With hospitals prohibiting partners from joining expectant mothers during childbirth, one father-to-be talks about missing a life-changing moment
Updated March 27, 2020 11:48 am ET We are all living in limbo now, trying to adjust, day by day, to the realities of life in the era of Covid-19. Some of us are battling the virus itself, or trying to cope as it attacks people in our lives.
Others are grappling with campus and workplace closures, job losses, risky working conditions, moves back home, relationship strains, and uncertainty. Lots of uncertainty. We offer you here notes on the pandemic, featuring the voices of young adults who are navigating this unsettling moment — and our voices, too, since we’re all in this together. Please check back here for updates and new stories as our chorus of voices continues to grow. — Deborah Acosta, Tyler Blint-Welsh, Alvin Chang, Nico Gendron, Alex Janin, J. J. McCorvey and Allison Pohle Chronicling childbirth Brian Whitton, 35, newsroom developer for Notes on the Pandemic, The Wall Street Journal Today my wife Melissa is 39 weeks pregnant with our first child. Like many modern couples, we’ve done all the things: consumed the books/podcasts/docuseries, taken the childbirth classes, packed the hospital bag. We thought we were ready. Then we learned through a WhatsApp group that two big New York City hospitals, including ours, would no longer allow partners, doulas, or visitors of any kind to accompany the expectant mothers. When our obstetrician confirmed this over the phone, she was crying. We were all crying. “Bring an iPad,” she told us. When my wife goes into labor, I will take her to the hospital and say goodbye. She’ll be tested for coronavirus and fitted with an N95 mask to wear throughout her stay. In the delivery room, she’ll set up a cookbook stand for the iPad. But the fact remains that when my wife delivers our son, she’ll be surrounded by strangers, and I’ll be home alone on the couch, watching the birth of my first child remotely. This is truly devastating. For my wife first and foremost, who will be giving birth during a global pandemic without her partner by her side. And for me, who will miss a moment that will forever change my life. Still — we’re trying to focus on the ultimate goal. The point of getting pregnant wasn’t so that we could share a birth experience. We wanted to start a family, and after a strange, scary period of separation, that’s what we’ll be doing.Lindsey Hailes was sorely disappointed to learn that Disney was suspending its national tour of Aida, which she had been workshopping as an ensemble member for barely a week. “My first reaction was, ‘Are we still gon’ get paid?’” she said with a laugh. “My second was … I didn’t know if they were canceling it because a specific cast member was sick.” Soon, Hailes herself felt not quite right. Her body ached but she ascribed that to demanding rehearsals. She was congested, but wrote it off as allergies. Her eyes hurt, so she traded her contacts for glasses. But then there was the falafel. She knew from experience it was a good falafel. But she couldn’t taste it. Or smell it. Her roommate couldn’t taste or smell his, either. So, she said, they Googled. And when it turned out that loss of taste and smell was a symptom of Covid-19, her roommate got tested. His test came back positive. The clinic put them both under two-week quarantine. Upbeat by nature and feeling almost fine, she took the diagnosis in stride: “Honestly, I’m not worried. Maybe it’s because my symptoms weren’t life-threatening, or didn’t feel that way. I knew it would just be something that passed.” She had been on the verge of returning to her hometown, Overland Park, Kansas, and is thankful she didn’t go and risk transmitting the virus to her older relatives. She is also thankful that she can collect unemployment benefits through the Actors’ Equity union, that she’s still covered by her parents’ insurance, and that she has spent the past year steeling herself to withstand the adversity that’s often part of a performer’s life. “When all these things are happening, when everything shuts down, the test of the true artist is what can you do with that?’’ she said. “What can you do when you can’t be given a script.” She’s going to use her quarantine, she said, to ready an album and to teach herself piano on her new Yamaha keyboard. —J.J. McCorveyMonica Magtoto says she and her family — her sister, father and grandmother, with whom she lives — are “bracing for impact.” What she means is another impact. In early March, not quite two weeks before Bay Area officials issued a “shelter in place” mandate, Magtoto’s mother Celia succumbed to a three-year battle with cancer. “We were already