100 Days of Quarantine

Yep, that’s right. I’ve been counting. I may be a day or two off because it all blurred together and I couldn’t tell what day was what for a while there, but I am calling it today and sticking to it!

What does this mean? Traditionally, in my experience, preschools and elementary schools celebrate the 100th day of school. The 100 days of school typically signifies that you are over the hump of the school year and on the downward slope toward summer break (that’s my interpretation anyway, no one ever actually explains WHY we are doing this). It drives me nuts, to be honest, because it’s pretty arbitrary and usually involves some sort of project with 100 objects that requires my assistance to collect, coordinate, and recoup after it goes to school. But damn if those traditions don’t just stick in your brain whether you like them or not! And, I mean, come on, 100 days is a freaking long time and a nice, round number so let’s at least notice it if not celebrate it! As far as I am concerned, these 100 days is 1/3rd of a freaking bizarre year and worth reflecting on no matter how many days are still to come.

The 100 days of not being in school? The 100 days of isolation? The 100 days of digging deep (sometimes really, really deep) to find gratitude? The 100 days of riding a roller coaster without ever leaving home?

Are we over the hump of coronavirus now? I suspect not really. Maybe we are over one hump, the first sin wave, but this bizarre period is not yet over. So the trouble I have with this 100 days is that there is no end in sight, and that still incites a little panic and overwhelm at times. I refuse to use the term “new normal.” I hate it. I prefer something like “the way things are for now.” For now is always a good way to approach uncertainty and change. It implies acceptance of the present but knowledge that the future might be different, though when that future comes is unclear.

I am trying to remember what life was like 100 days ago. I still prefer life from 101 days ago, I am certain of that, but am pleased with the mental shift that’s occurred in between. Those early days were LONG. And confusing. And depressing. I would go to bed knowing I had nothing to look forward to in the morning. I am a do-er and a busy bee so the idea that I had nowhere to go and nothing to go do tanked me at first. It felt so heavy, like so much work to get up and just make it through another day. I’ve mentioned before how I felt like coronavirus teleported me to the 1950s as a housewife, right? I swear that’s the truth of it. I wrote in my quarantine journal on March 31, “I missed 16 whole days in writing this journal. How is that even possible? Well, I’ll tell you how it’s possible. Because life right now is this twilight zone of sur-reality. I have been teleported to the 1950s and spend most of my waking hours cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, working with kids on one thing or another, and curating precious items for our consumption or comfort (general groceries and paper towels in particular).” That did not feel like much to wake up for. So for a long time I wallowed. For three weeks, in fact, according to my journal. Time is so strange. During the same period that the days were forever long I didn’t have time to write. Riddle me that, Batman.

Anyhoo, I know for sure that those first few weeks were a doozy, with more emails about cancelled plans and “uncertainty” than I care to count. I literally still use whiteout and still have a daily planner so I get to laugh when I look back at my calendar now and see the indent of my pen marks for all the plans that should have been just disappeared from reality by the quick stroke of the whiteout brush. It reminds me of traveling in Madagascar, sitting at the airport waiting on a delayed flight. The airport staff would just erase the departure time on the chalkboard and rewrite a new time when the plane was ready to go – two hours delayed was suddenly, miraculously, right on schedule! It’s like the question of whether trees falling in the woods make a sound if no one can hear them. If the plans you didn’t do don’t exist, well, did you miss out on anything?

I have 154 pages (including lots of pictures) keeping track of the last 100 days to pour over one of these days. In sum, a haiku:

Grief. Plodding days. Fear.

April snow. Enough! Spring blooms.

Pollen, hope abound.

Or something like that! I do love a good haiku :-).

So, today – day 100 – I am not saying we need to celebrate. But maybe we might as well (we did, after all, flatten the curve (where I live anyway) so at least a pat on the back is warranted for that)? My March 12, 2020, post Don’t Freak Out, But Also Don’t Be Cavalier is still all true. With the benefit of hindsight, I can say that the puppy thing is very real as is the racism.

