Sleep Eludes in the Second Week of Covid-19
March 17, 2020
I prefer to call it Covid-19. Corona, as in coronavirus, has some special meanings: corona as in crown, circle of light, or luminous. Like I said I prefer Covid-19, much more scientific, has some ground to offer support, some foundation, as if it is from a long line that has been defeated by the human race before. It also somehow puts it at a distance, not as threatening. But here is the thing, what it refers to is "severe acute respiratory syndrome coronavirus 2 (SARS-CoV-2)". Yes you read that right SARS, and I hope you focused on "acute respiratory" for clarification. That's where our household gets concerned. Jim quite rightly recognizes the personal threat. He's been sleeping days on end and losing yet more weight.
Two months ago, I saw Jim's lungs. Yes, it was a medical scan not his lungs directly, yet the images couldn't have frightened me more. To every single piece of his lungs was attached a nodule, glowing like a brilliant spotlight, luminous, yet not brilliant at all...menacing, frightening. Each represented where colorectal cancer had invaded lung tissue. The luminous nodules were allover, like white grapes in a cluster. I couldn't look further. It was like watching a horror film or the murder in a murder mystery—close your eyes enough. It was at that point that I thought, we do not need to see these scans anymore.
And then Covid-19, luminous as those scans, an acute respiratory syndrome. This time shutting down the entire globe. Forget financials systems failing, life as we have previously known it just STOPPED. First to close were the the mega-conferences, then the colleges and senior assisted living homes, then the churches, schools, and fitness centers—anywhere groups of people massed. The theaters, homeless shelters, non-profits, art centers, maker spaces, doggie daycares—the list went on and on. Only the grocery stores (now out of toilet paper and bottled water), hospitals, and essential workplaces remain open to public. Everyone else went home and tried to contend with children, partners, and distant loved ones.
I see Panic grabbing hearts and minds on social media, in calls, and in texts. Folks dealing with changing their lives on a moment. Yet I'm not panicked or fearful. Over two years ago, Panic stole my heart and I tore it back—ever since I've been consciously beating fear away. It has been a long, hard fight and sometimes it wins but more often it opens my heart to the beauty of now. I can not waste this precious time on fear or panic when still around me are those I love. There is so much about life that I've come to accept since I first understood that I would lose Jim.
In breath. Out breath.
In breath. Out breath.
In breath. Out breath.
In breath. Out breath.
In breath. Out breath.
We are now all at risk from a "severe acute respiratory syndrome". Like cancer, it has snuck up on us unsuspecting. Like cancer, it threatens those we love. Like cancer, it may destroy them and the lives we love living.
I joke, "this damn little virus may wipe out all of us extraverts first". Yet in my case, I see this as leaving Jim and Tegan alive, myself then doubtful. I am fine with that. But for my love of them, I'm limiting everything external so I can be there for them—the way I want Jim to be here forever with me. And for them, I'm holding up the light like in Picasso's Guernica. I see the beauty of our moments together, of this time, and our lives. I'm finding yet more new ways to be—how to listen, how to respond, how to create, how to be still, how to reach out, to call, to text, to care.
Most of us will be just fine. We will be carefree again. Our systems will strengthen because of this. We will become better, kinder folks. Who knows, we may jointly recognize why we must protect this glorious blue planet and each other. Is there really any better legacy?
I prefer to call it Covid-19. Corona, as in coronavirus, has some special meanings: corona as in crown, circle of light, or luminous. Like I said I prefer Covid-19, much more scientific, has some ground to offer support, some foundation, as if it is from a long line that has been defeated by the human race before. It also somehow puts it at a distance, not as threatening. But here is the thing, what it refers to is "severe acute respiratory syndrome coronavirus 2 (SARS-CoV-2)". Yes you read that right SARS, and I hope you focused on "acute respiratory" for clarification. That's where our household gets concerned. Jim quite rightly recognizes the personal threat. He's been sleeping days on end and losing yet more weight.
Two months ago, I saw Jim's lungs. Yes, it was a medical scan not his lungs directly, yet the images couldn't have frightened me more. To every single piece of his lungs was attached a nodule, glowing like a brilliant spotlight, luminous, yet not brilliant at all...menacing, frightening. Each represented where colorectal cancer had invaded lung tissue. The luminous nodules were allover, like white grapes in a cluster. I couldn't look further. It was like watching a horror film or the murder in a murder mystery—close your eyes enough. It was at that point that I thought, we do not need to see these scans anymore.
And then Covid-19, luminous as those scans, an acute respiratory syndrome. This time shutting down the entire globe. Forget financials systems failing, life as we have previously known it just STOPPED. First to close were the the mega-conferences, then the colleges and senior assisted living homes, then the churches, schools, and fitness centers—anywhere groups of people massed. The theaters, homeless shelters, non-profits, art centers, maker spaces, doggie daycares—the list went on and on. Only the grocery stores (now out of toilet paper and bottled water), hospitals, and essential workplaces remain open to public. Everyone else went home and tried to contend with children, partners, and distant loved ones.
I see Panic grabbing hearts and minds on social media, in calls, and in texts. Folks dealing with changing their lives on a moment. Yet I'm not panicked or fearful. Over two years ago, Panic stole my heart and I tore it back—ever since I've been consciously beating fear away. It has been a long, hard fight and sometimes it wins but more often it opens my heart to the beauty of now. I can not waste this precious time on fear or panic when still around me are those I love. There is so much about life that I've come to accept since I first understood that I would lose Jim.
In breath. Out breath.
In breath. Out breath.
In breath. Out breath.
In breath. Out breath.
In breath. Out breath.
We are now all at risk from a "severe acute respiratory syndrome". Like cancer, it has snuck up on us unsuspecting. Like cancer, it threatens those we love. Like cancer, it may destroy them and the lives we love living.
I joke, "this damn little virus may wipe out all of us extraverts first". Yet in my case, I see this as leaving Jim and Tegan alive, myself then doubtful. I am fine with that. But for my love of them, I'm limiting everything external so I can be there for them—the way I want Jim to be here forever with me. And for them, I'm holding up the light like in Picasso's Guernica. I see the beauty of our moments together, of this time, and our lives. I'm finding yet more new ways to be—how to listen, how to respond, how to create, how to be still, how to reach out, to call, to text, to care.
Most of us will be just fine. We will be carefree again. Our systems will strengthen because of this. We will become better, kinder folks. Who knows, we may jointly recognize why we must protect this glorious blue planet and each other. Is there really any better legacy?
I see you and hear you. I'm grateful for you.
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