kind of socially isolated,” Magtoto said, referring to precautions taken to protect her mom before her death. An illustrator, muralist, and “plant lady” whose work often features bright blossoms and towering trees, Magtoto usually depends on commissions from restaurants and cafés in Ghirardelli Square, and supplements her artist’s income by teaching yoga. Now Magtoto is facing weeks, maybe months, without pay and limited means to help support her 66-year-old father, whose employer recently shut down operations, too. “Literally everything I do has been stopped,” said Magtoto, who has no savings and owes $60,000 in student loans. “In some ways, my family may or may not have been a little more prepared.” —J.J. McCorveyAs a touring bass guitarist, Parker McAllister’s life is usually spent in the skies, far from home. “One thing that freelancers are afforded is the ‘free’ part of that word,” he said. Suddenly, however, the Brooklyn native finds himself grounded. Soon after he wrapped a job performing backup for Ana Tijoux, a French-Chilean singer/songwriter, at a Bernie Sanders rally in Los Angeles, the Italian government sent a chill through the music-touring industry by halting flights to stem the spread of the novel coronavirus. Gigs he’d booked through April across Europe and later in the Bahamas now represent more than $7,000 in lost fees. He hoped that he could recuperate somewhat by picking up jobs he had turned down in order to say “yes” to those tours. But that hope was soon dashed; Marble Collegiate Church in Manhattan, for one, informed him that its services would be streamed online only — and without its well-regarded choir, and accompanying musicians like him. Once New York Governor Andrew Cuomo put “New York State on Pause,” McAllister started worrying about his thin financial cushion. Would he be able to stretch his $1,000 in savings until his next royalty check arrives? “I can hang tough for about a month, month and a half,” he said. “It’s not until May that the real panic-button hits.” —J.J. McCorveyHundreds of writers and performers move to New York City every year in search of the elusive big break. And Xandra Nur Clark, a Massachusetts native and self-described “queer, Indian-American playwright, actor, journalist, documentarian, performance-maker, musician and all-around storyteller,’’ was on the cusp of one. But the city’s shutdown meant the indefinite postponement of their solo show, “Polylogues,’’ which uses the words of real people to explore the topic of non-monogamy. Clark had spent the last year gearing up for their big moment, the play’s opening in April at the Rattlestick Playwrights Theater in Manhattan. “And now this moment is not happening,’’ they said. The Colt Coeur production would have qualified Clark to join the Actors’ Equity union, which would have represented both a career and financial milestone. They are disappointed, needless to say. “I imagined that I would start having a sustainable artist’s career at some point after ‘Polylogues,’” Clark said. To that end, they are looking at this period as a sort of enforced creative residency. “If this moment is teaching me anything so far, it’s that there’s no time to waste,” they said. —J.J. McCorveyWhen the Rhode Island School of Design announced that it would shutter its campus and migrate classes online, Felicita Devlin, a textiles major, was left scrambling to decide her next move. Devlin, who deals with a chronic illness, considered shelling out money on storage and airfare in order to fly home to Cooper City, Fla.— money that seemed uncertain, since her four work-study jobs were suddenly halted. Then she learned that the school’s residence program would allow her to work as a resident assistant. “I had to stay with the best thing that’s for me,” she said. “But I’m also on a college campus, which is still very hard to be on, because it’s very easy to get sick.” Like many other RISD students, Devlin faces severely limited options to develop her craft, due to the school shutting down its studios. So she has channeled all of her creative energy towards organizing, joining together with several other students to launch a GoFundMe campaign to help peers in similar situations. Within a week, they raised $133,000 from donors including notable alumni like contemporary artist Kara Walker and fashion designer Nicole Miller, according to the group. “Organizing and helping students to fundraise… this is probably what’s keeping me going,” Devlin said. —J.J. McCorveyThe other night I dreamt that I broke into a millionaire’s house for food. In the real world, I’m fine, I think. Since my roommate rented a car and bolted for his parents’ place in Michigan last week, my partner and I have