Quarantine Diary #2

Day 9: Exiled for the Good of the Realm

Saturday, 21 March 2020
1pm

I write from Dublin's deserted streets, which I can see from the confines of our top-floor apartment.

No James Joyce Centre this week

The shiny light in the bottom right corner is the Off-License (Liquor store)
- it is still open and doing a roaring trade so it is.

The family I work for is very generously giving me paid time off as they're both working at home, so are juggling work and home-schooling their kids for now. One of their kids was born premature, and they're scared of what might happen if he contracts anything, so they're being super-careful.

So now I get to watch Jared work. And sleep in. File tax returns and finalise our building consent in New Zealand. I have made us delicious food and watched a lot of Anne with an E. I have spent a lot of time looking at pretty graphs on the internet and reading the news. (Shout out to Al Jazeera and RNZ, doing a fine job.)

We're not (yet) on full lockdown here, so I have been dragging Jared away from his work-from-home desk for a walk or bike ride each evening, in order to maintain sanity and sleep. Yoga each morning has been a nice way to start the days.

Royal Canal at Sunset

Inaugural Dublin Bikes excursion

Blitzing him on my bike... what do you think about Orla the Orange for a name?

I have developed a very specific sore throat. It started on Sunday.

I had minor paranoia that I had contracted Covid-19, despite having none of the symptoms.

My throat feels like the time that I had an ulcer on my tonsil. It seems to only be on one side and is reasonably impervious to painkillers. It's been a week. I hoped it'd get better on its own. it's not a big deal, just constant. Present. Twinging each time I swallow. Gnawing away at my resolve to be amicable and calm. On Thursday, I finally caved and called the Doctors.

It was the strangest Doctor's appointment I've ever had: I called them to make an appointment. I was informed that I was '6th in line' and they would 'call me back'. They 'called' and my phone didn't ring. The telecommunications infrastructure is struggling under the weight of this new responsibility. Voice message. I return the call. Jared, the best amateur doctor around, took a photo of what's happening in my throat, we emailed it to the doctor with my guess of what is going on. She looked at the email and called me back. She agreed with my self-diagnosis. The receptionist called me back to get my credit card details and said they would email the prescription to my choice of pharmacy.

I told her the pharmacy at the end of our street.

I went to collect my prescription later and it turns out that pharmacy is closed because their staff came into contact with someone who had Covid-19 and they had to self-isolate.

The sign on their door said that the pharmacy down the road was taking their orders.

I went to that pharmacy.

They hadn't received the email on Thursday evening, despite my doctors swearing they emailed the second place.

I messaged the closed pharmacy on Facebook and they had never received the prescription from my doctor either.

I went back to Life Pharmacy yesterday, assuming that they would by now have the prescription.

Those poor harried souls looked at me aghast as to why I was back again: They hadn't called me.

The line to see them was around the corner - all social distanced, a metre-ish apart. They apologised profusely, and looked through their emails. They said they still hadn't received anything.

I will try again today, now that I've blasted my doctor's office, and have a copy of the prescription emailed to me as well.

[Update 3pm] The pharmacy is closed until Monday. FFS.

Pharmacies operating on gmail accounts in these circumstances is a bit of a joke, lads.

I decided it was important to get dressed up to go to town. Leaving the house is now an 'occasion'.

In other news, you'll be pleased to know that this week our supermarket has implemented social distancing in the queues, but nowhere else, and they're out of flour but have HEAPS of toilet paper.

Of my monumental list of awesome things to do to avoid Lauren getting bored, I have done 3 things. I'm not going to tell you which things those are. How is it possible to be so 'unproductive' even when there is literally ONLY free time and nothing else to do? What have I been doing with my time? Ya know, I'm not really sure, to be honest.

I've done a bunch of mending. Actually getting better at hand-sewing and can nearly create a straight line when required.

We've watched 'Pandemic' on Netflix. We also tried Netflix Watch Party. Eh.

I made coconut loaf to calm the latent homesickness, and pretend like my mummy is near.

I spent a lot of time reading and watching all around the world, as the pandemic spreads and it is daunting reading. This is my fave site to check on how it is all unfolding.

Yesterday, I cycled to IKEA before it closed 'for the foreseeable future'. I am aware that I totally took the bait, but we haven't been there since this time last year, and it was a good excuse for a 18km bike ride. There were pre-recorded messages playing about social distancing. The checkout staff wore gloves, and only accepted tap payment. I hardly touched anything and washed my hands before and after going around the shop. I started with a scarf around my face, but it kept falling off and I was aware of how ridiculous I looked.

I can't remove the battery from my electric bike, so now it's just a bike. The bike store is closed, so no help there either. I will have just a bike for awhile yet. I think any cycling will progressively get curtailed, so probably not too much of a bother just yet.

