Normally I don’t think of myself as a panicky person, but I do have the ability to pick up on what’s in the air, which causes me to behave in ways I might not otherwise. Generally it’s only a problem around the holidays, but things are very different now for all of us.
While I’d read about COVID-19 and heard stories on podcasts earlier in the year, it didn’t dawn on me that it was coming to my area until mid-March. I’d been having some health issues, which there seem to be no answers for anytime soon, and was distracted during late February and early March. I went to my gym on Thursday, March 12. By then most colleges and universities in the area were closed, along with a few major retailers like Apple. I thanked the woman at the desk for being open, which caused her to immediately panic, asking if I’d heard anything. I assured her I hadn’t, and we briefly chatted wondering if her play and my classical concert would occur that weekend.
When I went back to the gym on Friday, March 13, I already knew that there’d be no concert for me and my husband nor a play for her that weekend, as the governor of Ohio had mandated no gatherings of 100 or more people. I decided to stop at the nearby Kroger, a more suburban one than mine, and pick up a few things we needed, and that I needed for a scheduled medical procedure the following Monday. I’d been reading in the Washington Post for weeks about what you need to have in your pantry for a potential quarantine, and had earlier in the month picked up a few extra cans of beans, soup, and rice, along with one container of disinfecting wipes (boy, do I wish I’d gotten more wipes). It wasn’t until I went inside that Kroger that I realized what was coming.
There was plenty of food to be had there, and I did get most of what I was looking for, but the entire paper goods aisle was empty, along with hand sanitizer, hand soap, rice and beans, quite a lot of detergent and milk, and gallon jugs of water. The water baffled me, as this wasn’t a hurricane or tornado, but I suppose panic scrambles the brain. A fellow shopper loudly complained that now she'd be stuck getting the expensive water, which was also running low. The eggs were also gone, except for one lone carton with a few cracked shells, which I also found quizzical. Toilet paper doesn’t go bad, but eggs quickly do.
I decided to stop late that afternoon at the downtown Cincinnati Kroger to see if they had the remaining items I needed. It was also brimming full of panicked people, but thankfully the downtown residents don’t have the hoarding capacity in small loft apartments, so there was ample water and milk, but still no paper goods. I stood in a long line, none of us six feet away from each other at that time, snaked in by conveniently placed displays of family size bags of potato chips, the store understanding the circumstance. The images of the empty store aisles in bigger cities were what I now saw; yet it didn’t seem real.
By then the public schools were closed, restaurants and bars closed that weekend except for take out and delivery, and the gatherings were lowered to no more than 50, which was, of course lowered again. Then on Sunday, doing what I typically don’t do, I read our local paper, which said the governor was stopping elective surgeries and procedures to conserve medical supplies. I was scheduled to have a colonoscopy and endoscopy on Monday morning to see if we could figure out why I was having the strange GI symptoms I’d been having for a while now, and had already begun the liquid diet along with other measures. I had no idea how to get in touch with my doctor on the weekend, so called the hospital the procedures were supposed to take place at and talked to a woman who seemed to think I was okay, but that things were confusing right now, so she couldn’t guarantee anything. The last thing anyone wants to do is take the “preps” for such procedures and then find out you won’t be having them.
A few hours later a different hospital employee called and said the procedures would take place tomorrow. They were allowing patients to reschedule, but said it could take months. As I’d already started my prepping, I really just wanted it over with. The hospital had also decided that even though you need an escort for these procedures, they wouldn’t be allowing them to wait inside the hospital, so Kent went home and waited for the pick-up call. I was relieved, worried he might pick something up waiting for me, and a bit concerned I might get it too.
When I’d originally scheduled the procedure the nurse had told me how lucky I was to have this split dose, which allows you to still have some liquids up to two hours before the procedure. It didn’t feel lucky on that Monday morning, as my rather empty stomach, even with the vegetable broth, vomited up the second dose of the prep medication. She also raved about the knock out medication, whose name I now forget, but it’s what killed Michael Jackson. It didn’t leave me raving, but I was far more awake and alert after than I thought I might be. Having the procedures amidst everything else going on just increased my irrational nervousness, so I cannot even explain how thankful I was to wake up afterward, realizing I was okay, at least for now. Of course due to the new governor’s orders, instead of being able to go to a restaurant to have a late lunch, we had to get take out.
