Covid-19 Diary - The first week and change

I stood looking up at the departure boards in Dallas Fort Worth and I really thought about getting on a plane to Dayton or New Orleans. Something was causing the hair on the back of my neck. I went to the posh lounge and ate. I watched the Super Tuesday results coming and listened to the CoVid update and I thought 'Huh. Well isn't this some shit? I mean...'

I drove  back to Colchester;  after 3 hours in traffic, I stopped off to have tea with a friend in Braintree and to try and catch up on work emails before I got home.  That all seems seems laughable, now. I mean...talk about every shifting priorities but my mom-bladder still takes precedence.

I went back to to work the following week.  My boss got sent home on the Thursday; lots of time spent in hospitals with ailing family and her age make her a risk.  Back to work on Monday afternoon and by 6:30pm all non-essential personnel were ordered to work from home. And I debated...stay overnight or go home?  My head of department was firm. 'Get home. London won't shut down quickly enough. This is going to get bad.'

Piccadilly Circus was eerily empty that Monday, maybe 30 people out.  The buses were empty. I stood outside, waiting for my dad to call me back; they were meeting with my brother's lawyer. My (who had contracted necrotising fascitis; don't. I know...😂🤦🏼‍♀️). Of course, he was released on his own recognisance after being arraigned. And now the courts are closed, so welcome to a new kind of pergatory.  I looked up at the dark sky after the phone call, then got on the Tube to a deeply subdued Wood Green. 

 The third official day of our self-isolation, there is a panicked phone call from my brother because they tossed his partner out of the hospital because she was hysterical and in pain.  It turns she had an abscess on her spine, possibly a second. You want to talk about not being able to catch a break? This poor woman...this poor woman. She's currently paralysed, after having emergency spinal surgery.

By Thursday, I was debating whether to drive back into London and liberate the paper products and dry foodstuffs and sundries at the London flat I look after  I did not do this.  Friday, the kids were sent home with home-schooling packets.  The kids were in school, which were set to close Friday.

On that Saturday evening, Ex  and I were having a pragmatic conversation about whether HE could go back to London.  Intially, I said yes. I went out to visit my Uncle. His God-daughter is in Infectious Disease and was supposed to be coming out for a visit.  Needless to say, that didn't happen.  

 Sunday morning, I woke up to hear that 19 more people were dead, that if people came into London, they should self quarantine for 14 days.   I ran this by friends in Infectious Disease and the verdict was the same: 'Tim is an idiot. And you need to change the locks. Dude needs to stay in London or sit on his own for 2 weeks.' This was sadly what my gut was telling me. 

I took an emotional inventory. I consulted people I trust who have worked on other pandemics.  There was consenus among the internal board of directors. So I booked a locksmith and I told him 'I get that you want to go, but seriously...you have to self-isolate afterwards, and not just a little bit. I have an autoimmune condition, we have two people with cancer, one person with MS, and two preggos....you're not just putting us at risk'.  

You can imagine how that went.  He exploded, I exploded back.  In the end, he didn't go.  Of course, he will, maybe not right now, but soon. He'll sneak up one day and think he can get back without anyone knowing. 

Thank the stars he's insured. But does the insurance cover violating a government order? Who knows. Who knows. I hope I don't have to find out.

Eventually,  I tell him, eventually I know he is going to sneak up and if he did, he needed to the Client's and bring back all of the dry goods and sundries And stay away for a few days, just to be safe. But a commune/compound on that 38 acres in the 'Sip is sounding better and better. Hell, let's just go back to Las Caletas, I write to a dear friend.  I start thinking about other avenues I could take, about how I have secretly always thought about being a vet.

One of my mother's closet friends mom's died Saturday night (pancreatic and liver cancer).  My great uncle died on Saturday (diabetes and pneumonia). My friend Richard died on Saturday (potentially from CoVid-19; won't know until the autopsy).  My grandmother is fading and is ready to meet Jesus.  The realisation that people are going to die and I can DO anything about it or for them is...painful.  All I can think is 'There is literally NOTHING I can do. I can't get on a plane, I can't feed them or do their laundry...I can only be here.' That last part will become a mantra, when I strip away all of my masks, past my bone and musclature to become just ash...and finally just air.

Day 4 of Home Schooling begins at  0527.

'Mom...Mooooooom!'

'Go back to sleep.'  3 minutes later, a nudge in my ribs.

'Mooooooom. I went back to sleep!' thump....patterpatter.  'I need Ghostbusters and popcorn now!'

'It is 5:30am, dude.'

'I know! Isn't it great?!'

I manage the week, but by Friday I feel like I M barely keeping it together.  The streets are rolled up save groceries and pharmacies.  Things are...quiet and unnerving.

I venture out to pick up a prescription. I gave up, making deliveries instead.  I drove with a sense of purpose but no timeline. There was no rush, little traffic. The farmers are planting. The sun shines and the wind rustles through the trees. I roll the windows down. I take the long way home.

Deear occasionally skitters across the edge of vision I mean...I feel prepared but I am scared. I feel like I am  8 again, and it is just after Operation El Dorado Canyon, when we had the guards at the entrance to our civilian housing area in Bad Windsheim.  The hair on the back of my neck periodically stands up without provocation.  And I realise just how little I actually miss people I see daily in Colchester and how much I do miss the people I miss.  And I am tired. I think about all of the hospitals and the waiting, the suppressed immune systems I have had to navigate my way around in life and I'm just wrung out. 

People will share their work . LaVar Burton will read to us, people will compile lists of grants and resources for artists and creators to share. 

People will continue to hoard. I shivered with delight when I found a bag of self-rising flour today.

 At my dad's encouragement, I bought a camp stove and extra fuel. I also topped up my little gas tin with gasoline.  I tried not to panic buy but I have picked up some house plants.  Being American, I already buy certain things in bulk. When I am very homesick, I go to Costco and I sit in the makeshift lunch area and pretend I am.on Ohio, or Mississippi, or Louisiana where people may not understand me but they love me. 

Saturday afternoon the children and I started on a mural.  I took a photo and the neighbors' windows are reflections forming their own frames. That or the house ghosts joinging in. If the latter, I hope they stay.  I love their perspectives and they have welcomed us here, they have kept and continue to keep us safe.  This house...

For years I have wavered between being a night owl and a morning person. In a perfect world, I do both. I love live music too much to not want to stay up and shake my tuchus but I also love the quiet hours, before the day begins.  I sleep just on the cusp now,  just in case. But of course, I've been sleeping there a long while now. It had begun to feel like home.