So far during this pandemic, I have been lucky. None of my family or friends has contracted coronavirus. And with the right preparation, self-quarantining, and very careful timing, I have even been able to see my family a few times. But I have noticed a particular post-visit sensation that wasn’t there before.
I didn’t notice it until recently. Or maybe it didn’t happen until recently, but the last time I went to see my family, I got really depressed once I was home. I suspect it’s because, on previous trips, I already knew about when I would be back. This time, I was fairly sure I wouldn’t see them again for the foreseeable future. The kids were going back to school in person (cautiously – there is a lot of plexiglass involved), and there is just no way someone like me can take a risk like that.
When the first kid was born, I started going for visits every two or three months. I was afraid I would be forgotten if I went too long between visits. It’s only really an issue when they’re young, but my family kept having kids so I kept going as often as I could. As they got older and their personalities and interests evolved, I discovered that each age has its special moments, so again, I had no desire to scale back my visits even though the fear of being forgotten had waned except for the littlest, who was born this year.
It’s always hard to leave, but this time I slipped into this place of almost complete inertia. I didn’t even go to my park for six weeks. Just the grocery store or CVS to pick up the one prescription that is so expensive the only way I can afford it is to refill it every month and not through the mail-order pharmacy.
The maybe not-so-funny and not-so-weird thing is that I thought back and it turns out that it has happened on a much smaller scale on those very infrequent times I have managed to see my friends, too.
Knowing myself as I do (for better or worse, right?), I think it’s a combination of all the usual pandemic suspects – uncertainty, anxiety, and the inevitable reality of returning to my fishbowl – and my totally suppressed inner extrovert that really does not like being teased like that. I mean, who would?
So, what to do? Inertia really isn’t good for diabetes. The answer is: I don’t know. I’m hoping that awareness of what’s going on will help me avoid it in the future, but the longer the pandemic lasts, the less I am inclined to institute any kind of behavior modifications. Not that I was ever great at leaving my comfort zone before COVID-19.
I guess this is my version of pandemic fatigue. I would never go anywhere without a mask, never violate my state’s or the CDC’s guidelines for keeping myself and those around me safe. I even kept my mask on when I was walking back up the stairs after a fire alarm went off in my building. By the time I got to my floor, the airless stairwell, mask, and generally being out of shape gave me an asthma attack, but other people were using that stairwell and the hallway. That mask did not come off until my door closed behind me.
Just like we all have our own ways of dealing with difficult things, we all have our own ways of not dealing with them as well. It doesn’t help that we can’t really remove ourselves from the situation.
Or can we? I think it’s time for a new book. Fantasy, of course.