Our firstborn was only 3 years old and happily racing toy cars across our front porch when he received his first bee sting. His mother rocked him in her lap until he had calmed down. Then, in her wisdom, she told him the story of her first sting as a little girl when she had walked barefoot in the backyard grass.
For months afterward, our son would ask friends and strangers, “Have you been stung by a bee? Tell me about when you got it.”
It is hard for me to wrap my head around the 26.9 million people infected with the coronavirus in the United States. The 791,000 in North Carolina is overwhelming enough.
But I know the stories of friends, family and parishioners who got it. The rattling, aching cough. The muscles spasms traveling from the neck down to the feet. The dizziness at the slightest physical effort. Feeling like they had been run over by a truck or train. The fear that they would get worse.
I also hear stories from people who have gotten either one or both COVID-19 vaccinations. Many of them report no difficulties. Some experience soreness in their arms. A few have had flu-like symptoms for 24 to 48 hours such as a low-grade fever, muscle aches and fatigue.
No one, though, has ever told me that suffering the vaccine is as terrible as the actual coronavirus. It seems obvious that everyone should be vaccinated as soon as possible.
But last week, I was part of a video conference call led by Dr. Sharon Reilly, the medical director of Piedmont Health. She called out several myths that are circulating in our community and nationwide: that the vaccine will alter your DNA and that the shot introduces a tracer microchip into your body.
I cannot take such ridiculous and debunked conspiracy theories seriously; however, the consequences of such misinformation are deadly serious. If the coronavirus remains active, infecting non-vaccinated people, the chances increase that it will mutate, possibly into forms that resist the vaccine. These new strains of COVID-19 could be even more deadly.
Why do these conspiracy theories about the vaccine and the virus itself remain active among a significant percentage of our population?
I can’t help but wonder how many of those who believe this misinformation have actually known someone who has suffered or died from the infection. This is the reason why I began with bee stings and stories.
Tell me about when you got it. My young son learned that asking for a story can open up a conversation with a complete stranger. Granted, a child’s innocence encourages many of us to lower our defenses. But a story itself has the power to create empathy and unite the storyteller with the listener.
It is this power of story that causes me to believe that stories are prayers. A genuine curiosity about someone’s experience with COVID-19 not only implies that you take the virus seriously, but that you take that particular person seriously — you value that individual’s experience. If we seek the stories of our friends, neighbors and even strangers, we will feel less alone and perhaps less afraid. We will be less likely to believe conspiracy theories and more likely to care for one another.
Tell me about when you got it. And I shall listen while silently giving thanks that we are together.
Andrew Taylor-Troutman is the pastor of Chapel in the Pines Presbyterian Church and author of Gently Between the Words: Essays and Poems. He is currently working from home with his wife and three children.
