From my bunker to yours
Wow, what a weird time. I hadn’t planned to send a note but given how monumentally strange the world has become, I felt the urge to put my thoughts down on paper and send them out into the world. I am well. I am home, cocooning myself away from the risk of contracting a pandemic. If you told me 3 months ago that I’d be writing that sentence, I’d have laughed and then cried.
But I am well.
I had my panic. I read this piece and made the mistake of doing the sums to calculate what the Irish impact could be. The department of health haven’t contradicted leaked projections that up to 1.9 million people in Ireland could become ill with Covid-19. The global death rate hasn’t been confirmed yet but I took the worst case scenario projection (3.4%) and did the sums and well, that’d panic anyone. 48 hours later, the Irish government closed the schools. That signalled that they too were worried, that they were taking the threat seriously. (The crowds who went to Cheltenham or spent Saturday night in jam-packed bars, not so much. 🙄)
Reading about what has happened in Italy was terrifying. Watching the number of cases balloon from modest to overwhelming overnight, reading about doctors making decisions about which patients to save and which to let die was just mind-boggling. It’s one thing to see the death rate conveyed in a graph. It’s another to see the obituaries section in Italian newspapers.
I have calmed down now though. For a person with an underlying anxiety disorder (C-PTSD), I’m handling it pretty well (for now, at least!) But I think that says more about the layers of privilege that insulate me, than the state of my mental health.
I have a safe, comfortable place to live, a professional job I can do from home, the money to get groceries delivered. I have the space to store extra supplies (rice, tampons etc) and a working freezer that is fully stocked. I don’t have to interact with the public in my work and have no underlying medical conditions, aside from childhood asthma. I have the time and skillset to find the information I need, to study the graphs and learn from the experts. Being informed helps. Social media does not. I often dip back into Twitter in moments of collective panic, shock, and fear. It helped a little - I learned that WHO let the dogs out and watched the monkey gangs war in the absence of humans. But, the constant scroll pulls me into a disembodied, deadening fear so I try to avoid it. That said, I’m refreshing The Irish Times at least 20 times a day and have developed a sixth sense for when there will be news, when the latest case numbers will be released.
Panic is understandable. I got the message that swirled around WhatsApp last Friday. It claimed that the defence forces were being deployed, that the country was being ‘shut down’. I knew not to trust it - that supermarkets and pharmacies stayed open in other countries, that people do need to be out to go to work. I knew disinformation was rife on social media (& from Donald Trump, but that’s a whole other issue!) but it still scared me. This is how panic spreads. It’s as contagious as the virus.
Living with risk changes how you relate to others. I’ve been looking at people with suspicion and dread ‘where have they been? Have they washed their hands?’
I winced at the nonchalance of one colleague complaining about the “panic”. It was inconvenient for him, he wanted to meet such and such for coffee. You know the type - the middle aged white man who can’t understand why the world doesn’t bend towards his every desire. Little point trying to explain the concept of community transmission. He has the wealth to insulate himself and doesn’t want to know that his carelessness could endanger someone else. (I disinfected the door handles after he left!)
An aside: @Men, it’s always been gross that you don’t wash your hands now it could be deadly. For the love of goddess, WASH YOUR HANDS!
Everything I do, I think of the risk. Should I go to the gym? I weigh the benefits of exercise against the risk that I pick up a bug in the changing rooms. Every time my head hurts, I wonder, “is this it?” It’s an exhausting, deeply strange way to live. The truth is you never know when you’ve avoided risk. You can just be as careful as possible and try not to worry.
But again, I know I am fortunate. Not everyone is. I’m thinking of parents who’ll have rambunctious children under their feet all day, people in direct provision centres and refugee camps. What impact will disrupted routines have on people with addition issues? How will people experiencing domestic and sexual violence cope? What about pregnant women?
9 years ago, older people in Japan took the lead in cleaning up after the Fukushima disaster. People coming to the end of their lives were willing to take on the risk of exposure to radioactive material in order to provide a better future for younger generations. Now, younger people ought to do everything they can to protect older people.
It’s a scary, uncertain time. But then again, maybe it always is. We’re all at the mercy of biology. Random tragedy can drop from the sky at any moment. I doubt everyone experiences the world like this, but I do.
So, wash your hands, stay home, disinfect your phone, take a breath and look up at the sky The only way through this is together.
I found some comfort and understanding in the following:
Things to read:
This practical piece from late February.
Send this to anyone who isn’t taking the threat seriously.
David Remnick on Trump in the time of Coronavirus.
Things to listen to:
Mary H.K Choi’s latest mini-pod.
Reading suggestions from the NYT.
Call Your Girlfriend’s chat re: Covid 19, racism and solidarity. (This aged quickly I think. I listened Friday, and it already felt out of date. But still worth a listen.)
Death, Sex & Money’s call in show (in partnership with the United States of Anxiety).
Things to remember:
A coronavirus epidemic also means a loneliness epidemic. (Bear in mind that according to some research, loneliness is actually more pronounced among younger people than older people. Watch this if you want your heart to break. Reach out to your friends, even the ones you presume are OK.)