It’s a remarkable thing that the whole world is living through at the same time. I don’t think it’s particularly helpful to define this period as good or bad, but we should notice all of it, learn, and adjust. Maybe I will make a list for next time of all the things I have learned over this time. Camus sums it up well, but I am always up for a good list.

Camus Quote

You will be alright.

Wash your hands.

Stay well, stay (close to) home?

 

 

Don’t Freak Out. But Also, Don’t Be Cavalier: A Corona Survival Guide

I AM the vulnerable. You wouldn’t guess it to see me bouncing around on a daily basis in my Energizer Bunny way, but it’s true. I am a healthy, young (ish!), active mom, daughter, wife, sister, friend, employee, and athlete. But I also have an autoimmune disease.

Whenever you are washing your hands extra carefully or extra often, considering whether or not to cancel or attend a big event, wondering if this is all overblown, it’s not just the elderly or some hypothetical distant someone that you are protecting. It’s also people like me, the mom who lives just around the corner, who volunteers at the school, who you see cheering at the sporting events. There are more of us than you might realize, and this is a good time for everyone to understand that. Not because we need your sympathy or pity. But because we need your solidarity. Because the reason I can be an active, healthy mom and athlete is the boat load of immuno-suppressant drugs I take. I am in my 40’s but for over a decade this has been my norm:

RA Meds

You know when they review your medications when you go to the doctor? We run through my lengthy list every time and the conversation nearly always ends with the nurse saying, “Anything else?” and me responding, “Isn’t that enough?” I mean, for real. Don’t even get me started about how many doctors appointments I have in a year or how much I pay annually in co-pays for medication even though I have health insurance. That’s for another time.

For now, I am here to tell you that immuno-compromised people worry every year about the flu and infection in general. And every year I dutifully get my flu shot, as does my family, mainly to protect me. And then we go about our lives like normal. Similarly, when I went to Guatemala last fall, before I left I had to think through carefully with my physicians the potential implications of my immuno-compromised state. I got 4 vaccines and filled 2 prescriptions for antibiotics to bring with me in case I got sick while there. No one else I was traveling with needed anything. But I went (and, incidentally, I loved it!). I live my life knowing I am generally at higher risk than others, aware of the implications of both my disease and my medications, but I choose to keep on stretching and living.

I say all this so you understand my reality. It’s a reality I have mostly accepted. I live a pretty normal life, and I am grateful for that. I have learned to work with the cards I have been dealt.

In light of all that, I have been taking this Coronavirus, I think, pretty well overall. I am aware of what’s happening, but have been measured in my response. I have not been panicking or buying shelves-worth of Purel. I did not completely stop socializing or obsess over every new headline. My heart beats at a fairly normal rate, day in and day out.

But early this week my doctors advised me, for now, not be on a cruise boat, a commercial airline, in a crowd, or to have visitors who have flown recently. They are taking this seriously and, in turn, so should I.

I’ll admit that my blood pressure and heart rate increased rapidly during that doctor’s visit, as the realization of the seriousness of the situation and my vulnerability to it dawned on me more fully. While my vital signs returned to normal shortly after, it took me a while to notice that I have spent the last couple of days feeling like I am already sick. By that, I mean, that I started to think more like an incident commander, to go into prevention and protection mode, to dwell more on the news. I have been lethargic and blue, unfocused and distracted, my head spinning with headlines and what if scenarios fast-tracking through my mind. Basically I forgot to live.

And then I caught myself. I woke up and realized this is going to be a marathon and I cannot exhaust myself in the first couple of miles. It also occured to me that I could be an excellent fiction writer because I am constantly making up narratives that just are not true! It’s called anxiety. And instead of allowing my anxiety to come along for the ride, I let it drive for the last couple of days. I started contacting puppy breeders so I won’t be alone in my isolation, for goodness sake. This is not rational behavior (though it was a lovely divergence). Puppies for everyone!

