Life In the Time of COVID19
It’s approaching seven o’clock. In a few minutes, the quiet of my living room will be interrupted by the sounds of people clapping and hooting and maybe even banging on pots and pans. On some nights, the sound is a bit anemic, the call of a few dying quickly in an uncharacteristically silent city. On others, it’s more vigorous and the sound carries for longer. Sometimes the people of a neighboring building bring a boom box out onto their roof. I’m a little jealous of that roof, it has a hammock and small garden.
I’ve heard varied responses to this evening ritual being performed across the country. Say the Proponents: “It’s important to show our support for frontline workers even in this small way!” The Opposition responds: “This action makes it socially acceptable to martyr essential workers!”
For me, all nuance on the matter has been abandoned. The 7:00pm noise-making has simply become a reminder that there are people out there. And I like that. Especially as my own existence has been reduced entirely to the two-bedroom apartment I share with one other human and a cat.
I first got Covid over a month ago. Though I was lucky enough to escape the ventilators, I still ended up being hospitalized and needing oxygen. Weeks later, I’m still dealing with the ramifications of contracting the virus and having severe asthma as a chronic condition.
To cope with the current situation, some people mask up and go for walks. They traverse their neighborhoods like some kind of bizarre video game characters where everyone else is the Bad Guy, dodging and weaving to avoid them. Others are less vigilant, and insist on endangering themselves and others by refusing to take this pandemic seriously. I don’t get to be either of these people, I just watch from the window. The most I’ve seen of other people for the last two months has been the sliver of faces between mask and hairnet of hospital workers whenever they entered my infected room. I strained to have conversations with them as their voices were muffled by layers of protective gear, and judge their expressions by eyes hidden behind plastic visors. Communication made all the more difficult by my inability to speak more than a syllable before being out of breath.
I’ve been hospitalized many times before, and for longer, and sometimes in worse condition. But something was harder this last time, and it took me a while to figure out what it was. At one point, I spoke with one of the PCAs, who told me how she had been scared for weeks because her daughter has a chronic illness and she’s been terrified of bringing the virus home to her. Thinking about that, I realized part of what made this particular hospital visit so hard was guilt. Because I was sick, I was guilty of endangering others. This may sound irrational, and it is. This may sound self-centered, and it is. But alas, I who prefer to operate as though I feel nothing was feeling something after all, and it was guilt.
I think I am not alone in this. People everywhere are feeling guilty for a myriad of reasons. For not sewing their own masks. For not volunteering with mutual aid organizations. For not calling their parents or grandparents. For using up flour. For having a job when so many don’t. For not being sick when loved ones are fighting for their lives. For being sick when others are trying so hard to stay healthy.
The truth is, guilt is a bit of a self-absorbed thing. It’s not particularly motivating. It’s a thing you feel when you’re not likely or able to change anything about the current situation. But here’s the thing - nothing is about to change in the current situation. It’s out of our control. So let me challenge those who feel guilty right now to shift that a bit. If permission is needed by someone to focus inwards for now, let me grant it - but let go of feeling guilty. Things are what they are.
There are so many great efforts continuing safely behind screens or wrapped up in masks and gloves right now. There is a constant call for volunteers and for donations that can feel overwhelming and maybe even insensitive if you’re not in a position to give any time or money at the moment. These efforts will still be there when those of us who have been deeply impacted by the pandemic feel ready to take part again. For now, I want to encourage the guilty to set aside any shame and do what you need to do.
It’s seven o’clock. The fancy roof people have brought out their boom box again. If you have the breath, yelling out the window can be quite cathartic. It doesn’t have to be for the prescribed reason, but if you do it now, no one will look at you funny. You might just need to feel part of something, however briefly. Let this silent and strange world know you’re here.
