Recovering from myocarditis, I’ve basically been in self-isolation since January. So you’d think the advice that our public health officials have given, that those of us with pre-existing conditions and the elderly, should now self-isolate for an unknown number of weeks in order to avoid contracting the coronavirus, COVID-19, would not cause a great change to my life.
You could think this, but you’d be wrong.
Somehow, the idea that it’s dangerous for me to leave my home, even to run errands, and that it is dangerous for friends and family to come visit me, feels terrifyingly lonely and scary. I didn’t realize how important my small trips to pick up bread and milk meant to me, or how much this introvert needed the companionship of other people – the physical presence of another person, not just a smiling loved one on FaceTime. While I’ve been regimented in my stay-at-home routine since January – getting up, getting dressed and putting on makeup, eating regular meals, keeping the house clean and keeping myself busy (sometime too busy) – over the past few days, that’s gone out the window. I haven’t changed out of my pyjamas or brushed my hair or teeth, let alone put on makeup. I’ve laid in bed until 4 in the morning scouring Twitter for the latest news and worrying myself sick for myself and my family. Meals have been replaced by Mini Wheats (deliciously sodium free!) and milk.
I’m not sure what’s brought on this sense of helplessness, when I’d made such miraculous peace with the uncertain future that myocarditis had presented me with. Isn’t this just more of the same uncertainty? Why can’t I face it with the same optimism?!
I think partly it’s because that optimism has counted on the fact that the world would be waiting for my return when I recovered, and it seems that the world I am eventually able to return to may look very different. It was easy enough to think positively for myself and at the same time to accept the uncertainty. I could carry the weight of what happened if things didn’t turn out happily, because it was only my burden to carry. Suddenly I’ve added concern for my diabetic father, my immunocompromised mother, my wee nephews, my schoolteacher brother, and my sister-in-law who has been chronically ill with strep throat and bronchitis for the better part of a year, to that load of worry, not to mention the fear over what this virus and its aftermath will do to the economy, our community, and my friends and family, and I’m buckling under the weight of it.
The threat of this virus, and of the wave of sickness that experts believe is about to crest, feels terribly ominous. It feels like there is so little we can do to stop it. Yes, I wash my hands, I don’t touch my face, I wear a mask when I go out, and I’ve been doing these things for weeks. But somehow, this past Thursday afternoon, when I returned home from my last scheduled appointment for months, and shut the front door, I felt like I was sealing myself in, going into hiding indefinitely, and that feels stifling, terrifying and maddening, rather than feeling like shelter, or solace, or safety.
I speak almost every day to a group of friends from around the world. My friend in Denmark told us yesterday that the borders were going to be sealed there, and she is busy helping people in need get groceries and medicine before the worst hits. An Austrian friend who, along with her husband, teaches at a school in Bosnia and Herzegovina, is preparing to leave for Vienna with their young daughter while her husband stays behind to evacuate students. They are both aware that when more borders eventually close, he may not be able to get to Vienna. She is pregnant, which makes this even more stressful and sad. A friend in Qatar told us that everything is slowly shutting down and called it a “surreal nightmare.” We haven’t heard at all from our friend in South Africa. Here at home, I have friends being tested for the virus, and friends in self-isolation because they’ve potentially been exposed.
It’s hard to believe right now that everything is going to be OK.
I would love to be able to help people during this time. To offer to shop for neighbours, or vulnerable people in my community. I think if I could think about someone other than myself, I might be able to function better. Instead I am one of those vulnerable. Instead I am focusing my time on cleaning my house as much as I am able (which is not a lot) because my cleaner can’t visit. I’m attempting “big” tasks I normally can’t do without assistance, like changing the sheets on my bed and vacuuming, tasks which require me to sit down and rest, and sometimes nap, afterwards. I’m trying to be self-sufficient when I’m really not. I’m not at a place yet where I can start looking for ways to help others through this crisis, even ways that I can assist people online, but I’m hoping to be able to rest up enough to do this soon.
So, I’m counting on those of you who can, to be that help to others that I can’t be right now. Meals on Wheels needs drivers, because most of their current drivers are elderly folks themselves who are scared to go out. Visit local businesses that desperately need our patronage in order to survive. Knock on your neighbours’ doors and ask if there is anything they need. Please help make this a moment where we come together rather than descending into chaotic selfishness. Please give this lonely shut-in some good news to look at rather than the endless disasters being chronicled on Twitter.
When my mother was living with me and taking care of me in January, she wrote a list for me called my “morning routine.” It read:
1. Take medications.
2. Start microwave for hot cereal.
3. Get dressed. Do makeup and hair.
4. Eat cereal, toast and yogurt.
The final item read, “Go live, love…”
Wishing that you all continue to live and love in the best of health, and that we can rise above this stronger and more united than ever.
