No Longer Winning.

I’m not sleeping well, friends.

All this past week I’ve been receiving thoughtful messages from friends asking how I’m doing. And honestly? I feel like I’m losing. I’m embarrassed how afraid I am, how anxious I feel. 

There has been a tightness in my chest for over a week. It’s become harder than ever to take a deep, slow, breath. But this shortness of breath is not the pandemic COVID-19. This is the fear of it, the fear of all that’s coming. 

For months now I’ve been following the growth and spread of the novel Coronavirus. Not surprisingly each new development has prompted more investigation of the virus, the responses, and the fallout. For weeks, I’ve felt informed and level headed. I watched as people stated that the likeliness of a wide scale spread of infection was low for those of us in North America. I was skeptical, but optimistic. And I was sleeping at night. 

At the hospital I work at, we began preparing for the possibility of cases trickling down to us as people heeded the call to return to Canada from all around the globe. As people began emptying store shelves of toilet paper, sanitizer and non-perishables, I have remained calm, knowing that restocking would eventually come. I looked at the supply of dried and canned goods already in our cupboards, and swallowed hard. But I was still sleeping at night. 

When spring break began, our family headed to a remote cabin to self isolate for a few days in style. On a quiet piece of land beside the sea, with limited cell phone reception, we were sheltered from the madness that was the news cycle between March 14th and 20th, receiving only sporadic updates from one corner of the property.  I was feeling the tension rise inside of me. But I was still sleeping at night. 

When we had internet, we posted pictures of hikes by the sea, of firepits and wood stoves. And from all accounts, it looked like we were winning. 

Fast forward one week, and a lot has changed. I’ve followed each morning update by our Provincial Health Officer and Prime Minister. I’ve been invited to four separate Coronavirus themed Facebook groups to keep track of community news and needs. Increased knowledge of this virus has not decreased my anxiety. And this week, that anxiety has reached a fever pitch. 

And I started having trouble sleeping at night. 

And I know that I’m not alone in this anxiety. I know that many are having trouble taking a deep, slow breath. That many are up at night. That many no longer feel like they are winning. 

It’s true for the elderly in group homes, hoping that none of the staff coming and going will bring about a virus that many of them will not be able to withstand.

It’s true for the parent at home, looking at their child with asthma and hoping that they can be diligent enough to avoid transmitting the virus. 

It’s true for the grocery clerk whose checkout counter forces them to be within 2 meters of their customer. 

It’s true for the nurses, radiologists, doctors, and porters working in the hospital who know that protective equipment is in short supply and dwindling. That respirators and those who can operate them are in high demand. And that many more sick and infected patients are coming. 

It’s true for each worker who has to go into work and then return home to their loved ones. 

And it’s true for each and every person who is already beginning to wonder how long they can live like this.

Because truthfully, unbelievably, it has only been 11 days since British Columbia announced that the virus is a Public Health Emergency. Many of us have only been isolated to our house for a little over a week, two at most. It feels longer. 

That’s less than two weeks of markers on the floor showing us how far back to stand from the customer in front of us. Less than two weeks of attempting to set up workplaces from home. Less than two weeks since we could sit down in a restaurant, bar or library. Less than two weeks of feeling like each cold or flu symptom could be something much worse. 

In these past two weeks, we’ve seen a lot of responses to this crisis. We’ve seen a lot of brave faces. A lot of positivity. We’ve seen instagram photos of families out hiking, we’ve seen pictures of people’s home office set up, we’ve seen chore lists and bribery reward charts intended to allow parents a few minutes of uninterrupted work time. We’ve seen people’s baking. We’ve seen their new home gym routines and push ups challenges. We’ve seen cars driving by emergency departments with encouraging and thankful notes. We’ve seen nearby residents banging pots and pans in appreciation of front line healthcare workers. And we’ve seen a lot of heartwarming pictures of families cuddling up together reading, or playing board games.

We’ve seen a lot of people who look like they are winning at this new, bizarre way of life. 

And if this is an accurate depiction of your life these past week, I’m genuinely happy for you. In my own family we’ve played boardgames and videogames together. We’ve made bread from scratch and enjoyed viciously beating down the risen dough. We’ve even survived a few math lessons together at the dinner table. 

And I’ve also had to lock the door to my room and barricade myself away from my kids because I was afraid of yelling at them, again. I’ve read a doctor’s account of the war-like conditions in his hospital in New York State and felt utterly ruined. I’ve wandered my house, lost. Picking up my phone to refresh a feed I just looked at 5 minutes ago. Searching through cupboards and fridges I’m nervous about not being able to restock. 

And the truth is, I think many of us are tired and scared. Some of us have given this new life it’s best possible start, and two weeks in, we’re wondering how long we can keep this up. We’ve seen the cracks begin to show in our best intentions of staying positive and productive. We’ve run out of shows to distract ourselves with on Netflix. We’re sick of playing the same board games already. We’re not getting the work done. We’ve seen our lesson plans fail. We’ve seen a 40% increase in alcohol sales. We’ve contributed to these sales. We watch the exponential rise of cases in our province and country. We wait in our homes, watching our phones and computers. Unable to move, unable to escape it. We’ve felt the end of this crisis become more and more elusive. 

It’s time for a few of us to admit that we are not winning. Whether we are isolated at home alone, with family, or heading back to work daily, it’s okay if we feel like we are barely getting by. This is not a game we win, this is a crisis we survive. 

Many of us are looking for lessons. We’re trying to see this in the best light possible. Hope can be our greatest ally, but it is hard to come by these days. It’s okay if it’s illusive right now. 

Perspective is developed in time. In these hardest of moments, these initial weeks, it’s okay to be honest. It’s okay to admit that we are not winning. That we are not okay. That we are tired and afraid. 

One day, we will see how this has shaped and taught us. One day, we will be okay. 

That day doesn’t have to be today. 

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