By then I was beginning to worry about our dwindling toilet paper and other supplies, as the panic had finally hit me. Instead of resting after my procedures, I got up super early the next day, St. Patrick’s Day morning, and first went to our downtown Kroger, and was horrified at what had happened to it over the weekend. There was only one half-gallon of oat milk left, no potatoes of any kind, a manager was stocking facial tissues, which I quickly grabbed two boxes of, but otherwise there were no paper products. I succumbed finally to the prerequisite comfort food, buying an insane amount of chips before leaving the store. I then went to Target, where I amazingly found toilet paper. They had three sizes – 6 rolls, 12, and 18. Without question I grabbed an 18-roll pack to the horror of my non-hoarding husband (of course now I wish I’d bought two, as I only saw more in stores this past Sunday). Seeing what was left and what wasn't at Target (no so-called immunity products were left on the shelf), I purchased items that seemed like a good idea -- epsom salt, calamine lotion, bandages, cortisone cream, and antibiotic cream -- and that I felt I probably should have had on hand already. I ended the trip, buying way too much non-dairy ice cream at a Kroger Marketplace next door, feeling bad for a young female clerk manning the self-check out area, who looked terrified.
With the gym now closed, I began going to the mall to walk. Their hours were reduced, but they were open. Each day I went there I began counting the closed stores, until finally it was easier to count the stores still open. You take for granted that in our country in 2020 that stores and restaurants will be open, especially at malls. Nothing had prepared me for this. Even growing up in Florida, I’d lived within the city limits and had never been affected by hurricanes.
Well, things have changed since mid-March. The mall is closed and there are lot more people wearing masks. We’ve now missed several concerts, with the symphony canceling the rest of their season, along with other performing arts organizations. The last play we went to just before all this hit our community had been delayed due to a cast member’s illness and no understudy. At the time there were some nervous jokes of hoping it wasn’t COVID-19. Now the jokes are mostly gone, as the reality of the impending doom to so much of our economy, along with its citizens, especially those most vulnerable. My husband’s employer is also planning on layoffs this month, so more waiting and more anxiety for us too.
It’s still confusing figuring out what’s allowed open and what isn’t, and what to do. Should I get groceries delivered, or at least chosen for me to pick up, or am I risking other people's lives for mine? Should we order take out to support local restaurants, or should we save our resources in case we both become unemployed? This new normal of stay-at-home should be easier for me, as I’m not currently working, but it’s actually much harder. The few scheduled items I used to have are now cancelled, making it hard to remember what day it is, and leaving me feeling even more rudderless.
Three weeks into this (with the governor extending the stay-at-home until May 1st) I’m feeling more and more depressed and anxious. I try to go out and walk, but worry about other people. I've never had a lot of trust in other people, and this virus sends that into overdrive. I end up stressing over a young girl who coughed near me in the park without covering her mouth, hunching down further into my mask and wondering if I should just stay home from now on.
Like many, I’ve cooked more in the last few weeks, along with quite a bit of gluten free baking (I’m so thankful we had to go gluten free, as those products have been easily available in our stores). I keep hoping that if we eat healthy maybe we’ll get out of this unscathed, at least if I can stop buying the chips and jelly beans (in)conveniently located at checkout. Mostly I spend too much time on Facebook or the Washington Post app, both of which do not ease my anxiety. I feel guilty for not knowing how to sew or using this time productively, and I get more nervous about the mostly incompetent people managing this pandemic, at least in our country.
Many articles and podcasts recommend developing a schedule, but that is the hardest thing for me to do right now. I can’t even easily read or watch movies (and certainly not apocalyptic ones). I had to stop watching the news when Trump brought his rallies to them on a daily basis, spewing incoherent ramblings, accusations, and unproven concepts that have killed one man already. At the end of the first week, I felt unable to watch the documentaries I’d volunteered to rate as a screener for a film festival, finding the topics mostly out of step with what’s currently going on. Instead I watched The Goop Lab on Netflix, enjoying the mind-numbing distraction of such baffling pursuits as snow yoga and vampire facials.
I’ve found podcasts more comforting (maybe it’s hearing real human voices in real situations). Listening to doctors in New York losing patience with our inept president along with film reviewers discussing what they’re watching and opining on what will happen to cinemas after this is all over with seem to help get me through the day. Samples of CDB capsules I picked up earlier in the year at a Jungle Jim’s healthy living event also helped when my sleeplessness got to be too much.
Somehow I feel the need to document what’s been happening to me and what I've seen and heard, in order to remember, regardless of whether anyone reads or cares. I don’t quite know why, perhaps to make sense of it all. I’m still hoping my husband and I, and all those we care about, get through this unscathed. Hoping may be the best thing we can all do right now.