I never envisioned myself as a homeschooling parent. It wasn’t a role I aspired to take on. I adore my daughter and cherish motherhood, but teaching has never been my forte. Yet, a few weeks ago, I found myself enrolling in our local homeschool co-op and diving into curriculum research for the upcoming year.
My daughter was diagnosed with Juvenile Idiopathic Arthritis (JIA) at the age of four. The diagnosis followed several alarming months filled with emergency room visits and various tests. JIA was, in fact, the least frightening diagnosis presented to us after being warned about everything from brain tumors to leukemia.
As a single mother, those months were the toughest period of my parenting journey until now. JIA is an autoimmune disorder where the immune system mistakenly attacks a child’s joints. Before her diagnosis, my daughter was limping, having difficulty climbing stairs, and her hand and wrist were becoming increasingly unusable.
Once we understood the cause of her struggles, she began a weekly regimen of a chemotherapy medication designed to calm her overactive immune system. I administer her injections at home, and she generally handles it well. While the medication can cause headaches and affects her Sundays—since she gets her shots on Saturday nights—it has significantly stopped the progression of her disease, allowing her to return to running and playing like she used to before falling ill.
However, her treatment leaves her immunocompromised, which initially filled me with fear. Over time, I learned that it primarily meant she might take longer to recover from illnesses compared to her peers. I realized early intervention was crucial, and allowing her ample time to recuperate became essential.
Throughout three years on this treatment, we were fortunate. Although she faced several illnesses, none required hospitalization. I adopted a balanced approach, letting her enjoy life while only pulling back when she showed signs of impending illness.
Then COVID-19 Struck
As part of her treatment, my daughter undergoes blood tests every three months. Her last appointment was on March 13, the day after Alaska reported its first COVID-19 case. The office was deserted, and her doctor mentioned that many were canceling appointments. We hadn’t yet started wearing masks, as health officials hadn’t recommended it. But my daughter’s doctor offered clear advice: “Keep her in a bubble if you can. Complete lockdown until we learn more.”
Initially, I resisted this advice. I had worked hard to let go of my fears for my daughter’s safety, allowing her a semblance of a normal childhood despite her condition. But now, I was told to keep her isolated for an uncertain duration.
As a single working mom with no family nearby, the thought of cutting off contact with our close-knit group of friends felt daunting. How could we manage without their support?
Eventually, I accepted my doctor’s recommendation because I trust her judgment. She has always been reasonable and has supported my desire to give my daughter a typical childhood. If she was urging extreme caution, there had to be a compelling reason.
So, we began our lockdown. I ordered groceries online, disinfecting packages before bringing them inside. We avoided restaurants and even takeout. Instead, we embarked on remote hikes to minimize contact with others. Managing my daughter’s education alongside my work became a challenge, often at the expense of my sleep. Meanwhile, my daughter learned to entertain herself for hours.
Surprisingly, she coped remarkably well. I, on the other hand, struggled and had to consult my own doctor for help with the anxiety and depression that arose during this time. The hardest part was the uncertainty of when it would all end. I missed my friends and our support system, and I longed for moments to myself. Most importantly, I feared for my daughter’s life every time we stepped outside.
After ten weeks of lockdown, I reached out to my daughter’s doctor again, hoping for better news. Instead, she said, “If you could keep her in a bubble for the next year, I would recommend it.” My heart sank as she suggested I prepare to homeschool my daughter next year, regardless of whether schools reopened normally.
This was the answer I dreaded, yet I had been preparing for it. Friends of mine argued for schools to reopen, insisting that children deserve to live normally. I wanted to respond, “My daughter deserves to live.”
I don’t blame them; they are not responsible for my daughter’s heightened risk. However, I wish more people understood that the restrictions aim to protect vulnerable individuals like her, along with the millions who are also immunocompromised and the elderly. Nearly 25 percent of our population faces the risk of severe complications from COVID-19. While I plan to work full-time and homeschool, others complain about mask mandates and reduced school hours, arguing that our children shouldn’t live in fear.
I agree, but I also believe our children shouldn’t witness their friends and loved ones suffer or die. This is a legitimate fear, and dismissing it won’t change reality.
For further insights on this topic, check out our other blog post here about parenting during challenging times, or learn more about pregnancy resources from Women’s Health. For those considering alternative paths to parenthood, Make a Mom provides valuable information on home insemination kits.
In summary, as I navigate the challenges of homeschooling my immunocompromised daughter during a pandemic, I must balance her health needs with the realities of our situation. It’s a difficult journey, but one I am committed to undertaking for her safety and well-being.