Giving Way
One of the many beautiful murals in the Eau Gallie Art District, Melbourne, Florida.
My anxiety has now mostly given way to fascination, guilt, gratitude, and maybe even a little hope.
As SARS CoV-2 has swept across the nation and made its weighty presence known, and I have been able to see the devil itself, my associated apprehension has waned. With that waning, curiosity has begun to overshadow the fear. We are all simultaneously experiencing an event that will alter our world forever. In a sense, we are fighting world war three against a common foe that we can’t even see. I have the honor of working in health care during the emergence of a never-before-seen highly communicable illness that is capable of killing a person in a matter of just a few weeks. Its effects are like nothing we in the medical community have ever seen, and just when we think we might be getting a handle on them, it throws us a curve ball. While we can do our best to support the patient through the illness, we have no medication capable of ridding it from the body. Our best defenses are as simple as hand washing and a method literally honed in the Dark Ages—quarantine.
For the first time that I can remember, the entire world is being affected by the same issue, though each country will suffer a different fate based on its own decisions and roadblocks. Every single economy will be impacted. Virtually every pocket of humanity that connects with the outside world will experience some degree of infection and some degree of change in its daily routine as a result of that infection. All the hearts of the world share similar worries, similar aches. We all hold a collective breath as we await the impending changes to our existence. We might not speak the same tongue, but now our hearts all know the same language.
What an amazing time!
I have the liberty of being able to stand back and observe with amazement because I am living in an area currently only minimally impacted by COVID -19. I work in a small community hospital in a little town that describes itself as “a drinking town with a fishing problem,” so we are not living in close proximity. With the bars and shops closed and most folks practicing some degree of social distancing, intermingling is limited, and our facility, thankfully, has thus far seen only a steady trickle of patients suspicious for COVID. We are the poster child for social distancing success. While I breathe a sigh of relief, however, my heart still aches for my comrades in arms in other areas of the country. I feel guilty that I am not overrun and overworked and carrying the burden of patients like doctors elsewhere. I feel bad when people thank me for what I do because I am really not doing anything any different from what I have done for the last seventeen years. I might be on the front lines, but my battle right now is some nameless skirmish against a ragtag bunch of soldiers. Though I volunteered to work in what was anticipated to be a “hot zone” fed by cruise lines and military personnel arriving from overseas, even that proved to be uneventful. I feel like I should be doing more. I am in part grateful that I am not.
I am finding a lot to be grateful for these days. While we, as a country, are seeing some hateful, unfortunate behavior, we are also seeing a beautiful amount of kindness. I have been showered with love, concern, and gifts from my friends to share with my coworkers. In my hours alone in the alternate home a stranger has been so kind as to just let me stay in, I can “share” a cup of tea with a dear friend by cracking open the “Calm the F@ck” down she sent me to show me she cares. Her mom, this precious, generous woman I have never met but whom I can’t wait to hug until she worries I will suffocate her, sent me treats and soup mixes and Lysol wipes. I’ve never been so excited to receive cleaning products! Those were the one thing I failed to think of as I prepared for the coming of this virus. Every time the neighbors see my hunny out walking the fur baby, they ask him how I’m doing and send wishes of health and safety. During my shifts, I am shielded with the love of other friends as I don masks carefully hand sewn and ear savers printed on personal 3-D printers. When I look around at my staff, I am reminded of all that love streaming in because they are sharing in the bounty and wearing masks and ear savers that loved ones sent. Several of them have said, “You must have some really great friends.”
“I do. I really, really do,” I always reply. And I smile from my heart all the way to my face.
Everywhere I turn, I see kindness that makes my heart smile. I have seen neighbors who seldom share more than a cursory “hello” go shopping for one another. I have seen birthday golf cart parades for 98-year-olds who couldn’t have a traditional party. I have seen Easter packages delivered anonymously to hundreds of mailboxes in my home town. I’ve seen “bear hunts” across the country to engage kids whose worlds have been upturned. I have seen signs of encouragement in yards, made from chalk drawings on the sidewalk, and written on papers taped to windows. I have seen moms have the kids put back their two rolls of paper towels because they’re the last ones in the store, and they already have enough at home. “Someone else might need them.” I have seen nurses do what they always do—give of themselves until they have no more to give. This time, though, I have also seen the rest of the world see them as they do it. I have seen kind human connection at every turn, and I have chosen to focus on that instead of the less than ideal things people have done. Putting my focus there has allowed me to be filled with gratitude for the potential of my fellow humans.
I have learned that when I am able to find gratitude, I am able to find hope, and as I look at where we are now, I have a fair amount of hope for where we might be in a few years. I hope that through this experience, we will learn that people can be productive in their pajamas from home, thus decreasing the need for endless commutes and the associated fossil fuels and some of the nonsense of office jobs. I hope that we will learn that the kids don’t really need endless extracurricular activities but instead need some time to be bored and let their imaginations roam, some time getting to know the woods at the end of the cul-de-sac, and some time at Mom and Dad’s elbows learning how to cook and properly clean and maybe even how to change the oil in the car. I hope we realize we like our own cooking and our spouse’s company more than we remembered. I hope we see these photos of a cleaner, happier Mama Earth and feel the impact of our selfishness deep in our souls and realize that we don’t really need styrofoam or single use plastics or endless products that poison our water just to make our yards look manicured. I hope we see that our healthcare system is broken and politicians are worthless, our priorities need to shift, and we are going to have to make a stand. And, even more, I hope that we act on these lessons and make lasting changes that allow us to be happier.
All of humanity is on this crazy COVID ride together, and we can’t see the tracks in front of the cart. We can’t even see one another, but we can feel one another, and we are more connected than we have been in my lifetime. There are many horrible aspects of this experience, and I do not in the least want to minimize those, but I believe that if we are open to them, those of us who remain might also receive some beautiful gifts from this crucible.
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Unless otherwise noted, all material--written, photographic, and artistic--is the original work of Estora Adams. All rights reserved.