If there was a retroactive option to take our parents up on that “knock you into next week” threat, this week I’d likely cash it in. In this bizarre coronavirus society that we’ve temporarily become, time seems to have morphed into something totally different. Time is still moving, probably just as fast as it was before (ok, fine – just as fast), but it feels different, acts different, it travels different, and treats me differently. I cannot put my finger on what is different; it just is.
I’ve more time to sleep in, although I’ve been sleeping less. I’ve more time to watch my diet, although I’ve been watching those bowls of ice cream empty each and every day. I’ve more time to enjoy my family, although we’ve mostly enjoyed our own separate corners of the house. I’ve more time to write, although I sit here laboring to produce cohesive thoughts. I’ve more time for those projects there never seems to be enough time for, although in the three weeks since this all started, I’ve completed exactly zero. I miss sports. I miss the restaurants. I miss coffee shops and supermarkets. I miss sharing a laugh with my co-workers and seeing patients face-to-face – even the grumpy ones. This new way of living, however temporary, has taken hold, and chances are it’s dragged most of us through the five stages of grief, perhaps more than once. What was supposed to be the year of cheesy puns at the expense of the eye doctor has quickly become known for a new strain of virus awareness labeled as “pandemic”.
This inflamed boil on the buttocks of man’s time continuum will pass, someday. I’ve heard estimates ranging from May to August (PLEASE let it be May!), but it will pass. A decade from now we will all look back at this minor blip on our life’s radar, as we brag about living through it all as if it were a badge of courage. A time we may tell our grandkids about; the great virus outbreak of 2020. It seems it may even be significant enough to be designated as having a defined before and after – like 9/11 or the Vietnam War – so perhaps in 18 years we will be talking about the first high school graduates to have been born after the great COVID-19 outbreak of 2020. Could happen.
There’s truly not much more to share about this rendition of the coronavirus that you haven’t already heard or felt. Businesses are closing down. People are staying at home. Please wash your hands.
The good news it will end, be it next month or a few months down the road, life will return to normal. Kids will return to little league, people will sit in morning traffic on their way to work, FoxNews and CNN will resume their quarrelsome and animous love for each other. Most of us will have no trouble unwinding whatever yarn we’ve sewn to adapt to this little detour, and life will go on.
At least we can hope.
There is another side of this situation to consider, or perhaps better stated, another population. I’ve written many times before of my younger brother and his challenges. For those who may not recall, I’ll spare you the scrolling back through previous posts and repeat that he is diagnosed with Fragile X and a Pervasive Developmental Disorder (PDD) with a more recent Asperger’s classification. He turned 40 years old last September, although his cognition plateaued near a 12-year-old level thanks to the abnormal chromosome. His everyday challenges include difficulty relating to people, difficulty with eye contact, and difficulty monitoring and regulating his own emotions. He is fascinated with the same pop stars you’d expect a young teenage girl to follow, and his anxiety and aggression appear to be closer to the surface as he ages – and that’s on a good day.
As much as my brother dislikes changes in routine, it never seemed to bother me. Maybe it’s because growing up next to a disabled sibling wired permanent flexibility into my hard drive, maybe it’s because I have a tough time watching failure when I think I can help, or maybe it’s because I’ve accepted the fact that one of the most permanent things in life is change. Both career paths I’ve traveled thus far (paramedic and VT) come with seat-of-your-pants improvisation built-in to their job descriptors, so they both seemed to fit.
Explaining to someone with multiple developmental challenges the ways of life can be tough. Marriage, driving, and money management among the conversations had repeatedly with a man who has the interest, yet not the ability – and then comes the corona.
I’ve read and listened to many different opinions about what is happening currently with the coronavirus; everything from media hype to armageddon. Where you stand or what you believe about all of this is your business, and it’s to be respected. Remember, though, some are truly challenged and do not do well with the talk of mass illness, do not understand changes in routine, and might flippantly suggest you stick your thermometer somewhere undesirable. They are not trying to be rude, they are not trying to be insensitive, and they certainly do not understand they may seem offensive. People just handle and react to a crisis in their own way, in their own time, and within their own capabilities.
The word crisis comes from the Latinized Greek word krisis, meaning “the turning point in a disease”; essentially, the critical moment or pivot point. American English seems to have no problem applying it to other areas beyond medicine, like airplanes and big business. The interesting factor to me, though, is that the understanding of people’s challenges during this bizarre moment in history remains fairly strong, which is a double-edged sword in my eyes. I appreciate the compassion and empathy in the world right now, but it saddens me to know it will fade.
I’ve been making a point this week to ask all my patients how they’re managing from day-to-day. Both young and old alike seem to have the same response: the best we can. I just wish it didn’t take a crisis for the rest of the world to realize that for some populations, like my brother, this is how it works all the time.
vtpx.org 
Leave a comment