Quarantine
I’ve enjoyed reading Conflict and Scotch for a while now so when Al and his sister-in-law Terry asked if I would be a guest blogger, I envisioned writing something snarky about my ex. It seemed a perfect outlet and as Anne Lamont says, “If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” Instead, a couple days of social distancing have reminded me of earlier lessons in feelings of isolation and a sense of community.
Back in June 2012 I left a faith community I’d been a part of for almost 20 years. A couple months later I lost my job. Just before Christmas I began a new job in two school libraries. Three months later my thyroid had a historically epic freak out. No really, it’s sitting in a bio sample repository because it was only the third in a century to be as freaky as it was. I like to think it would have been located next to Abby Normal’s brain and Marty Feldman would have settled for it so it could wind up in Young Frankenstein’s monster because that would have made the movie even better based on the insanity it put me through, but I digress… Among the multiple diagnoses, the most significant was thyroid cancer. It was a super swell time of total social and emotional upheaval.
Because I was so new to my job, I only told my principals and a couple of people I trusted to keep things to themselves when they found me having a meltdown during a free period. I spent the next couple of months doing my job as best I could and trying to stay healthy in terms of not catching colds and such. Avoiding pathogens in two elementary schools is nearly impossible. Little kids have no sense of hygiene with sneezes and coughs. They also don’t wash their hands well. I saw 1,500 kids every eight days. I handled over 2,200 books from their grubby paws in the same time frame. I’ve seen what kids do to books. I’ve tied wet shoelaces on kids when there was no rain but they’ve just come back from the bathroom. I’ve taken countless wet sneezes and coughs direct to the face. I’ve had custodians try to hand me books they wiped vomit from, “It’s only the edges of the pages that are wet.” No! Absolutely not! Read me the barcode number so I can delete it and then THROW IT AWAY! All this to say, I not only washed my hands well after using the bathroom, but also BEFORE using it. I wish that were a joke.
In light of the Petri dish that was my job and my need to be well enough to not have surgery delayed I took the last weeks of the school year off so I could avoid the cavorting little beasties the school age beasties were spewing at me. After surgery I had to be treated with radioactive iodine to kill whatever remaining cells might try to kill me instead. I met with a nuclear safety officer who went into great detail about how I’d have to be quarantined. I had to sleep, eat, bathe, use the toilet, launder, and wash my dishware and utensils separately. I could not touch anyone. I had to stay six feet away from them. I was advised not to eat from paper plates because even the trash might be so radioactive as to set off the Geiger counters on garbage trucks which would then refuse to pick up my trash.
After signing papers stating I understood that I would be a hazard I was told to go take my radioactive pill then immediately exit the building. I went into the clinic and was greeted by a woman in special gowns and gloves. She extended a pill cup to me. I reached out to take the pill in my hands and she shouted, “NO! Just take the cup and swallow it! Don’t touch it with your fingers!” Don’t touch it, just swallow it. Right. That feels so reassuring. I obeyed with no small amount of trepidation. She backed away from me like I was the Chernobyl reactor itself as soon as I swallowed. She told me to leave and reminded me that if I puked within the next two hours, I was to call the hospital’s hazmat team to come clean it up. Again, I wish that were a joke.
Thus, began my quarantine because I was literally a danger to humanity. You should know that I am a hugger and a cuddler by nature. On a good day I want frequent hugs just to stay sane. On a day when I am feeling great existential anxiety, I demand them and wither pathetically without them. If facing cancer doesn’t make you fear for your continued existence you have greater mental fortitude than I do. I was scared AND I was told no human contact, period. It felt cosmically cruel.
Given that I had also had recent drastic shifts both voluntary and involuntary in my sense of community I was also feeling anxious about whether or not I still had a circle of support. An experience like this shows you who is in your corner no matter what and who isn’t. I was sometimes surprised by who fell into each category. As I prepared for quarantine, I took all the cards I had received for surgery and taped them on the closet door in my bedroom where I’d be sequestered. In so doing I found there was a unique and disparate group of people who had shown up for me. There were a few friends from the faith community I had left. There were friends I had made online. Some I had met in person, others I had not. There were new coworkers I had only recently met. There were friends from around the globe. There was one dear woman, a Hindu monk from the yoga studio where I took classes, who was barely an acquaintance. When she found out I was ill she asked if there was anything, she could do for me. She caught me in a vulnerable moment, and I sobbed about how upset I was at the prospect of quarantine. She asked if I was willing to share my cell number and email so she could stay in touch with me during that period of time. I was touched by her offer and even more so by her daily check-ins on me to see how I was doing and to offer encouraging words. I still say the kindness I received from her and others was as healing as the medicine. When I emerged to full social participation it meant the world to be able to touch people again. I savored every hug and cuddle.
Now, here we are in March 2020. My separation was six months ago. I’ve spent the winter sorting through a house full of my ex’s crap so we can put the house on the market. I’ve had to give up work I love and find a job with more predictable income. Because history dictates that major upheaval in the shape of my life must be paired with the threat of major illness, (Isn’t that like drinking Ripple with a cold street hotdog that’s been floating in tepid water for days? There is some lazy ass cosmic sommelier out there.) we are now to engage in social distancing to prevent spreading COVID-19, and if any of us fall sick we will be in full quarantine.
Memes about the lack of hand sanitizer and toilet paper in stores are ubiquitous. Some people think it is so much hype. Others act like it’s a party. There’s palpable anxiety. Make no mistake, this social distancing is important to slow the rate of transmission, so our health care system isn’t overwhelmed by the exponential spread rate. The social distancing will begin to wear thin. As the virus spreads so will fear, anger, and tension. (Are you feeling like I’ve donned a hazmat suit and told you to swallow, but not touch, a radioactive horse pill?). Be smart. Do the right thing. Stay physically distant. It keeps you and others safer. Don’t let fear send you into panic. Stay kind. Check on the people around you who may be more vulnerable emotionally or physically than you. We can do this, but we all have to do our part.
I can attest to this too...when the danger has passed, the hugs and closeness will be that much sweeter to savor, especially when they are with the people you took care of and who took care of you in the hardest moments.
