I'm trying to blog again. I like the me in my blog. I am serious. I am funny. I am focused. I am three dimensional. I am real.
This was supposed to be inspirational. But as I said in the sentence above, I am real. I am not okay. It's Mental Illness Awareness Month, and it's important for others that we can admit when we're not okay. If you continue to read, know this is not a happy entry.
But it will be okay, because I'm on my way back.
We've been in COVID lock-down for almost 37 weeks. I could describe it, but Charles Dickens already did in A Tale of Two Cities.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us..."
I am not a Dickens fan, but I recognize his brilliance in turning a phrase and in building a story. He would have been the perfect person to write the story of COVID.
COVID has brought out the best in us. It has shown us that we can support each other through the worst moments of these terrible times. Through it all, we have gained scientific wisdom, medical wisdom, but we have also seen the most reckless of behaviours with little regard for others. This is not a symptom of COVID, but of the world we have created, a world in which personal rights come before communal responsibility.
It's after midnight, and a new lockdown is begun. There is a limit to how much we can slow a pandemic. Unfortunately, there is no limit to how much we can speed it up. My normal state is eternal optimist. It says so in my bio. And I will NOT let COVID break me, but I'm tired. I'm a bit numb. I don't even care that we shut down again. "We had everything before us, we had nothing before us."
Two weeks ago I began physiotherapy for carpal tunnel. I'd like to blame it on COVID and the lockdown, but, reality is, it began the summer after my mother was diagnosed with cancer. I spent a few weeks in New Jersey with her, working from afar, and my slight problem blossomed into a full-grown problem. If only that was the end of it. I'd last seen my physiotherapist five years ago. She asked me how I was doing. How do I tell her what she missed?
Five years ago - my father was alive and healthy. Thursday is his third yahrtzeit. He cut his foot. It got infected. Gangrene set in. His toe was amputated, but the infection was in the bone. Antibiotics killed his kidneys. Dialysis kept him alive, and, eventually, killed him.
Just as Mom, and we, were getting our lives back on track, Mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.
AND...
Just about a month before Mom's diagnosis, I discovered a lump on my uterus. It turned out to be nothing, sort of. Though I'd never had any hint of them before, I had three large, nay huge, fibroids. My uterus was about the size of a four-month pregnancy. Fourteen painful months later, with the size close to a five-month pregnancy, one week after my mother's cancer took a turn for the worst, I finally had a complete hysterectomy. Less than a month later, we were setting her up in hospice. She died before I finished my recovery. Two months later, just as we were locking down, our beloved, sweet cat, Gandalf the Grey died of acute kidney failure. 5780 was supposed to be a year of healing. I decided it. I kept the intention. Unfortunately, life had a different idea. So I looked to 5781, and 2020 happened.
But 2020 won't last forever. I'm tired, and I'm numb, but I won't always feel this way. We don't know what the world will look like on the other side. When all this is over, we'll take the good, and we will heal.
