A Quarantine Time Once Again:
Quarantine Letter #56
About a week before my birthday and days after I returned from a couple of weeks on the farm I had a sore throat, major headache, and began to sneeze. And cough. And cough. By the next Tuesday I was being tested for pneumonia and whooping cough (whooping cough?? wasn’t that eradicated by vaccines ages ago?) then RSV and bronchitis were considered, and over the next while I had three inhalers, two kinds of antibiotics, and went through 12 boxes of tissues, a container of vapor rub, and numerous packages of lozenges. The coughs were earth-shaking and for two of the six weeks I felt as if I was drowning, and dared not lie flat. Boy, was I sick!
I could only celebrate both my birthday and Dan’s virtually, with a light Beau Villages to toast our respective milestones, and was awake most mornings well before the sun had risen.
Only two people came into my home and, for the first four weeks, I was masked when they did. Delivery people stepped back when they saw my mask, no explanations were necessary.
For a solid week I could only sleep in short bursts, propped up by big cushions on the loveseat in the TV room. I lost my sense of taste—except for tough British crime series—and was not interested in food other than soup and fresh fruit.
My doctor’s conclusion was that I likely had had COVID. Again. She also pointed out that the booster I received at the end of October had likely saved my life or, at least, had kept me out of hospital and off a ventilator. A sobering thought about the pandemic five years on.
Forty-one days after the illness began, I mounted the train steps to, once again, make the long trip to the farm. Although John and I had FaceTimed every day, often with Nelson sneaking into a shot, exhausted though hungry for company once more, I was happy to be reunited with the whole family.
All of the above is part apology-part explanation for being remiss in answering birthday wishes, condolences for Doc’s death, and the many kind remarks I received about my last Quarantine Letters piece. It’s been a tough several weeks in a true quarantine.
Not mandated by any government or outside agent, I limited my masked forays out of the house to bare necessities: medical appointments, collection of medications, a couple of visits to the grocery store, a meal out on Christmas Day, and one four-person gathering. How unlike my non-quarantined life!
What did I miss? My birthday celebrations—my friends and I usually stretch them out to last at least a couple of weeks. What else? Tasty meals from Kingston’s great restaurant scene; lively discussions about the films we just saw; walks at Lake Ontario Park; tea-time visits at each other’s homes; glasses of wine in front of the fireplace, with a meal and a cat-visit; conversations over the clatter of bins on garbage-collection day; helping a friend hang new curtains; a concert or two; Sunday afternoon visits with my son over wine, good food, and many happy memories, including stories about the puns his dad loved; an earlier return to Barbados to celebrate here, including a Christmas morning Queen’s Park parade of finery; and Boxing Day races at the Garrison Savannah!
Was there a gain, a gift, to being sidelined? Oh, yes, several! The main one, I suppose, is that although unable to reciprocate, I still felt deeply loved, with regular check-ins, meals made and delivered, chores run, gifts of ginger ale and lozenges, offers to be driven to appointments, and links to good articles and streaming choices.
As might be expected, between navigating from bed to couch and back again, I read, listened to, and watched an array of ‘cultural products’. Top of the list? Bad Sisters and Shrinking on Apple; Wire In The Blood and Hamish McBeth (both again!) on Prime; and the utterly delightful (owing to my Montreal roots), 19-2, Saving Bea, and Sketch Artist, all in French. Having all that (ahem) non-productive time available meant that I could binge all I wanted with nary a guilty nudge.
I played my favourite word games: Zorse, Connections, and the Mini on NYT and Keyword and On The Record on WaPo, and read my favourite columnists in both papers; read every article of the last six months on The Atlantic and The New Yorker, and scanned a few books on my Kobo.
Like many others, I am finding it difficult to ‘go deep’ in fiction right now. Several people have hypothesized that the ongoing short, sharp, shocks of social media posts have fueled a dopamine dependency. I suspect that may be true. While I was ill, I posted very little; I don’t think I had the energy for some of the cantankerous nature of online discourse and, as an avid photographer and chronicler of my days, I took only a few photographs and had no creative energy to write.
My flight south was uneventful and I was pleased to see so many aircraft on the GAIA tarmac—Barbados is thriving! I know that these last five years have been so tough on many local entrepreneurs and am glad to see huge numbers of tourists eager to see the sights and enjoy the warmth, not only of the climate but also of Bajan sensibilities and their good humour.
After six weeks of necessary slothfulness, I’m going to start doing laps once more and can see that there is also pruning and shaping to be done on the bougainvillea. Aren’t those colours amazing?
Be well!
Danielle
So glad you are back in the warmth and feeling better!!!!!
xoxox