I’ve been wanting to write this post for a while, but it’s been difficult for several reasons. One reason is my very conflicted feelings about this whole COVID-19 situation. I feel them all: annoyance, anxiety, fear, gratitude, calmness – often all at once.
Just over two weeks ago, the WHO declared this outbreak a pandemic. However, I’m not overly worried about my own health at the minute. I’m able to control my interactions with people quite well, and I haven’t had to make any drastic changes to stay safe. In some ways, life is easier now with my husband working from home. With his help, I can actually find some energy to do things around the house other than keeping our dog and myself alive.
Obviously, I don’t meet up with friends or family right now. But I look forward to warmer days when we can sit on the porch, share some gossip, and have a cup of te or coffee – while keeping our distance. I don’t go to choir or other meetings (that aren’t online), and we do our food shopping online. Yet, all in all, these are minor changes, especially if they’re short-term and only last a few months or so.
There are, however, a few things I do worry about:
I worry about my sister-in-law’s safety as she treats children in the worst-hit area of Sweden.
I worry about one of my closest friends who is intubating patients and saving lives in the intensive therapy unit.
I worry about the safety of the staff at my local clinic in the infectious disease department – those taking care of patients who don’t need intensive therapy.
They’re all at increased risk because of the repeated and high dose exposures of the virus.
I worry about what will happen to my normal care when my clinic becomes increasingly swamped with COVID-19 patients.
Will the people I love be able to avoid this infection? My parents, who seem so strong and invincible – would they be okay if they got sick? They are careful and staying home, but eventually, they’ll go back to seeing me, my siblings, and the grandkids. And COVID-19 is probably here to stay.
I worry about my friends losing their jobs and income. I worry about my husband’s job. What about my siblings’?
I worry about what will happen when the majority of the population isn’t being as careful anymore. How will things be this autumn, or next winter, or the winter after that? Will I feel safe enough to invite friends into my home? Even though I’m sure I will, I’ll also be aware of the risk, just as I’m aware of the risk the flu poses every winter.
I hope they’ll identify why some people progress to severe disease, while others barely notice they’re sick. I hope they’ll figure out how long the antibody response lasts before it wears off. I hope there will be some kind of treatment to make the disease milder, or maybe even a vaccine. But I also know that it’s not easy to make vaccines – just look at other coronaviruses or RSV, for example.
At the same time, I feel gratitude that I have so much to worry about. That there is so much that matters to me, so much at stake. This morning, it stunned me a little how emotional I got when I was telling my husband about these worries; my voice started trembling and my eyes felt moist.
It moves me when I see how people want to help each other. They go shopping for each other, and my local food store quickly set up a delivery service for the elderly. I’ve seen a huge outpouring of love for my choir director and between choir members.
I am thankful that both my home clinic and cystic fibrosis team have taken the time to contact me during this stressful period, and that the CF organisation does a solid job of informing our community, offering advice during weekly webinars with consultants specialising in adult and paediatric CF care. It’s touching to see one of the consultants look straight into the camera and ask us all to take care and be safe – you can tell that he really means it and cares about our safety.
So, be safe. Be smart. Be kind.