COVID-19: Day 26 — Stuck in the middle with you.
My darling pickle and Boo,
It’s been close to a month now of adjusting to our strange new world. We’ve been told that we are near the peak of this thing, that within the next two weeks we should start to see the effect of this lockdown as infection rates will apparently slow down. But if there’s one thing that’s clear about the journey of COVID-19, it’s that it’s not very clear at all.
The chief scientists and civil servants are no doubt crunching endless numbers, as I write this, in a desperate attempt to track the trajectory of the virus. But, with a lack of testing in this country, I suspect it’s unlikely anyone knows for sure what the next couple of weeks and months will bring. It’s all guesswork sprinkled with data and wrapped up in media spin.
From what I can tell, all we really know is that we are in the middle of this crisis and there’s worse to come. Around a thousand people in the UK are now dying from it every day, and that doesn’t account for anyone who’s died out of hospital. People dying in care homes don’t feature in the stats which saddens me, it’s like their passing doesn’t count. Of course I know rationally that there’s good scientific reasons for only counting hospital data — its a measure which allows for international comparison and it’s faster to obtain accurate hospital data than community figures. And a final all-inclusive death count will be calculated eventually but, from a human perspective, it must be crushing right now for the grieving families whose lost loved ones don’t even feature in the daily tally.
Whilst all of that is going on out there, back here, our days at no.65 are passing at quite a steady pace. We’re half way through what would have been the Easter holidays so we’re not doing any home learning at the moment and, as nice as it is to have no demands on our time, I’m struggling with the complete lack of structure. For your part, you’ve blown me away with how well you’ve played together and it occurred to me this week — when feeling yet more guilt about not doing more stuff with you — that maybe this experience isn’t just about you spending quality time with me and Daddy but it’s an amazing opportunity to spend precious, uninterrupted time with each other. As siblings go, you both lucked out. You are best buds and don’t actually need me to entertain you from dawn til dusk because you’re doing such a good job of doing that for each other.
It’s also Pessach and we had Seder night with the usual suspects on Whatsapp a few nights ago — apart, but together. It was certainly one of the more memorable Seders from the past 40 years. The day before that, I delivered Seder boxes from Shul to lots of older people and I felt quite emotional knowing that for most of the recipients, some in their 90s, this would be their first Seder alone. But I also felt somewhat uplifted knowing that all around the world, Jewish families would be hosting individual Seders but collectively eating the same weird foods, telling the same story of the Exodus from Egypt and singing the same songs about freedom from slavery, like every year that’s gone before. Familiarity of traditions serves as a great comfort blanket in these uncertain times.
Following that, two nights ago, we camped in the garden. It came after a really hot day and Daddy wanted to practice putting up the tent and you both loved it. You made banana splits on a disposable BBQ — Boo, you weren’t so keen but top marks for trying it — and Pickle, you laughed ‘til you cried and then finally gave in to sleep all snuggled in your cosy sleeping bag.
We woke up to the news that the Prime Minister had made good progress health-wise and he’s now left hospital which pleased you, Boo. I’m just hoping that Boris will now feel so indebted to the NHS and the staff he listed by name in his coming home speech that he’ll put his money where his mouth is and start funding the NHS properly.
I could keep writing about all the highlights of our week. Like the lovely long walk we did today to the nature reserve and back, playing an endless version of wildlife ‘I Spy’ and ‘I hear with my little ear’. I could tell you about the cakes we’ve made and scoffed and the films we’ve watched (Lady and the Tramp was a good one yesterday) or the times we’ve seen your friends from a distance which has filled you with genuine joy. I could tell you about how I finally cut Daddy’s long hair and Pickle, you told him how handsome he looked. But I’d be telling half truths if I also didn’t convey the low bits too.
Mostly, we have been happy and content in each other’s company. But there have been long days (yesterday felt like a year) when my patience has worn beyond thin. Instead of having the energy to distract you from whinging, I’ve fed the beast. When you’ve unleashed your frustrations at me, I’ve got cross in return, lost my shit and felt horrible afterwards. My resilience has waned and I haven’t found the tools you’ve needed to fix your frustrations. I’ve zoned out, mentally left the building and then yelled when you’ve whinged even more in your attempt to reel me back in. I’ve known all the things I should have done in those moments but knowing it and doing it are two very different things when you’re dog-tired and all-consumed from having no space.
This ‘isolation’ is a strange oxymoron because I’ve never had less time to myself. I feel lucky to be doing this with you both and Daddy, of course I do. But isolating as a unit of four means we are together ALL the time. And that also means that there are moments when I’d like to be alone just to have some time to process all this and to get caught up in my own thoughts without a stream of interruptions. And, if I’m really honest, I’d just quite like to be able to do a wee in peace once every 48 hours.
The fact that, Boo, you go to bed so late, and Pickle, you come in to sleep with me from around midnight, means that Daddy and I get about two hours a day to ourselves. That’s not your fault, but I hope, when you’re older and you look back at this period of your lives, you will understand why, around 20% of the time, I was a cranky old hag. Soz.
From a bigger perspective, I feel caught in the middle of our pre and post COVID-19 lives. At the start of lockdown, I was daunted at the thought of everything coming to a standstill and particularly not seeing family and friends. I found it overwhelming to imagine not socialising for months or going shopping or doing all the things that made our lives what they were. I’ve already written quite a lot about how this new pace of life has some noticeable benefits but what I didn’t expect was feeling unsettled, even nervous about the lockdown coming to an end.
Every day, during the press briefing, journalists ask when we can expect the lockdown to be lifted and for normal life to resume. And every day, the politicians and chief scientists say that they can’t give a date but it’s unlikely to be anytime soon. And when I hear that, there’s a slight sense of relief that washes over me. I’ve been trying to figure out why that should be when, just a few weeks ago, the thought of all this was so overwhelming?
Perhaps becoming almost ok with this so quickly is pretty unremarkable. It must be some biological/psychological response that has enabled our species to adapt and survive countless crises for the past 10,000 years.
Or perhaps looking ahead to our post-COVID 19 lives feels slightly scary because I don’t actually want all that went before. I feel quite exhausted at the mere thought of the running around that was just such a normal part of our day to day lives a month ago.
When we come out the other side, I want to remember that it’s not necessary, productive or economical to go food shopping 5 times a week. That we don’t need to go out every weekend for fear of you getting bored at home (I think we’ve more than disproved that theory). And I want to replace all the distracting, unnecessary crap with better, healthier things, such as going for walks together, cooking healthy meals from scratch and slowing the hell down.
Perhaps the real fear is that, in reality, the pressures of old will submerge us as quickly as they subsided and the lessons learnt now will be long forgotten in a very short space of time.
Right now, the middle of COVID-19 — not too far from life before it and perhaps not too far from life thereafter — is an interesting place to be. In this coronavirus no-mans land I now find myself in, I can reflect on what really matters.
There are many things I am looking forward to once this is over. Hugging the people we miss most, meeting up with friends and not being scared of who might get sick from this invisible disease (to name but a few). In the meantime, as I’m caught in the middle of COVID-19, I’m working on making and documenting the changes needed to make us fundamentally happier when this is just a memory from our past.
