kids against the flu, spreading disinformation as they contributed to the problem. For whatever reason, my son is particularly vulnerable to the flu’s harshest impacts. Forgive me for not being indifferent to the statistics on “pediatric flu deaths.” I worry that one day, he’ll become just another number—a statistic, a gaping wound in a world that shines less brightly without his presence.

Each of those numbers represented a vibrant life—a child with dreams and hopes. My family has never missed a flu vaccine, and we never will. We all do our part to stay healthy because the flu, like Covid, is no mere cold. It’s a vicious beast capable of inflicting immense suffering. By getting vaccinated each year, we build a fortress of protection around my son, ensuring he has the best chances against the flu. While we don’t know why it affects him so severely, it becomes irrelevant when there’s something we can do to safeguard his health. I wish everyone would commit to vaccinating themselves and their children, so we could all be protected and create an impenetrable fortress for all kids. The strength of a caring community is a beautiful thing!

But if this pandemic has taught me anything, it’s that many people do not prioritize protecting one another. Instead, it feels like a survival of the fittest mentality prevails, neglecting those who fade from existence into mere statistics—memorial posts buried under junk science and misguided beliefs about natural immunity.

Just two days ago, my state of Florida reported a staggering high of over 21,000 daily Covid cases. We also broke a record for hospitalizations, with a local pediatric practice issuing a desperate plea for vaccinations as they reported a 27% positivity rate among their young patients. As a state, we lead the nation in pediatric hospitalizations, and children’s hospitals report healthy kids on ventilators with alarming regularity.

Our local school board, Broward County Public Schools, implemented a mask mandate that our governor swiftly overturned with a cruelty I can hardly stomach. Children are set to return to school with no mitigation measures in place, and reports have surfaced of a local healthy high school student placed on a ventilator. Our “pro-life” governor, after proposing to overturn Roe v. Wade, has threatened to withdraw funding from districts that dare mandate masks. He insists masking is unsupported by science, and the crowd cheers!

I have decided to withdraw my two children, ages 10 and 5, from public schools and enroll them in our statewide virtual public school. This is a privilege I have, being able to keep my family home safely while my husband works from home, as we await their eligibility for vaccinations.

Yet, every morning, my heart aches knowing what loss and devastation loom for so many families. For those who are whole today but may not be tomorrow, for children blowing out birthday candles and writing wish lists that could soon be snuffed out. The tidal wave of pain feels insurmountable, and the safety of the shore keeps drifting away as darkness gathers overhead.

And what about our healthcare workers? How can they continue under this pressure? Will they ever recover from the immense burden we’ve placed on them?

As protesters burn masks outside our school board headquarters, as people refuse vaccinations that could save lives, and as the Delta variant spreads like wildfire, I wonder what it will take for people to care about one another. When my children are finally eligible for their vaccinations, will enough others choose to vaccinate theirs to make a difference? Will we, the vaccinated, continue to suffer due to the negligence of those who refuse to protect each other? Will I find myself once again sitting in an emergency room, watching my child fight for life against a preventable illness, all because of others’ choices?

The weight of this grief is unbearable. We are a society that often fails to recognize how our choices impact others, leading to the loss of lives under the misguided notion of freedom that resembles anarchy and selfishness. It is a cruelty that echoes, “I don’t care about you,” at the memorials for those who were dearly loved.

I don’t know if I will ever come to terms with this way of life.

If you’re interested in learning more about home insemination, check out this other blog post. For authoritative information, visit Make a Mom. For further details about insemination options, consider this resource from Mayo Clinic.

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Summary:

The author reflects on the challenges of parenting during the pandemic, sharing a deeply personal account of their child’s health struggles and the ongoing risks associated with Covid-19. Frustrated by societal indifference towards health and safety, she ultimately decides to homeschool her children to protect them, expressing concern for the community’s failure to prioritize collective well-being.

Keyphrase: homeschooling during the pandemic

Tags: [“home insemination kit” “home insemination syringe” “self insemination”]