Love in the Time of Corona: Update 11

Sunday, July 19, 2020 (Day Three of Solitary)

Being confined to a room in one's house is a fascinating experience.  The family check in on me from time to time, Diego less so.  At 17, he seems put out by everything and everyone most of the time, including me and my annoying COVID scare.  Jackson and I even watched a movie "together" last night (me on my makeshift bed in the office and he on the living room couch).

I'm really only "quasi-" or "semi-" isolated, and have noticed restrictions loosening as the dirty dishes pile up.  (It's good to be needed...)

But seriously, I do place value on limiting contact until the lab results are in.

Yesterday, I spent some time working on our family "Emergency Binder."  I printed out a form for our memorial preferences, and realized a few things, in real time, about myself as I filled one out.  One is that I don't want to be buried, I want to be cremated.  Another is I don't want any of my end-of-life stuff to happen in Texas.  I started in New York, and I want to finish my current adventure there, as well.  I want everyone to gather in the Union Church in Pocantico Hills, surrounded by Marc Chagall's stained glass windows for my memorial service.  And whether they allow it or not, I want my ashes to be scattered in the Cherry Esplanade at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, where I sat on a bench in the rain with a beautiful young woman who is now my wife.  I'd never met anyone who made getting rained on seem like such an amazingly pleasant experience.

I also realized I want an old friend, Nate Dudley, to preside over my memorial.  He knows what I'm about, comes from a good spiritual and political place, and can officiate in both English and Spanish, a necessity, since approximately fifty percent of my loved ones are Spanish speakers.  When I texted him we promptly had a FaceTime conversation, and caught up after many years.  We asked after each other's families, compared notes on what opening our respective school systems might look like, until I finally, nervously asked the question I had originally texted him about.

Elder Dudley's answer to my entreaty was perfect:  "Very honored by your request.  Thank you.  But let's make a date in 30 years.  2050 sounds good."

Sounds good to me too, Nato.  Sounds good to me too.  

Old pal, and church elder, Nate Dudley, with his two greatest creations 

Love in the Time of Corona: Update 10

Saturday, July 18, 2020

(Day Two of Solitary Confinement)

Slept poorly last night in my new cell.  Too quiet without the rhythmic din of my bride's snoring.  I tried all the usual remedies -- reading, meditation, "self-care," but nothing worked.

Everything about this is upside-down.  Having to wear a mask and gloves when I venture out of the office is one strange part of it.  But the oddest piece, and one I admit I failed to anticipate, is that I'm unable to touch anyone.  I've developed, it seems, an almost physical dependence on the touch of my loved ones -- the feel of my wife's lips on mine, the hearty fist-bumps of my teenage sons, and even the solace of watching my dog fall comfortably asleep as I stroke her soft, stinky coat.  (Yes, the instructions they gave me at the testing site included "Do not handle household pets.")

My deepest sadness comes from realizing, early on, that the vast majority of those 600,000 people who have died of this disease have done so without the comforting hands of loved ones holding theirs.  When it's time for me to go -- and I'm confident it won't be for a long time -- this is all I ask.  I don't need to b e surrounded by six Vestal Virgins, waiting to show me the way to paradise.  I don't even need a holy person, reading last rites.  All I'll want when my day comes is the feel of a familiar hand, the sound of a familiar voice telling me it's okay for me to move on to my next adventure.

Sometimes you have to let the dark thoughts come

Love in the Time of Corona: Update 9

Friday, July 17, 2020:  Solitary Confinement, Day One

The first of these updates came to me on March 10, so if I consider that my "Day One," today is Day 129 of thinking seriously about this virus.  In fact, the thinking I've done today is the most serious I've done so far.  This morning, after my usual cup of black coffee, I began being bothered by a pain in my left side.  It intensified and became a full-on cramp, and just as quickly, and out of nowhere, I was kneeling in my bathroom, heaving the few contents of my stomach into the toilet.  J. had to leave for work -- a temp job as a bilingual social worker helping refer people for COVID services -- and suggested I try a bath with Epsom salts.

I took her advice, but found no relief.  When she called to check in, the cramps were even worse.

"Get dressed," she said.  "I'll find out where you can get tested."

I had sweated through the t-shirt I'd put on after my bath, and the thought that this could be the coronavirus sent me into a bona fide panic.

"Please don't let me have it, please don't let me have it, I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die."

I muttered this mantra quietly but aloud, in the privacy of my bathroom.

Then I remembered my children.  And I became strong.  For them.  I refused to allow my fear to become theirs, so I calmed my breathing and told my older son Diego I was going for a quick checkup and that I'd be right back.

I got the nasal test -- a very long swab sent in through the nostril and down the passage and held there for about ten seconds.

And now I wait three to five days for my result.  I'm feeling much better and still have no fever; however I've moved into my home office, where I'll be in isolation, at least until we get the news, assuming it comes up negative.  Obviously, if it's positive, my isolation will continue for the prescribed 14 days.  

I'm confident I don't have the virus, and am staying optimistic, while staying isolated.

My fingers are crossed, my spirits are high, and I'll keep everyone posted....

The author, in Solitary, Day One