stocked up and hunkered down in my Harlem apartment. This Friday, we will celebrate his birthday with a surprise Group FaceTime toast. I feel blessed that I am not processing this precarious time alone. Then I think about my loved ones who are, like my mother and grandmother back home in Mississippi, and I worry. Yet I tap dance around my feelings so they don’t worry. When I let slip to Mom that I was stressed, she responded in a snap, “What you stressed about?!?” I don’t have Covid-19, so relax, I told her. I’m stressed about a lot of things, though. My partner and I have resisted friends’ pleas for us to leave New York, but the news alerts are eating at our defense. I’m thankful for employment, but the anxiety brought on by a global pandemic does not mix well with having to work from home. I miss my colleagues, and God help me, even my commute. I’m grasping for some normalcy.Chronicling Gig Workers Kristin Dotson, 30, Instacart shopper, Philadelphia Kristin Dotson moved to Philadelphia in 2017 soon after Hurricane Harvey devastated her hometown of Houston. Now, though, when she walks the aisles of her local Aldi supermarket, it’s eerily reminiscent of Harvey’s aftermath: empty shelves and long lines: “A lot of people are kind of just eyeing your cart and trying to see if they can get anything.” Dotson is relying on her job as an in-store shopper for Instacart, the grocery delivery app, as her sole source of income while the future of her salaried position at a local special education program is up in the air. But competition at grocery stores is fierce. Professional shoppers are lining up an hour before the market opens to get the best chance of snagging in-demand items for their clients — often, things that are now perpetually out of stock, like toilet paper and disinfectant wipes. She knows services like Instacart are more essential now than ever, but competition from new shoppers signing up for the platform and dwindling grocery store hours puts her paycheck at risk. Still, she says, she’s “doing OK for the time being.” She’s more concerned about low-income folks in her community who may be left without essentials after wealthier customers stockpile: “Maybe they’re on food stamps or what have you and they’re not able to retrieve those items just because somebody was greedy.” —Alex JaninWhen Louie Ochoa lost his job as a mental healthcare worker in a psychiatric hospital a couple of months ago, he knew he needed to find a new source of income fast. Driving for Uber wasn’t his favorite option, but he already had a car, and it was “something to keep me alive.” Above all, it was reliable. Ochoa said he usually got “back-to-back requests for hours.” And beyond supporting himself, he needed to help out his mom, who is undergoing chemotherapy treatment. After the Covid-19 pandemic erupted, he faced a tough choice: to keep earning money or to see his mother. “I have less than $50 to my name,” he said, “I have bills due in a few days.” He reluctantly sacrificed the visits to his immunosuppressed mom, starting after he picked up a few passengers who were coughing and sneezing. As the infection rate in L.A. county rises and residents have been ordered to stay home, the back-to-back stream of rides Ochoa relied on has slowed to a trickle. He went from making $100 in four hours to $17.93 during a recent shift: “I spent more on gas that morning.” —Alex JaninRenata Rudoy, born and raised in Brooklyn, discovered TaskRabbit through an ad on the New York City subway—the Q line, to be precise. She was immediately drawn to the flexibility of the platform, which connects users to freelance “taskers” who help with a variety of chores. Working flexible hours would allow her to finance her dream degree in aviation management, upgrade her apartment, and travel. Rudoy is mostly hired for cleaning tasks, and was eagerly gearing up for spring cleaning season after a slow winter. When Covid-19 started making headlines, she thought business might pick up even more. “I figured — there’s this virus going on so people would need to be more clean.” But that’s not what happened. As health officials started urging social distancing, she found fewer and fewer clients were hiring: “I just think that people don’t want other people in their homes.” One regular client kindly offered to pay Rudoy for a recurring cleaning — without actually having her clean . “My phone does not go off at all,’’ she said last week. As people laid off from full-time work turned to TaskRabbit for quick gigs, Rudoy had to lower her rate from $41 to $37 an hour to stay competitive. Then New York Governor Andrew Cuomo ordered all non-essential businesses to close, and she grew concerned that “TaskRabbit will be completely dead.’’ She’s scared, she said, really scared: “I don’t know how long this is going to last.” —Alex JaninNick DeMarco signed up to deliver groceries on Instacart because he didn’t want to work for Uber or Lyft. “I’m very protective of my car,” he said. And he’s been making good use of it — he didn’t take a single day off from January through mid-March, including the day he got an emergency root canal. But when the coronavirus pandemic ramped up, he started rethinking things: “I’m not taking $12 to go to the grocery store, because now it’s risky. I’ve got to wait in line. You’ve got to sanitize everything. You’re touching everything.” He’s not ruling out working entirely. He just paid off that root canal, effectively depleting his bank account, and still has to cover a separate urgent care bill for $270 when he thought he had the flu. And his girlfriend just got laid off from her full-time job in the music industry. She, too, is going to sign up to work for Instacart, said DeMarco. But he’s being far more picky about what jobs he’s taking, waiting for those with upfront tips so that he’ll pull in at least $30 a trip.He believes it’s important to deliver food and supplies to people who can’t fend for themselves, like a recent customer with a heart condition who’s unable to drive: “It’s just such a weird time,’’ he said. “And I feel like I’ve become way more important than I ever bargained for.” —Alex Janin“I wake up every morning and I’m like, what do I do today?” Pre-pandemic, Taylor Diebold would get out of bed and be greeted by several new online orders for her Etsy shop, through which she sells, among other things, customized dog bandanas. Pawsitivity Designs, as her shop is called, is three years old, and she has been reliably getting 60 orders a month for some time now. In the first three weeks of March, though, she made only 13 sales. Last week, she turned to a Reddit community of Etsy sellers to see if she was the only one, posting: “This is the lowest my sales have ever been. I haven’t had a single order all week and I’m curious if it’s due to the panic with this virus.” Absolutely it is, sellers responded: “The stock market has tanked and people are freaking out about their savings and investments,’’ wrote Just BeKind1000. “They are buying supplies, not goodies.” Bryan930 added, “March 1 hit and it’s been crickets ever since.’’ An animal-lover, Diebold also walks dogs for extra cash, but a job got canceled recently because the dog’s owners were working from home. “In that moment, it clicked with me,” she said, “I was like, Oh, man, like, we’re all screwed.” She has a car payment coming up, and is worried about burning through her savings. Most of her Etsy sales rely on occasions when pet owners dress up their dogs: engagement photos, holiday parties, dog park gatherings — all events that people are cancelling. What’s the point of buying your pet a customized bandana that reads ‘Bad and Boozy’ with no bar crawls on the horizon? —Alex JaninIt’s an odd time to be a hypochondriac. The hand sanitizer and wet wipes I had pre-stocked months ago have long since run out. But it’s a very good time to be employed, and I am among an incredibly privileged group in the workforce who can work from home. Even luckier — I am writing this from the comfort of my childhood bedroom in Indiana, with my closest family nearby . In contrast, many now face a choice: forgo a much-needed paycheck or put their own health on the line. Despite the risks, it’s increasingly apparent that folks working in the gig economy are the glue holding society together: picking up groceries for the immunosuppressed, providing transportation to the hospital, delivering meals from local restaurants that have been forced to shutter all but take-out service. This may be just the tip of the iceberg, so think of this page as a live document. Stay in touch, and stay safe.Chronicling Service Workers Raquel Gomez, 28, Server, New York Raquel Gomez, a New Yorker by way of El Paso, first realized this moment would be big during her brunch shift last Sunday at La Flaca, a Mexican restaurant on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Even an offer of bottomless drinks was not enough to lure customers who had finally started social distancing. The next day, New York City shut down restaurants, which left Gomez with zero income on top of zero savings. Now she and her roommates, who are also out of work, have a decision to make: Rent or food. “I’ve never not paid rent on time,’’ Gomez said. “But if I pay it, how am I going to make it for groceries and things like that?” While she could return to Texas, that would be expensive and she might expose her older relatives to the virus. So, like