Cafes are all closed. Any hope of getting a decaf cappa with coconut milk is zero.

I've made some lovely friends here in Dublin who are proving to be a hilarious vicarious source of support and love. Especially the Australian contingent - they really understand how hard it is to be so far away from home at this time and we're all going to support each other through this trying time.

Yea right. They'll be... supporting from afar.

I had a bath last night. It's supposed to be relaxing right? Our hot water cylinder only has enough water in it to create about half a hand's depth in the bath. So I had to get creative and a bit diva-ish - I put every pot we have on the stove and boiled water in each, then boiled the jug as well. I got Jared to bring in a pot every 10 minutes. Have I mentioned recently he is the best husband? He is definitely the best.

I tried to read. I read through some Irish poems of even more dire days, and decided that was enough doom and gloom for one night.

I feel like this is more a 'beautiful terror' at this stage, and not very beautiful at that.

It is the most frustrating thing trying to relax when there's low grade panic coursing through your veins. My attention span has withered away to nothing, and like a child, I'm complaining about everything and bored every 5 minutes. I had already been aware of how precarious our position was, but this has really highlighted it. My job security is entirely dependent on someone's good opinion of me, and how long they'd like to keep giving me free money, we have no insurance, no savings, no return flights, no guarantee of medical care, and apparently no functional access to a pharmacy or doctor should we need one.

Relax, Lauren. Relax, just chill, why aren't you relaxed yet?

The flip side of all this worry is we do have a lot to be grateful for. We still have jobs. We have a nice place to be cooped up in. We have food. We have power. It is getting warmer, so there's less need for heaters. I have a pretty amazing quarantine buddy, who's always up for snuggles, I can usually coerce a massage out of him and we can turn our lounge into a dance floor and just boogie. We have a bath. We have internet, and entertainment. We have a modest collection of board games, and we're up to 4 different versions of Ticket to Ride. Most importantly, we are healthy (for now).

It has seemed like a very long week, with a blissful banal nothingness relentlessly stretching out before me.

View from our room

If the rest of Europe is anything to go by, this is just the beginning of the lockdown.

You can't really see it but in the centre middle of the foreground there's an abandoned yard next to ours, overgrown and dead-looking... I have an insatiable desire to throw things in it which I'm trying to quell.

I listened to a podcast by the Guardian yesterday that was talking about Social Distancing and how important community will be over the next little while, and how people in the UK have Whatsapp groups for their neighbourhood etc, and how important it is to check on others and if they have to self-isolate, then they're going to need people to bring them things, so we will need to reach out more than (our current) normal. Kindness is key, don't expect too much of yourself, and be extra compassionate to yourself and others.

One of the key things mentioned was thinking about what you can do for others.

So I got to thinking about what I could do. I have an entire week with NOTHING to do of any importance next week except for write a book and re-file my dropbox account... Perhaps I'll use some business cards, drop a kind note to my neighbours, and create a bit of community in this giant building where 100 or so live side by side but don't know each other's names.

The fear of possibility is much worse at present than our lived reality, but my heart aches for the stories out of China, Italy and Iran.

Despite all the coming darkness, there are reasons to hope. Some of these have been eloquently expressed in a poem by a priest. I'll leave you with this.

Lockdown

By Brother Richard Hendrick

Yes there is fear.

Yes there is isolation.

Yes there is panic buying.

Yes there is sickness.

Yes there is even death.

But,

They say that in Wuhan after so many years of noise

You can hear the birds again.

They say that after just a few weeks of quiet

The sky is no longer thick with fumes

But blue and grey and clear.

They say that in the streets of Assisi

People are singing to each other

across the empty squares,

keeping their windows open

so that those who are alone

may hear the sounds of family around them.

They say that a hotel in the West of Ireland

Is offering free meals and delivery to the housebound.

Today a young woman I know

is busy spreading fliers with her number

through the neighbourhood

So that the elders may have someone to call on.

Today Churches, Synagogues, Mosques and Temples

are preparing to welcome

and shelter the homeless, the sick, the weary

All over the world people are slowing down and reflecting

All over the world people are looking at their neighbours in a new way

All over the world people are waking up to a new reality

To how big we really are.

To how little control we really have.

To what really matters.

To Love.

So we pray and we remember that

Yes there is fear.

But there does not have to be hate.

Yes there is isolation.

But there does not have to be loneliness.

Yes there is panic buying.

But there does not have to be meanness.

Yes there is sickness.

But there does not have to be disease of the soul

Yes there is even death.

But there can always be a rebirth of love.

Wake to the choices you make as to how to live now.

Today, breathe.

Listen, behind the factory noises of your panic

The birds are singing again

The sky is clearing,

Spring is coming,

And we are always encompassed by Love.

Open the windows of your soul

And though you may not be able

to touch across the empty square,

Sing