Lipstick on a Pig

After having the swine flu (H1N1 virus) sweep through our family, decimate a carefully planned Aho family vacation and pummel me personally for four days, I have taken some time to reflect on the experience. I have never been convinced that every cloud has a silver lining. But I do believe that the greatest lessons are to be learned from the worst storms.

Our swine flu saga has been particularly instructive for me, and not only for what I've learned regarding this particular pandemic. More importantly, the experience has been a microcosm for life, reminding me of important principles that extend well beyond a simple case of the flu. For example:

Do your homework. It's easy to learn a little bit and assume you know enough. When we were first diagnosed we went to the Center for Disease Control website, read a little and acted accordingly. I wish we had been more diligent, as we would have been better informed and made better decisions. Ignorance isn't bliss, it's lazy.

Don't believe everything you read (or hear). This is a big step for most of us in life, as we find it easiest to read or listen then parrot the learning as gospel truth. We found a lot of incomplete or incorrect information out there on the swine flu. Some was alarmist. Some dangerously ignorant. For example, a doctor told a friend of ours he could not have H1N1 because he didn't have vomitting or diarrhea. Angelica told him otherwise. He got tested and he did, in fact, have the virus.

Resist the urge to put lipstick on a pig. We often have a natural desire to dress up reality so it doesn't make us look quite so ugly. But the consequences of pride are even less flattering. I knew we'd be stigmatized by having the swine flu in our home. So my first explanation was that we were "sick." That kept me from truly assessing the situation and then dealing with the painful quarantine issues as rigorously as I should have.

Open communication is the best strategy. Loose lips may occasionally sink ships, but a ship without communications embarks on a dangerous voyage. A lot of time, pain and resources (much of it ours) would have been saved if we had simply done a better job of communicating our situation to everyone that might be involved.

Most decisions are moral decisions. This can be hard to face, as we often try to convince ourselves that our decisions are anything but morally based. Looking back, I am dumbfounded that I didn't realize immediately, once our family was diagnosed (even suspected) that everything we did from that moment on was of moral consequence. Once I accepted that, it changed everything.

It's not just about you. This is like the addict's rationalization--that I'm only hurting myself. It's a pure falsehood. Your decisions have extraordinary ripple effects, especially to those who love you the most. This is painfully true in the case of a contagious virus like H1N1. Between the time you get it and the time you know you've got it you could infect hundreds of people. And once you have it, even with a full quarantine, you're still a threat to anyone in your household. No, it's not just your willingness to risk the disease, it's your lack of concern for others you might infect.

Perception is reality. We wish people saw everything our way, but they almost never do. When we ignore these differences we tend to disregard the fears, concerns and desires of others. People are afraid of the swine flu--in many cased irrationally so. We're not going to change that, so it's better simply to accept it and deal with it.

For me, the flu was very painful. But the life lessons perhaps even more so. Now that I've been "inoculated" I doubt I'll get H1N1 again. I hope I don't have to suffer through the same lessons again as well.

Frost/Nixon

Last night I watched the Ron Howard movie Frost/Nixon, which is recently out on DVD. I was riveted, not only because the movie is extremely well-done, with an extraordinary performance by Frank Langella as Richard Nixon, but also because it brought back memories of Watergate and how it captured my attention when I was a teenager.

I was always interested in politics, so when the Watergate scandal started emerging in the press I followed it carefully. The Senate hearings were aired on TV and I remember watching them at every opportunity. I began to learn the personalities of the inquisitors, including folksy committee chairman Senator Sam Ervin and the politically ambitious Senator Howard Baker. I had an immediate dislike for conspirators Bob Haldeman, Chuck Colson and John Erlichman, but developed deep respect for John Dean, the bookish attorney and Nixon aide who pled guilty early in the process and proved to be a key witness with extremely incriminating testimony.

When the White House transcripts of Nixon's taped meetings were published I read the book with interest and, as I recall, did a report on it as a special project in school.

And, of course, I watched with rapt interest when Nixon resigned in 1974, recognizing that this was an important moment in American history, in my psyche the equivalent of the Kennedy assassination, Neil Armstrong walking on the moon in 1969, or the 1968 presidential campaign, with the assassinations of Bobby Kennedy, Martin Luther King and the riots around the Democratic Convention in Chicago (and the following trial of the Chicago Seven).

I realize now how all of these events shaped my thoughts about our country, in much the same way that the Great Depression and World War II shaped my father's. I am at once deeply patriotic regarding the sacrifices that have been made to preserve our freedoms, while at the same time irreparably cynical about politics and government and the corruptive influence of power.

Watching Frost/Nixon brought all of this back to me, and I was once again transported to my youth, sitting on the couch, eating dinner on a TV tray while I watched our nation's history unfold.