many, she finds herself in a “weird limbo,” she said. “I just feel very lost at the moment about what to do.” —Alvin ChangOn Monday morning, Gisele Greasley made a calculation, and figured out she could last a couple of months without her income from bartending at a restaurant in Brooklyn. “I think I’m one of the fortunate ones,” she said then, calmly considering the moment a hiatus after which everything would return to normal. Then a few hours later, she visited Sidecar, her restaurant. She sat slurping oysters and listened to her boss think aloud about his business concerns. Apply for unemployment benefits immediately! he told her. “That scared me,’’ she said. “That made me feel like, okay, you’re right. Maybe this place will have to close. Maybe a lot of places will have to close.” She loves bartending, and is unsure what else she’d be qualified to do. For now, though, she has a handle of tequila at home. She recommends mixing it with lime juice and agave, and maybe dusting the rim with some Himalayan salt. —Alvin ChangOn Tuesday, Gina Benson streamed a 30-minute yoga flow class on Instagram Live. “If you feel compelled to donate, because this is my bread-and-butter and I’m out of work, then it’d be really appreciated,” she told her viewers, before they OMed and down dogged. All of Benson’s income streams have vanished overnight — her public classes, her private clients — and the internet simply does not work as a replacement for the one-on-one, hands-on attention she specializes in: “I am my business,’’ she said. Normally devoted to relieving the stress of others, Benson is now super-stressed herself. She recently got engaged, and finances have been a sensitive subject for her and her fiancé. A few days ago, they got into an argument: “He’s like, ‘I’m over here trying to make money. What are you doing for us?’ ” Benson said. “And I’m like, ‘I’m trying!’ ” —Alvin ChangBryce Warner is HIV positive and anemic. After the Italian restaurant where he works was shut down last weekend, he figured he could pay for basic necessities and his medication for about a month. He also figured he was better equipped than most to confront what lay ahead. “I’ve just been through a lot in my life,’’ he said. “I moved out when I was like 18 years old from my parents’ house, with no money because they weren’t exactly like — my stepdad wasn’t exactly thrilled with me being gay, and whatnot. And so I’ve been near homeless many times. I’ve slept on friends’ couches, not knowing what’s going to happen … I think I’ve just been through so much that it takes a lot to break you down completely … So right now, I mean, day by day, I’m okay. Right now, I know I’m not going to starve and I have a roof over my head, my landlord’s not evicting me, and none of my utilities are getting shut off and I’m very thankful for that. … But if this thing goes for two or three months? … If it gets to that point and if the government is not able to do something for us, if I’m not able to get unemployment or get enough of it, then it could become a real problem because I don’t have, you know, mommy and daddy or rich aunt or uncle or boyfriend or anything like that to go to when it gets to that. So I kind of have to figure it out on my own, which is scary. It’s very scary.” —Alvin ChangLast Sunday was Day Six of my parents’ 14-day quarantine, which was taking place somewhere in rural Kazakhstan. I didn’t know the exact location; I probably should have. My parents were fine, though, no symptoms, no fevers. They had been sequestered in a hospital since they arrived from South Korea on a work trip for my father, a civil engineer. Anyway, on Day Six, I was thousands of miles away in my New York apartment, lucky to have a job still, lucky to have a supportive partner. I thought, Hell, I don’t even have to worry about my parents stubbornly going to Target in defiance of the pandemic! And then, they sent me a photo: It was Dad, dancing around in a hospital gown with a spoon stuck to his head. Apparently, Day Six is the tipping point for sixty-somethings stuck in a remote health care facility with no TV and limited internet. And it made me think about when I was 4. I was hanging out at my parents’ dry cleaning business in Southern California when an earthquake hit. Before I could even cry for help, my parents surrounded me. And for those brief seconds, the earth stood still. UPDATE: Over the weekend, my parents were released from their 14-day quarantine. The last I heard, they were in a small town in the Aktobe region of Kazakhstan, celebrating with nothing other than a Corona beer. One beer, for the both of them.Chronicling College Students Josee Matela, 21, Boston University Josee Matela, a BU senior majoring in journalism and international relations, says she is grappling with “massive amounts of uncertainty.’’ A Cherry Hill, N.J., native, she was already operating under a sizable load of stress, juggling six jobs to afford school and life in Boston. Now that the university has moved classes online through semester’s end, three of her campus jobs have been suspended. As a self-described “first-generation, low-income student,’’ Matela has no financial cushion from her family and no savings. Planning ahead for a graduation ceremony that might not even happen, she is already asking on Twitter to borrow a gown; that would be one expense she could delete from her post-COVID19 budgetary spreadsheet, which she named “March Madness.” And then, the future? Will all her hustle and hard work pay off once she gets her diploma?: “I thought I was already worried about after graduation, and then a global pandemic hit.” —Allison PohleBefore Gevaniah Gabeau flew to South Korea in February, her relatives asked if she was absolutely sure about moving forward with her semester abroad there. COVID-19 had already struck the country. But Gabeau, a Wellesley junior known as Gigi, is a Korean Studies major; she had long looked forward to the trip; and, besides, the outbreak seemed relatively contained. Nine days into her stay, however, her program was abruptly cancelled: “I was told that I had to get back home as soon as possible.” Back home in Boston, she was obliged to move into her family’s basement in order to self-quarantine. On top of that, it was too late in the semester for her to join regular classes, so she will likely graduate a semester late. And finally, frustratingly, coronavirus cases in Korea have sharply declined. “I feel like I was safer in Korea than I am here,’’ Gabeau said. —Allison PohleKevwe Onome-Irikefe, 24, has been holed up alone in her studio apartment in Rochester, N.Y., since her campus moved to remote classes. She’s a graduate student from Nigeria pursuing a master’s degree in business analytics, and she is worried that the new format will trip her up. “One of the reasons I decided to leave my country is that I can’t do well learning online; I’m not that disciplined,’’ she said. Many of her classmates have left Rochester, but she feels stuck there. If she leaves the United States, she worries, she might not be allowed to re-enter the country for a summer data-science internship, or to finish her degree. “I can’t go home because I am not sure if the American government would let me back in,’’ she said. “Then, what happens to my completing my education or pursuing my dream job?” —Allison PohleAfter Coleman Schindler, an Albion senior, and a fraternity brother learned about nearby colleges cancelling their graduation ceremonies, they grew concerned that their big day might be called off too. Albion had moved classes online through semester’s end, and everybody was packing up to leave campus. So they asked each other: “What if we just did an impromptu graduation for seniors?” And then they planned one. For that day. Announcing it on their class’s Facebook page, they managed to gather some 50 people on the quad. The pep band played, Schindler and his buddy handed out mocked up diplomas, and everybody threw their caps in the air at the end. “What we said during the ceremony was: You get a countdown in your head of ‘We have 54 more days of the best four years of our lives,’ ” he said. “And to get an email from the school essentially saying, ‘You’re done!’ — it’s really surreal for us.’’—Allison PohleNell McArdle, a freshman, was on a spring break volunteer trip when she found out Trinity would be closing its dorms just five days later. McArdle is from Connecticut. Trinity is in Texas. And she was volunteering in Louisiana. She stayed in New Orleans to honor her commitment, but the minute she finished, she drove more than 500 miles back to campus. With 48 hours until the campus closed, she cleared out her room, helped friends with theirs, and transported all their stuff to a storage locker. Then she faced her next dilemma: she would have to stay, briefly, with her grandparents in Dallas. “It’s stressful for me,’’ she said. “They’re my grandparents, and they’re old, and my grandpa already has dementia and my grandma has so much going on taking care of him, and I’m terrified that by staying with them, I’ll somehow increase their odds of getting it.” —Allison PohleI’ve spent the past few weeks talking to people whose lives have been upended by COVID-19. Like Josee Matela, most are dealing with “massive amounts of uncertainty.’’ I am, too. It feels strange to share my own experience given that I’m fortunate to have stable employment at a time when so many do not. But I don’t deal well with uncertainty. I have an anxiety disorder, and even in calmer moments spend much of my time contemplating unsettling “what ifs.” In the past, I’ve managed my anxiety by taking medication and regularly going to therapy. But because I’m relatively new to New York City — I moved here for this job! — I haven’t yet found a therapist. So I’m worried. And I feel guilty for being worried. But I believe in the power of sharing our stories. I believe in reminding each other we’re not alone.All photos submitted by the subject. /* sc-component-id: sc-bdVaJa */.dJIVuV{margin-bottom:20px;}/* sc-component-id: sc-htpNat */.haJhLg{color:#333;display:block;font-family:Retina,sans-serif;font-size:13px;line-height:20px;} .haJhLg:after{content:"";} .haJhLg.is-error{color:#e10000;}/* sc-component-id: sc-bxivhb */.bXjpeK{background-color:#f4f4f4;border-radius:2px;border:1px solid #ccc;box-sizing:border-box;color:#555;font-family:Retina,sans-serif;font-size:14px;height:45px;line-height:1.6;padding:0 10px;width:100%;-webkit-transition:border-color 125ms ease;transition:border-color 125ms ease;} .bXjpeK:focus{background:#fff;border:1px solid #0274b6;outline:none;} .bXjpeK.is-error{border-color:#e10000;} .bXjpeK:disabled{color:#ccc;} .bXjpeK:hover{border-color:#0274b6;}/* sc-component-id: sc-bZQynM */.hHlXIA{-webkit-appearance:none;-moz-appearance:none;appearance:none;background-color:#0274b6;border:none;border-radius:2px;color:#fff;cursor:pointer;display:block;font-family:Retina,sans-serif;font-size:14px;font-weight:400;height:45px;line-height:45px;-webkit-letter-spacing:0.5px;-moz-letter-spacing:0.5px;-ms-letter-spacing:0.5px;letter-spacing:0.5px;padding:0 2em;text-align:center;text-transform:uppercase;width:100%;-webkit-transition:background-color 125ms ease;transition:background-color 125ms ease;} .hHlXIA:hover{background:#015483;} .hHlXIA:disabled{cursor:not-allowed;background-color:#0274b6;opacity:0.6;}/* sc-component-id: sc-gzVnrw */.fHTWwA{background-color:#f4f4f4;border-radius:2px;border:1px solid #ccc;box-sizing:border-box;color:#555;font-family:Retina,sans-serif;font-size:14px;height:45px;line-height:1.6;padding:0 10px;width:100%;-webkit-transition:border-color 125ms ease;transition:border-color 125ms ease;height:100px;padding:10px;} .fHTWwA:focus{background:#fff;border:1px solid #0274b6;outline:none;} .fHTWwA.is-error{border-color:#e10000;} .fHTWwA:disabled{color:#ccc;} .fHTWwA:hover{border-color:#0274b6;}/* sc-component-id: sc-htoDjs */.ggROnr{color:#555;display:block;font-family:Retina,sans-serif !important;font-size:13px;line-height:1.6;}/* sc-component-id: sc-gZMcBi */.eAdapV.eAdapV.eAdapV{color:#555;font-size:14px;font-family:Retina,san-serif;font-weight:300;line-height:20px;}window["newsroom-feedback-3bcf8af1-a5fb-476e-9a1b-4dfa05881468"]=function{function e{for{var i=this.tryEntries[o],a=i.completion;ifreturn r;if{var o=this.tryEntries[r];if{var r=this.tryEntries[e];ifreturn this.complete,_,f}},catch:function{for{var r=this.tryEntries[e];if{var n=r.completion;if{var o=n.arg;_}return o}}throw new Error},delegateYield:function{return this.delegate={iterator:k,resultName:e,nextLoc:r},"next"===this.method&&,f}},t}?t.exports:{});try{regeneratorRuntime=r}catch{Function}}).call)},function{"use strict";r.r;r;var n=r,o=r.n;function i{return Object.keys.reduce{ifreturn r[n]="true"===t[n],r;ifreturn r[n]=parseInt,r;if{var o=t[n];return o??o:[o],r):r}return r[n]=t[n],r}),{})}function a{if{var r=t.params.missingProperty;!function{var e;:t.parentElement).classList.add,e.querySelector.textContent="This field is required"}}}function u{try{var u=t[i],c=u.value}catch{return void r}u.done?e:Promise.resolve.then}function c{return function{var e=this,r=arguments;return new Promise{var i=t.apply;function a{u}function c{u}a}))}}var s,f="https://d42pu0rvuoe12.cloudfront.net/prod/v1/feedback";function l{return Promise.all,r.e]).then)}function p{return h.apply}function h{return{var r,n,u,c,p,h,v,m,b;return regeneratorRuntime.wrap{forswitch{case 0:if,r=e.target,n=r.dataset.uuid){t.next=5;break}return t.abrupt;case 5:if,!.filter{return"file"===t.type}))).length){t.next=23;break}return t.next=10,l;case 10:return p=t.sent,h=p.default,t.prev=12,t.next=15,h;case 15:v=t.sent,Object.keys.forEach{return u[t]=v[t].Location})),t.next=23;break;case 19:return t.prev=19,t.t0=t.catch,console.log,t.abrupt;case 23:m=i,d),b.value="Submitting...",fetch.concat,{method:"POST",mode:"cors",headers:{"Content-type":"application/json; charset=UTF-8"},body:JSON.stringify}).then{return t.json})).then{ifthrow t;b.value="Thank you for your response."})).catch{if,t.error.length)for(var e=0;e Copyright ©2019 Dow Jones & Company, Inc. 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