Celebrating birthdays changed in pandemic
All my friends are hurting, but we have much to be grateful for
The Big Day last July finally arrived — it was the ninety-plusone anniversary of my birth.
I knew that this time things would be different. There would be greetings — calls, e-cards, snail mail cards, Facebook messages — but no well-wishers in person, due to the restrictions of the COVID-19 pandemic.
Just as I thought it would, the phone started ringing early in the morning. It was my author friend, edging 90, singing Happy Birthday in his husky voice.
His charming wife also offered greetings, but talk soon turned to our common leg pains. Hers was sciatica, the pain so excruciating that it made her cry out in agony. Her doctor son advised against a back operation and we agreed that it would be a last resort for both of us.
My next congratulatory caller, a girlfriend, was more cheerful, though we commiserated about our hair growing down the back of our necks due to the shutdown of hair salons.
But from then on, it was a downward spiral. Two of my girlfriends happen to live in the same seniors' facility and both called.
One of them, though having only mild symptoms, lives on a “special care” floor of the facility. She complained about the bad food and the behaviour of the other fellow occupants, most of them suffering from severe dementia.
The other friend, who has an apartment in the facility, was equally depressed, due to suffering pain after a recent fall. After offering good wishes, she said she was worried about me living alone and managing in case I fell ill — hardly the reassuring message I wanted to hear on my birthday!
Fortunately, all was well with my family in Hungary, who called to wish me happy birthday from their cottage on Lake Balaton, where they were vacationing.
Calls from my Canadian family weren't as cheerful. My next caller, a young cousin — young to me means she's in her 50s — now lives in sunny California.
While I knew she already had a knee replacement, she reported that now she has more pain in the other knee and has to use a cane.
I was hoping my next call would be more upbeat, as it came from my former family physician, a fellow Hungarian now retired, with whom I keep in touch on a friendly basis.
I didn't know he had such a fine voice until he, too, burst into a Happy Birthday song.
However, when I told him about losing sleep due to arthritic pain, he admitted to taking sleeping pills every night and advised me to do the same.
By this time it was early afternoon and, fortified with a good lunch, I was ready for the next onslaught of calls. Sure enough, they came. The afternoon well wishers weren't any more cheerful than the morning ones.
A retired nurse friend confided about being in pain, after seriously bruising her arm trying to open a heavy door in her building.
Another friend complained about bouts of depression brought on by restrictions due to the pandemic.
The next caller, a family friend recovering from a stroke, apologized about her illegible writing on the birthday card she had sent.
By this time it was evening and I retired, somewhat fatigued and worried about the state of health of some of my friends and relatives.
But the birthday epilogue came a few weeks later during a telephone conversation with my longtime hairdresser, Toni. I had heard that her mother, who I knew had been ill, had passed away. “I was going to call and wish you a happy birthday, but my mother died that day,” she said with tears in her voice.
“What? Your mother died on my birthday?”
I could not believe what I heard. But it was true and I offered my condolences.
Still, mine was a Happy 91st Birthday and a celebration in gratitude is called for.