Thursday, 3/12/2020 — Ambivalence
Just one week ago, I flew from San Francisco airport to Seattle airport, then on to Wenatchee, WA, where my daughter and two grandchildren live. I’d waffled for days, “Should I go? What is the risk? If I don’t go now would future trips be blocked? Am I being socially irresponsible? Will the plane be a stuffed germ bomb? Will Seattle airport be crowded with infected people?” I called friends for their opinions and read many articles. I went. Here’s what happened.
Unlike usual, there was no security line in San Francisco airport. Terminal 2 was eerily deserted. At my favorite breakfast spot, the normally busy chef stood waiting for my order, commenting, “Our working hours are being cut back.” On the airplane I had a full row to myself. At Seattle airport their seemed to be more flight attendants and pilots than passengers. The puddle hopper to Wenatchee was ¾ empty. This day the stock market dropped over 9%.
At age 80, I’m in the high-risk group. Upon arrival that very afternoon, my 10-year-old granddaughter began a slight cough and said she wasn’t feeling well. By then the word was spreading about school closings. I’d already been notified of the same at schools in my county; that my fellow volunteers, along with any non-full-time staff and parents, could no longer visit the Marin schools. By Saturday, Bay Area schools were shutting down.
Friday, 3/13/2020 — Danger
The next day, my granddaughter visited the local hospital clinic. They checked her out, concluding it was probably not coronavirus, but that she should self-isolate for two weeks. No hugs, no touching, keep a 5-6 foot social distance, wash your hands regularly, don’t touch your face, cover any sneeze or cough, wipe down any touched surfaces, etc. I discover how hard it is to do that. It’s almost impossible when you’re 10. We are doing our best. Hope it’s enough.
Monday, 3/16/2020 — Uncertainty
After the usual wonderful long weekend visit, we said our goodbyes, with no idea when we’d see each other next. I usually visit every six weeks, but we agreed it will probably be months before we physically hug again. The return flights were even more empty.
(I don’t pity the airlines. After years of raking in tens of billions of dollars profit and using that for stock buybacks to line the pockets of executives, while treating we passengers to high fares and endless new fees, you know they’ll now play, “Poor Me”, ask for federal bailouts, and probably get them. Our mercantile democracy will once again do its thing.)
At 5 PM, peak rush-hour was a breeze. The airporter bus I take home had no traffic delays. I wondered, “Where is everybody?” Of course, by then, for the seven Bay Area counties, shelter-in-place was underway.
Tuesday, 3/17/2020 — Death Star Arrives
Once back, I venture out to do some preparatory chores. First stop, stock up with food at Trader Joe’s, where I feel sorry for the checkout clerks who are endlessly exposed to potential infection. Groceries into the trunk, sanitized my hands, drive home, and start feeling a little down. The worst-case scenario is: I’ve contracted coronavirus, it shows up in two weeks when the hospital critical care system is overloaded, I’m told to go home and call hospice. This prospect calls to mind a quote I live by, “It’s not what walks in life’s door, it’s what you do with it.” And then I realize, if the worst-case plays out, I’m OK. I’ve accepted that death will come when it will come. Has it now arrived?
That evening I watch an intubation video. The information helps a little. I talk with a friend who works half time from home. I’m feeling antsy, frustrated. Later I even sense jealousy.
Wednesday, 3/18/2020 — New Reality
I suddenly realize what’s behind my emotions. My volunteering and social life have disappeared. I’m no longer needed, no longer socially useful, no longer contributing. Wow! Understanding this brings a sudden relief, a strange elation. Now I know the problem, I can work on it. That evening, during a 4-mile walk along the creek — where there are more people out walking than I’ve seen before in the eight years I’ve lived here — I plan my new volunteering and how I will continue to contribute. I have seen the future, and it’s online.
Thursday, 3/19/2020 — Hope
Now, one week from my trip, an email from the Alzheimer’s Association asks me would I like to restart my support group, “by phone, or online?” I feel reconnected, and reply, “I sorely miss being useful, so any help I can provide will be appreciated by me. I’m open to any group format you devise. Thanks again, Barry”
I’m blessed not facing the terror of no job, no income, no rent money, no . . . . . While my net worth was slashed by the stock market collapse, my head’s still above water. It’s strange but exciting watching my adopted country’s response to this tiny, cunning, half-life. There’s still a good chance that I’ll get the virus. But if we all follow the protocols, the infection will be delayed, the health system will not be overloaded, I won’t be triaged into hospice, I’ll get the care I need. With luck, I’ll recover and by 2021 there will be a vaccine for SARS-CoV-2.
Shelter-In-Place now feels like an opportunity to slow down, think about what’s important, and smell the roses. The next few months could be thrilling. Will our nation rise to the occasion? We all hope so.
Be well. Stay in touch
me, Barry Phegan
