A one-way ticket to crazytown
Originally posted on March 14, 2020When people started talking about a new pneumonia virus in China, I was dismissive. “Thousands of people here die of the flu every year,” I was quick to point out. “This is nothing compared that.”
In early February, a coworker chose not to take a domestic flight for an event at our office in San Francisco. “That's weird,” I responded to people privately when it came up. “This is nothing.”
I had a small set of facts, mostly based on seasonal flu comparisons, and I clung to them. I also had a small, specific set of worries: I'm moving out of California this year, I work at a startup that has its challenges, and I've been struggling with allergies and respiratory issues, more than usual. There wasn't room in my facts or my worries for a scary new virus, and I refused to make space.
I flew to San Diego in mid-February. I had horrible allergy symptoms while I was there, and I came back with a light cough that cleared up after a few days. But everything else was normal.
A week later, I went to the ballet. It was beautiful and very normal except when an elderly man lost his shit - like REALLY lost it - when an elderly woman coughed without covering her mouth. “PLEASE use THIS,” he announced mid-ballet, whipping a clean tissue out of his suit pocket and shoving it into the offender's hand. “What a psycho,” I thought, sad when she didn't return to her seat after second intermission.
I flew to Miami at the end of February, and there were small signs that things were different. I wiped down my airplane seat, and several other people did too. A few elderly people were wearing surgical masks. I got buzzed and ate some communal bar snacks and deeply regretted it. But everything else was normal.
Two days after I got back from Miami, I went to urgent care and had an albuterol breathing treatment done - my first one in almost seven years. Everyone started washing their hands obsessively, and I also started a five day course of steroids to help manage my asthma. I was checking my temperature twice a day, and because I didn't have a cough or a fever I kept going to work.
Because at this point in my journey, I was very concerned about the economy. I recently heard Pete Buttigieg described as Capitalist Mr. Peanut -which I love - and I leaned into being Capitalist MRS. Peanut. When San Francisco Ballet cancelled all performances of A Midsummer Night's Dream, I was personally offended. When people started tentatively practicing social distancing, I was appalled. “Support local businesses,” I lectured, peering over my monocle. “If you stop being a bunch of filthy booze hounds you'll stay healthy!!!” I was smug and self-righteous. I ran eight miles in the cold rain so I could eat a biscuit sandwich. I got brunch. I saw a movie. I refused to stock up on groceries and was irritated when my coworker bought eight cans of chicken noodle soup.
I desperately, desperately wanted things to be the same. When I made the decision to leave San Francisco later this year, I had a clear vision of what my last months would look like. Long runs! Bakeries! Friends! Ballet season! Museums! The library! I wanted closure, and I wanted it on my terms - not dictated by a pandemic. Because this past week, that's what it became. A PAN-FREAKING-DEMIC. And everything changed. On Monday, I fainted at the cash register at Safeway, stark white, sweaty, and most likely because of the steroids I was taking for asthma - I still haven't had “bad symptoms.” On Tuesday, a coworker went home with a fever and cough. On Wednesday, my office closed. On Thursday morning, I made the gut-wrenching decision not to travel to Houston to celebrate my brother's engagement. On Friday, Trump declared a national emergency, and on Saturday, San Francisco closed bars with capacity of over 100 people. I don't know why this last one is the most scary, but it is.
This experience has changed me already, and it's just starting.
I've realized how hard it is to accept that things are becoming wildly unlike anything I've experienced before. I dragged my feet EVERY. STEP. OF. THE. WAY. ON. THIS. I thought I could out-rationalize or out-humor it. Yet here I am, hiding away at home to prevent the spread of a virus that doesn't even make your eyes bleed.
I've also realized how difficult it is to make decisions when you're under stress. I already knew that this was true, but I hadn't really felt it because I'm a decisive and privileged person. Lately, I've needed to make decisions that have financial implications- mostly around travel to see my loved ones - and my brain has been truly incapable of doing so. It's been an eye-opening experience that I hate!
And finally, it's been interesting to see how hard it is for people to relate to this situation when they're not directly affected by it. When there's a natural disaster, everyone sees it together, and it horrifies us. Nobody questions tying yourself to a barn during a tornado! But with a pandemic like this one, there's nothing to see, so we feel confused and disgusted by people's responses. Disgusted by people who stay home. Disgusted by people who wear masks. Disgusted by people who buy supplies. And even disgusted by people who get sick.
The way I wish I'd prepared for this is not by buying more stuff, but by accepting earlier that it would change my life. And if you haven't been affected yet, buckle up: You'll be here soon.