Day 2: All Connections Are Intimate
I need to start keeping track of what's going on for my own sanity. I want to be able to look back and say that things really were going that fast - to say, I hope, that we seem to have worried for nothing. To remember the good in all of this.
I also need way more therapy than I can afford (though I'm still getting therapy, trust me), and so I write.
I'm labeling the days in accordance with my workplace shutdown. Day 1 (Monday) was my first day working from home to prevent the spread of COVID-19. I'm happy to overreact so that others will survive, so they don't have to worry about whether a ventilator will be free if needed. I'm also still recovering, three and a half weeks later, from influenza A and am not eager to be that sick again.
Less than two weeks after my trip to Korea (by the way, I went to Korea!), I got sick. After a little prompting, I requested COVID-19 testing and was told that CDC guidelines wouldn't allow my doctor's office to do so, but maaaaybe possibly they would at the hospital so why don't you go find out (spoiler: I did not do so). I ended up testing positive for the flu after that appointment.
A week later, I was clearly recovering but still had a nasty cough. I went to the doctor again and, after waiting half an hour for a blood draw, was told to proceed immediately to the hospital for testing (do not pass go; do not collect $200). I spent the rest of the day being stabbed, swiped, scanned, and stripped and was told in no uncertain terms to go home and keep my ass there. Less than a day later, I got the all clear. Congrats, it's a cough.
I shared this with family, friends, and immediate coworkers who were concerned, both for my health and their own. After a series of events and some Feelings on my part, I emailed all my coworkers to let them know they were safe (at least from me). Looking back, I'm glad to have done so.
Personal health is only personal so long as it doesn't affect others, and we have entered a different age. In this age, we are forcibly divided and isolated due to something invisible to the eye that we cannot yet control, but this division is because of our connection. We matter to each other in the most minute of ways, linked by our fallible bodies and curious pathogens not yet considered living. We see now the importance of that one friendly face in the hall with a kind word, the neighbor we would usually drop in on, the barista who knows your favorite drink. Our intimate connections are clear, yes, but now we realize: Are there any connections other than the intimate?
I am privileged. We have defined ourselves as a two-family household, divided among two homes. Our neighbors share in our work and help ease the burden. Our kids play under supervision while the rest of us sit at keyboards, frantically trying to pretend none of this is happening. There are germs here, but our health is generally good. We have food; we have utilities and the ability to pay them; we have internet to connect us to the disasters and glories at large.
I'd kept myself firmly in crisis mode until today, managing what needed managed and kissing owies and being calm. With bars, restaurants, and schools closing indefinitely in the state, it all finally hit me. April 20 as a reexamination date for schools was tangible, comforting; indefinitely is looming, formless, spoken aloud at last and hovering just beyond the fog ahead. I broke down the way I did on September 11 when the second plane hit, when I realized that everything was going to change and the world I knew was quaking seismically under my feet. Somehow indefinitely made it all real.
And then Europe closed.
The first two days were fine. The kids played elastically, like kids do; they learned from each other and from nature and from us. I've somehow done my work but haven't taken the time to feel. And I have to make space for that from here on. My feelings are directly connected to my ability to handle all of this.
In closing: Wash your hands, take care of yourself, and don't be a jerk.
I also need way more therapy than I can afford (though I'm still getting therapy, trust me), and so I write.
I'm labeling the days in accordance with my workplace shutdown. Day 1 (Monday) was my first day working from home to prevent the spread of COVID-19. I'm happy to overreact so that others will survive, so they don't have to worry about whether a ventilator will be free if needed. I'm also still recovering, three and a half weeks later, from influenza A and am not eager to be that sick again.
Less than two weeks after my trip to Korea (by the way, I went to Korea!), I got sick. After a little prompting, I requested COVID-19 testing and was told that CDC guidelines wouldn't allow my doctor's office to do so, but maaaaybe possibly they would at the hospital so why don't you go find out (spoiler: I did not do so). I ended up testing positive for the flu after that appointment.
A week later, I was clearly recovering but still had a nasty cough. I went to the doctor again and, after waiting half an hour for a blood draw, was told to proceed immediately to the hospital for testing (do not pass go; do not collect $200). I spent the rest of the day being stabbed, swiped, scanned, and stripped and was told in no uncertain terms to go home and keep my ass there. Less than a day later, I got the all clear. Congrats, it's a cough.
I shared this with family, friends, and immediate coworkers who were concerned, both for my health and their own. After a series of events and some Feelings on my part, I emailed all my coworkers to let them know they were safe (at least from me). Looking back, I'm glad to have done so.
Personal health is only personal so long as it doesn't affect others, and we have entered a different age. In this age, we are forcibly divided and isolated due to something invisible to the eye that we cannot yet control, but this division is because of our connection. We matter to each other in the most minute of ways, linked by our fallible bodies and curious pathogens not yet considered living. We see now the importance of that one friendly face in the hall with a kind word, the neighbor we would usually drop in on, the barista who knows your favorite drink. Our intimate connections are clear, yes, but now we realize: Are there any connections other than the intimate?
I am privileged. We have defined ourselves as a two-family household, divided among two homes. Our neighbors share in our work and help ease the burden. Our kids play under supervision while the rest of us sit at keyboards, frantically trying to pretend none of this is happening. There are germs here, but our health is generally good. We have food; we have utilities and the ability to pay them; we have internet to connect us to the disasters and glories at large.
I'd kept myself firmly in crisis mode until today, managing what needed managed and kissing owies and being calm. With bars, restaurants, and schools closing indefinitely in the state, it all finally hit me. April 20 as a reexamination date for schools was tangible, comforting; indefinitely is looming, formless, spoken aloud at last and hovering just beyond the fog ahead. I broke down the way I did on September 11 when the second plane hit, when I realized that everything was going to change and the world I knew was quaking seismically under my feet. Somehow indefinitely made it all real.
And then Europe closed.
The first two days were fine. The kids played elastically, like kids do; they learned from each other and from nature and from us. I've somehow done my work but haven't taken the time to feel. And I have to make space for that from here on. My feelings are directly connected to my ability to handle all of this.
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| "The greatest illusion of this world is the illusion of separation. Things you think are separate and different are actually one and the same. We are all one people, but live as if divided." - Guru Pathik, Avatar: The Last Airbender |
In closing: Wash your hands, take care of yourself, and don't be a jerk.
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