Protective Isolation
Today has been a surreal contrast of fast facts thrown with assertive precision contrasted with fleeting, uncertain questions about how the COVID-19 outbreak will now be affecting my daily life. I am not currently infected by the virus, but have been put into "protective isolation" to prevent me from contracting the illness through community spread. Thoughts are moving too swiftly to capture on paper, and too sluggishly to make meaning out of what I have been told.
As most of the world is aware, the "novel coronavirus" is now spreading quickly through the world, and is marching forward toward my little piece of it. Most people in the United States of America are not isolated or quarantined in any way yet, but a small subset of "high-risk" patients have been flagged due to our compromised immune systems. As a person with a complex medical history and immunodeficiency, I understand the necessity and wisdom of these precautions even as my heart is beating out of my chest. My husband and mother helped me to "lay in supplies"as my late father would say.
My father was a physician for over 30 years and had a disaster bag planned for every possible pandemic (which, as of today, is being used to classify the coronavirus). Today I benefited from his reaction to the Avian flu over a decade ago. All face masks have been cleaned from store shelves, as has toilet tissue, hand sanitizer, and other basic necessities. I have had my own disaster bag for several years that has been kept up-to-date, but it is nothing compared against the amount of supplies that my dad prepared for over his lifetime. My mom brought me the sterile, hospital-grade masks today that I will need to wear when commuting to and from doctors' appointments. Which are the only events I am allowed to attend. The one thing we could not find in our large city were masks.
Dad got royally gypped. He was a Boy Scout through and through, prepared for every contingency. When I found out I was not allowed to join the Boy Scouts (shock, I know), he is the one who taught me to camp, backpack, and hike. Why those things are important. How to build a fire, how to ration supplies, how to prepare effectively, and why those things too, are important. He knew that genetics were stacked against him medically and so he made a mission of being the healthiest person possible to live a "normal" lifetime with his family. He made it to sixty, passing away just a few months after his birthday and completely unexpectedly to a heart attack while doing a morning warm up on the bike in the basement. He regularly participated in century (100 mile) races to raise money for Type 1 Juvenile Diabetes awareness after I was diagnosed at age six. His death was a complete shock to everyone who knew him. He passed away only a year ago and therefore is clearly on my mind during this time when his earlier fears would have been vindicated. I won the lottery when it comes to parents--so unpredictable health is a price I am willing to pay to balance the cosmic scale if such a thing exists.
As I now have some time on my hands, I am starting this blog on the first day in my isolated quarantine even though I am not as coherent as I am hoping I will be in the coming days. I am thinking of the people like my dad, who in this moment would remind me, "not to panic, but prepare." As we found the adult masks intended for my mom and dad and the teeny-tiny pediatric ones that were supposed to be for my brother and me at the time of that potential threat, I accept the masks he accidentally prepared for this occasion and am ready to face the uncertainties tomorrow brings. Thank you for being a part of this journey as we all search for ways to connect, even in moments of isolation in our nation.
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