Staying Home: Part Deux

My roommate brought home fresh croissants and other assorted pastries from a bakery here in town this morning, and as the taste of chocolate lingers on my tongue and the last little bits of butter are wiped from my fingers, I find myself reflecting on this past week; the things I saw, the things I heard, the things I experienced, the way I feel. So many feels.

The first feel is fear. I'm afraid of this virus. I'm fearful for my friends, my family, my coworkers, my community. I worry about the people who aren't social distancing, potentially spreading the virus and dragging this whole pandemic out. I worry about the small businesses in town, who have been either shuttered or relying solely on takeout since this all started. How does a restaurant even plan for something like this? How do they know what to order? Most of the places that I've gotten takeout from are still offering their full menu, rather than a reduced menu of crowd favorites, which is what I had assumed would happen. Flagstaff is a town that thrives not only on the support of locals, but on a pretty robust tourist industry, which today is a thing of the recent past. It's weird to drive into work without traffic. And yes, we do have our own weird traffic pattern here, where sitting for 5 minutes infuriates me to the point that I wonder how I ever lived anywhere with actual traffic. My commute to work used to take me anywhere from 15 minutes to a half hour, depending on traffic. Since the Stay at Home order my commutes are consistently under 15 minutes every time, even while taking into account a few random construction zones. It's unsettling driving through town, seeing businesses closed, parking lots empty, outdoor patios deserted, no people out and about downtown.

The second feel is longing. I miss hugs. I miss getting together with my friends. I miss feeling safe and secure in my interactions with strangers, giving them a wide berth if not avoiding them all together. I miss happy hours and coffee dates, yoga classes and walks in the woods with friends and their dogs. I miss going out for bleary post-night-shift drinks and/or breakfast with my coworkers. I miss being able to pop into a store to grab all manner of non-essentials, wasting time window shopping, browsing, touching all the fabrics and drooling over the bikes. All the interactions that I took for granted have left a void of weird loneliness behind. I think what makes it different, and less lonely than previous bouts of loneliness, is that I know that everyone else is going through this too. I'm less alone in this situation than I'll probably ever be in any situation from here on out, yet here I sit alone.

The third feel is trepidation. Where do we go from here? How bad is this going to get? How many people are going to die? First-hand accounts and things I've heard from peers are terrifying. I'm completely convinced that the death toll and total infected from this virus are completely under-reported. Mortuaries are full of bodies, buildings are being repurposed to make space for more patients, patients are doubling up on life-support equipment. The hospitals are running short on personal protective equipment (PPE) for their healthcare workers. Some hospitals are already out and are reusing everything that they can, putting their staff at risk of contracting the virus and the illness that goes along with it. Hearing reports that around 88% of patients who end up on a ventilator will die. Knowing that these patients are dying alone because hospitals have banned visitors for the vast majority of patients, and the rest of the patients who get visitors are greatly restricted. I heard that Colorado has started specifically selecting patients with severe pre-existing conditions from being eligible for the ventilator at all, choosing instead to save their ventilators for patients who might have a better chance of recovery. Who will enact measures like that next? As healthcare providers, we are trained to try to save everyone, and if we can't save everyone, at least try to keep them comfortable and give them a good death. The virus has turned all of that upside down. A death on a ventilator is not a good death. A death gasping for air is not a good death. A death alone is not a good death for those who are left behind. The fact of the matter is, and I have to keep reminding myself of this, is that not everyone dies. Actually, there are more people who are recovering than there are dying, but it's hard to keep that in perspective when all you hear about on the news is how many have died. The recovered patients are also greatly under-reported; due to inadequate testing, there's probably a large portion of the population who has been either exposed or infected by this virus, and have recovered at home and will never make it into the count. I need to focus on the recovery numbers, give myself some hope.

The fourth feel is hope. Despite everything, there is still this little seed of hope growing within me, knowing that we're going to be okay. That as human beings, we'll get through this and hopefully we'll be better because of it. I hope that we learn to appreciate our interactions with others, that we don't take friends, family, coworkers, and friendly strangers for granted. I hope that we continue to help, to protect, to interact, to support each other long after this virus has faded into obscurity. I hope this virus does, in fact, fade into obscurity, and that this is just one more thing that we as the human race can tell tales about someday.

The fifth feel is gratitude. The outpouring of support that I personally have felt during all this has been amazing. Friends I haven't heard from in years are checking in with me, asking how I'm doing and making sure that I'm okay. I've FaceTimed more in the past few weeks that I have in my entire life previously (if you haven't gotten a call yet, please know that I'm getting there...this type of interaction is both foreign and exhausting!). Last night at work members from one of the local vision offices in town brought food for all of us, and this has been happening frequently by local businesses in the past few weeks. I can't thank them enough for thinking of us, providing for us, taking time out of their days and money out of their pockets to let us know that they appreciate us being there, ready to take care of whomever comes through the doors of our hospital.

I guess that's it for now. I've been keeping myself busy by reading books, going for walks, playing with the dogs, napping, eating (for real though, when people joke about "gaining the COVID 19", it's like the fear of the Freshman 15 at college all over again, but this time my metabolism is definitely not up to the task, and my will power has wandered away, never to return...I'm doomed). In the week ahead I'm hoping to try out a new recipe or two; so many of my favorite food bloggers are posting recipes using mostly pantry staples, and I'm intrigued by this. I also happen to have a pretty stocked pantry, so we'll see what I come up with. I'm also planning to reupholster the headliner to the camper van with some fun fabric I got at IKEA, and hopefully start filling some of the bracings with isolation. Simon has the subfloor almost completely done, and the wiring is all hooked up and ready to go. Next we'll put in the laminate flooring and then start insulating the sides and putting up the walls. Things are happening! Admittedly slower than we would like, but at the moment we've got no where else to be, so taking our time isn't that much of an inconvenience these days.

Be well my friends. And wash your hands. :)