Don’t you feel better already?

In all seriousness, I suspect – I KNOW – that I am not alone. Anxiety buttons are being pushed the world over. The illusion that we have control in this life has been de-masked. We never did have control, folks, but now we can’t even pretend. So we control what we can: we buy all the Purel on the shelves and we read the news ad nauseum and we perseverate over what to do. But we have no more control over this after all that than we did before. Really. We can prepare, but we also need to make room to sit with this uncertainty and acknowledge it. And, then, deal with the cards we have been dealt. This is how I plan to do that:

  1. Seriously, wash your hands and wash them well (how to video here);
  2. Don’t freak out – it doesn’t move the needle one bit to do so. Take a deep breath, or, better, a couple (try 5 deep breaths every hour). Sit with the discomfort. This is a great time to get really good at accepting that we can’t hide or fix or control everything (or, really, anything). Sometimes the best thing to do is to acknowledge that and sit with it. Meditation is a good way to do that. But so is taking a deep breath and recognizing anxiety for what it is and not letting it drive.
  3. Limit yourself to checking social media and the news only once or twice a day; trust me, if something really important happens in the interim, you will get the deluge of texts and phone calls or see the helicopters overhead that will clue you in that something happened. Otherwise, it’s just an anxiety mob feeding on itself.
  4. This virus is clearly an equal opportunity event – anyone is as likely to get it as anyone else. Don’t be a racist or an asshole or a racist asshole and make negative assumptions about people. This is good advice in general. But, in particular, Chinese food, Corona beer, Chinese people, and immigrants of any stripe have nothing to do with whether or not you are going to get sick. So chill and show some humanity and compassion.
  5. Speaking of racism, take a minute to consider how devastating this virus could be – WILL BE – in places without strong medical facilities and protocols.
  6. Speaking of racism two – there is a massive locust swarm happening across parts of Asia and Africa right now. Thousands (possibly millions) of people WILL die from starvation as a result of this, and ever more will emigrate toward Europe in an attempt to save themselves. Have you read anything at all about it? Because a ton of human beings are dying already and it ain’t from the coronavirus.  Locust Swarms Put Millions at Risk Across Asia and Africa; Hundreds of Billions of Locusts Swarm Across East Africa
  7. There are great lessons we can learn from this – for starters, we are all living creatures, human beings of all colors and types, and we are all a little anxious and concerned about ourselves and our loved ones. Compassion, kindness, and caring for and about something bigger than ourselves are values we should espouse ALL THE TIME, not just in times of crisis; but now is a great time to up the ante.
  8. Words matter and so does your mindset. For example, use the word distancing instead of isolating; I kept saying I was isolated and it made me want to buy a puppy; distancing is less weighty.
  9. All of us are in this together, and many are uncomfortable about the situation. Hold that worry, concern, fear, sadness in the light and honor it.
  10. Maybe try just half a cupcake instead of eating the whole thing when you feel the need for comfort. I’m not going to tell you that I ain’t been panic eating. Sugar is still bad for you, but I am not going to judge.
  11. Consider the greater impacts of your actions – this is a good idea in general, but specifically now. It’s not all about you, nor should it be.
  12. For now. For now is a great phrase. Because difficult things are easier to bear when there is a perceived finiteness to them. For now gives the sense that things are temporary. And, it’s true, we will learn more about COVID-19 and eventually this crisis will be in the past. We need to take it seriously NOW, for now, and we need to show compassion and urgency to get there without too many lost lives along the way.
  13. If you or your kid is sick, own it. Don’t pretend that Motrin or Tylenol masking the symptoms is a reasonable choice for carrying on with your day. Sending sick kids to school or going to work sick isn’t a good idea under normal circumstances. It is a very bad idea right now. I get that work beckons, but, damn, that’s just wrong on so many levels.
  14. Don’t buy a puppy or any other living creature on a whim. Also good advice beyond a pandemic.
  15. Seriously, wash your hands.

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