The Placebo Effect

When Leah was a very small baby, Anna and I decided that we didn’t want to settle for an old-fashioned baby monitor; we wanted video. We purchased a cheap one from (I believe) Geeks.com, and when I say “cheap,” I mean one that the manufacturers didn’t even want to take credit for. Seriously. The thing was made on some obscure Eastern Asian nation and came in a box that said “Baby Monitor” or something like that, with no other identifying information. And yet, it worked well enough that when we moved into our current home, we bought two more: one for David’s room, one for the toy room (not that the last was ever installed).

Of course, the problem with this setup was that we wound up having two identical monitors sitting on my bedside table. What’s more, the monitors slightly interfered with each other, and often received interference from wireless networks and even radio stations around us. (Under certain atmospheric conditions, we could actually listen to the radio not on the monitor, but on the camera! Go figure that one out!) Every night before we went to sleep, I would have to position each of the monitors just so, so the static wouldn’t keep us up all night. It was, suffice to say, quite annoying, so after a while, we started looking for a better solution.

Enter ZOpid. The system was (and is) advertised as “Digital Interference–free,” which was of course a big selling point for us. It was (is) also expandable up to eight cameras on a single monitor, cycling through as many or as few as you like. Awesome. Also, the reviews were fairly positive, which is definitely a big deal.

What I found most compelling, though, was that the manufacturers themselves were right there on the forefront: every time a review included a complaint, it was followed by a comment from the engineers: making suggestions, inviting the customer to send it back, etc.. That’s a company that cares about its users’ experience (or at least continued sales). So, we bought the system and one additional camera. It hasn’t been perfect, but it’s been quite good—and not a drop of interference, ever. Furthermore, the company has been very good about supporting what few issues we’ve had, even promising firmware updates to incorporate some of my feature requests and suggestions. Nice.

So about a month ago, Leah’s camera started having some issues: first of all, it would crash at fairly random intervals, requiring a reset. Second, when I tried to reset it, the reset button would usually get stuck, requiring me to fiddle with it until I could get it to pop back out. Obviously not good. So last week, I finally got around to contacting ZOpid about it. They gave me some suggestions, but none did the trick, so they finally issued me an RMA number so I could send it back. On Thursday night, I did so—without mentioning it to Leah. I held my breath as I turned off her light, but she never even noticed the empty wall mount.

Until tonight.

Those of you who know Leah may realize that she’s a very sensitive child. Her camera is very much a security blanket for her, despite the fact that she usually just gets out of bed and comes into our room, anyway. So tonight, when she noticed it was missing, the realization was met with great concern coupled with crying. I tried my best to calm her down, to explain that the camera was broken and a new one would be here within a few days, but that wasn’t enough. My little girl was scared, and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

Or was there?

I told Leah I’d be right back and walked to my office. I opened up the cabinet where the third of the previous cameras had spent pretty much its entire life, and where it thankfully still resided. I then returned to Leah’s room with that old camera and a roll of masking tape and used the latter to attach the former to the empty mount. The power cord wouldn’t fit (and probably wouldn’t have worked, anyway), but I was able to make it look convincing enough. The old camera isn’t compatible with our current monitor, and even if it were, it’s neither turned on nor even plugged in! But its presence is enough for Leah to feel safe and loved, and while it’s not a long-term solution, that’s ultimately what matters.

I love the innocence of youth—and I love, even more, being her dad. :-)

Disturbing Dreams

The aliens were attacking, flooding the entire Earth some 30-40 feet deep. Thankfully, the government was able to issue SCUBA-type gear to many of us that survived the initial assault, and our family was among the lucky ones. As Anna, Leah, David, and I swam around in our wetsuits equipped with a tank that extracted oxygen from the water, we thought all would be well—until we learned about the virus.


The aliens were obviously smart: not only smart enough to flood the Earth, but also smart enough to know that many of us would survive. That’s why they concurrently initiated a viral attack, to take out any of us that were able to make do with the flooding.


As the crowd pushed toward the first of the spaceships carrying citizens away from our doomed planet, Anna was separated from me and the kids. Somehow, I knew that was final: we’d never see her again, in this life. Thus, it was my responsibility to get four-year-old Leah and three-year-old David through the waters to our only hope of survival. And then the breathalyzers arrived.


Knowing that there was no cure for the virus, only those who were uninfected were allowed aboard the ship. Since the early stages of the virus had no apparent effects, the special breathalyzers were necessary to determine who was infected (and thus doomed to death), and who was not. I tentatively took the proffered machine and applied it to Leah.


She tested positive.


What’s worse, David and I were tested next, and both came back negative. We would be admitted to the ship and survival; Leah, heart-wrenchingly, would not.


Now, logic dictates that the smart thing would be to say my last farewells to Leah, assuring her that our temple sealing means we’d be together again in the Spirit World, and accompany David onto the ship. Leah was going to die anyway, and David needed someone to care for him. But how could I possibly leave my little girl, my precious, four-year-old daughter, all alone to suffer a long and possibly painful death? David would board the ship; that much was assured. But how could I possibly choose between caring for my son, at the expense of my daughter—especially in her hour of greatest need, when she would indubitably be terrified and alone and crying for me? The decision was impossible to make.


I only thank God that I woke up at that point, and even more so, that my two living children were both healthy and sleeping peacefully. I pray that I will never have to make such an horrific decision; I love them too much for that.