Life in the time of covid-19
Somewhere, in many parts of America:
I still wake at 6:30, even though there is no reason to get up early. My commute is only the distance between my bedroom and living room, which is now my office. The first thing on the to-do list is a long shower, heavy on the soap. I let the water spray into my mouth and throat, gargle loudly, and repeat several times. No telling what I breathed in during the night: germs, virus, pollen, cat hair, bugs? They say once the virus is in your throat, it’s too late to do anything about it. But lately, I question what “they” tell us. I tried wearing the N95 mask at night, but I invariably awakened to the feeling of suffocation.
A cup of coffee in hand, I check the latest news feeds. The number of viral infections increased significantly again, as did the number of deaths. A clip of the president’s news conference is shown. His voice is a monotone, droning on about how the worst is still ahead of us. Funny, he once said it was a hoax, a partisan distraction to disrupt his plans. Then he said the epidemic was real but nothing to worry about; that it would be over in a matter of weeks. It’s been four months now. I turn off the television and go outside.
The sun brightly shines through a forest of oaks and pines. Birds chirp brightly, building nests and courting mates, while squirrels chase each other through the trees. The air is fragrant with the scent of warm earth and jasmine. How dare Nature to flaunt its beauty in the face of human suffering! Alas, Nature cares not for those seeking solace from times of trouble.
I decide to video conference with some of my employees. Business was good for a while, but as the epidemic wore on, customers seemed to lose interest. I check in with one employee in San Francisco. He is in his late 60s but still one of the best salesmen I know. When he appears on my laptop, I know at once something is not right. His usual jovial demeanor is gone.
“Just found out my neighbor is in the hospital. He has the virus and is on a ventilator. It doesn’t look good.” He pauses and turns away from the screen for a moment. “My wife had gone over to his house to bring him some groceries a few days ago. This morning she has a cough. I’m worried, man!” My heart sank. I knew his wife already had some health issues.
“Take some time off, Tom,” I tell him. “Nothing much is happening anyway. I can handle it. Take her in to the doctor if you can, but be careful. Hope for the best. I’ll check in with you later.”
I sign off and lean back into the chair. I don’t feel like working now. I stream some old sit-coms to take my mind off Tom’s situation. The show’s humor seems cruel now. Friends gathering in diners, surrounded by dozens of others, laughing and carefree. Can we ever get back to being that way?
I take a few calls from my siblings. They try to sound upbeat, but I hear the worry in their voices.