Our company told everybody to go home a few days ahead of the governor shutting down all non-essential businesses, and a few days before that I had my wisdom tooth removal. They were supposed to take out two but only ended up doing one because as it turns out my wisdom teeth are extra enormous and were really stuck in there and getting the one out was a real pain in the you know what. (It's been two weeks and it still really fucking hurts. Thank you for asking, you're honestly so considerate.)
So anyway I had the benefit of prescription painkillers to take the initial edge off the weirdness of social distancing. Then daycare was still open for a few days (there were only two other kids there besides mine and it's approximately one minute away from where we live, otherwise I might have pulled her out sooner), so really I've only been home trying to simultaneously work and mom a toddler since Monday.
Of course I'm concerned for my family's physical and emotional and financial wellbeing, but that's not what's keeping me awake at night - yet - because we are extremely fortunate to still have both of our incomes for now. It will be a real blow if that changes, which it almost certainly will, but I think we'll be okay.
What hurts my whole heart, as I sip my coffee and listen to my healthy daughter talk to Peppa Pig and to the sounds of my partner leaving the house to go to the job that he still has while I comb through the websites of multiple online retailers who aren't shipping diapers right now, is how many people there are who are not okay, either because they weren't okay before all of this or because they're suddenly not okay as a direct result of this, or some combination of both of those things plus all of the other things.
And as much as I would like to believe that maybe this whole thing will bring about some meaningful social revolution, I am more immediately concerned about the fact that there are so many people who just got cut off at the knees, have no experience navigating public services that are impossible to navigate right now anyway, and have no cash to feed themselves. (If you are one of those people, please reach out to me. I can't do much, but if I can help you get groceries or soap or formula or wine or whatever small thing will help make this the slightest bit easier, I really want to. My email address is lindsaylineberry@gmail.com and if you know me in real life and have my phone number GO FOR IT. Even if I've ignored you in the past or you think I'm mad at you, just do it anyway. Maybe you can help me too.)
At this moment I don't have it in me to come up with smarter or nicer words to express a lot of what I'm thinking, but: I just never cease to be perplexed at how poorly prepared we are to handle any emergency situation. ("Who's 'we'?" you ask. I don't know. Everyone. Residents of the universe.)
I just deleted an entire paragraph because I'd rather celebrate the good parts of humanity right now, so here are two of mine:
+ Joe got an ear infection a couple of weeks ago, right when all of this was getting real for everybody around here. I couldn't get through to her pediatrician's office, which I expected since they'd probably been fielding frantic virus-related phone calls for days. So we popped over to urgent care, where we were asked to wait outside on the sidewalk because they couldn't have people gathered in the waiting room. And I won't lie to you - standing outside of urgent care in the cold with my sick baby and being really unsure of whether or not anyone would see her (they were having to turn people away who hadn't checked in online and then their website crashed) I started to really panic for the first time.
But the receptionist came outside, probably breaking many rules, and took time I'm sure she didn't have to explain what was going on. It was the smallest thing but the human contact calmed us down enough to think clearly and we went across the street to wait inside a warm restaurant (that was still allowed, then) and eat mozzarella sticks. And she was seen, and everyone was wonderful, and she's all better now.
+ Yesterday morning we had to put Griffon to sleep. He was sick in December, and when our [amazing, love him forever] veterinarian told us what he suspected, heart disease was one of the things he thought might be wrong. But since almost immediately after that Griffon's appetite came back and it seemed like he was back to normal, we assumed that he'd just eaten something that made him sick and it had passed (one of the other things the vet suggested.) But in the past few weeks I noticed his breathing seemed labored, and then when I started to be home all day it was really obvious that he wasn't acting like himself so I took him to The Animal Medical Center.
Let me tell you something: My heart is broken. Diego and I are both devastated. But the fact that there are people in the world working this hard to keep taking care of animals, and working just as hard to protect the people doing it, makes me feel so much better about everything. Their setup was as close to perfect as I think you can get - it involved heated outside waiting areas for humans, couriers taking the animals in and out of the hospital, and cell phone conversations with the veterinarians - and every single person was so, so kind.
Griffon had heart disease. He wasn't a fellow who enjoyed strangers, or being handled, or touched, or carried, and so even if I could afford to pay the thousands of dollars it would have cost to keep him in the hospital I wouldn't have put him through the medical procedures and then the multiple daily medicines he'd need after that.
We met him when we were still grieving Arwen, and we said goodbye during a literal pandemic. I can't help but think that there's some poetry in that, but in honor of Griffon's love of quiet I won't talk much more about it.
