Post-Pandemic Panic?

 

One-eye open. It is dark. Is it 1am dark or 3am dark or 5am dark? It is not in a box underground dark so I get another day. Is it time to go down the hall and empty yesterday’s bile or is it time to leave dreamland for reality? Prop up on the elbow and swing the legs over the side. The legs dangle deciding whether to jump down to the floor hoping everything works and not crumble in a heap or step lightly testing the waters of a new day.

Mix a conglomeration of hot water, fake sugar, and powdered cream and instant coffee before putting on my eyes and turning on the world. What has happened while I was unconscious in another life or what do I have to look forward to?

The voice on the radio says, “We are in a post pandemic”.

Pause

 It has been over a year since we first starting hearing about this corona that was spreading around the globe. You can’t see it. You can’t hear it. You can breathe it and it can kill you.

Even with all the confusion reporting, people are dying all over the world. There is no cure or even a vaccine so what do you do?

I was in the hospital.

Probably not the best place to be when there is a plague spreading or maybe it is the best place to be?

I’d hobbled in past the covid-19 testing tables in my cowboy mask and told the receptionist that the doc-in-the-box referred me to the hospital for what I got she couldn’t handle.

What I got was a swollen leg. It didn’t hurt but was just uncomfortable.

The medical professionals did their evaluations and provided me with a private room for the next week.

So there is this ‘pandemic’ raging around the world and I’m sequestered in a clinical building strapped to machines that beep and tubes that pump liquids into my body without my request. Now and then a nice person who changes rubber gloves comes in to check my blood pressure, mark some numbers on a white board for the next shift to relate numbers to a face.

What is your birthday?

The whole idea of a pandemic avoidance was to wear a mask, wash your hands and stay away from others. This didn’t seem like any problem because I already do two out of three.

Here I was in isolation, quarantine, and lockdown with jailers who drain my blood and bring me trays of food three times a day. After being disconnected from the liquid machines I could stand and walk to the window and watch the storms roll by. I could walk down the hallways with my special slippers and walk back to my room without getting lost.

What is my birthday?

Upon release I could hobble home with a story to tell the neighbors but no one knows unless you’ve been there.

The pandemic changed many people’s lives. I don’t know all the stories but from the reports show this is not over yet.

Back in a routine of sleeping, riding, reading, writing, eating and sleeping hopefully this flu will avoid me.

What have we learned from the pandemic?

I can only imagine what working people have gone through with kids being out of school and offices closed and no restaurants or churches to attend. Looking in your closet a year later and wondering why all your clothing has shrunk?

For the first weeks the roads were empty which was a joy for a two-wheeler. A few brave souls would venture out to let their dogs poop or give their babies some air. Mostly all the cars were parked and everyone stayed inside with their shades drawn. Other than the constant parade of delivery trucks, the world was silent.

Now there are more folks out jogging. The traffic has picked up. There are more unmasked faces and the pandemic rolls on. There is toilet paper at the store and a line at the pharmacy to get their shots.

Other than that seems vacant building fronts, some still boarded before the generals came down.

It has been an interesting year.

Realities have awoken to those who would rather avoid the facts. New voices resounding what those before them have said. Self-evaluations presented revelations between the raving worst president and bitter social media.

This was before the election. This was before the insurrection. This is while the city burned.

A year later I’m still standing. The doctor I never had before has given some prescriptions that were taken with little results. Probably time for another look, but whatever it was is still there in my body. You can’t heal old age.

I’ve been a good soldier and gotten my shots. I wear my mask, wash my hands and stay away from people. I still ride my 5-miles to the store and rock on the porch at night.

The realization of the past year has been mortality.

Being in a hospital is a prison. There are two ways out and one is not very good. Seeing people laid out on gurneys with kind people in scrubs trying to decide which one lives and which one calls the mortician is where we all are going.  

Family singing songs or a niece waving through a window may surround you or a stranger in green unplugging there is a time to end this life.

One-eye open. It is dark. Is it 1am dark or 3am dark or 5am dark? It is not in a box underground dark so I get another day. Is it time to go down the hall and empty yesterday’s bile or is it time to leave dreamland for reality? Prop up on the elbow and swing the legs over the side. The legs dangle deciding whether to jump down to the floor hoping everything works and not crumble in a heap or step lightly testing the waters of a new day.