Living life in Corona-ville
In my 20s, I received a preliminary diagnosis of diabetes. The doctor said it would take several days for test results to show for sure or not. I should go home, he said. Take it easy, he said. Don’t worry, he said.
Instead of taking the doctor’s advise, I fretted. Boy, did I fret. Diabetes runs in the family, on my father’s side. I was pretty sure I had it.
Now, one consequence of diabetes is frequent urination. That was me in the days that followed. Three, four times an hour. Maybe more. My anxiety level was through the roof.
Finally, the doctor called with the results. Negative! Instantly, I came back down to earth.
A (somewhat) rational mind is a terrible thing to lose.
Fast forward five decades. Starting a week ago Thursday, I, of a certain age, began to feel achy. And was that a cough I had? Was my chest really congested? Was my head hurting? Did I have a fever?
The following day, after plunging a thermometer under my tongue not once, not twice, but three or four times, I confidently determined my temperature was normal, more or less. 97.6. But I still felt achy. I called a friend. Wanna play golf? I asked. As I walked to the first tee, I wondered to myself, “Should I be doing this? Is this a good idea. Oh my god, I’m probably sick with Covid-19.”
Saturday, I made a brief trip to the grocery store. I still felt achy. I still felt a little congested. I returned home. I washed my hands yet again. I was bored. The TV satellite was out. I watched Seinfeld reruns. I fell asleep. The cat woke me up. My finger joints were sore. I took my temperature. Normal.
Nevertheless all through the day on Saturday, I persisted. I waited for the arrival of the pandemic. Inside my house. Inside me.
Sunday I walked. Monday I walked. Tuesday the same. Outside. Six miles plus on Monday and Tuesday. Was that a mistake? My rationale: staying active is a good thing. Weak body, weak immune system.
On Tuesday, on television, the president appeared to take a new direction on the virus. More serious. More realistic.
Toward evening more and more governors and mayors of big cities were taking their turn on the airwaves. Mike DeWine of Ohio was especially busy. He’s a squirrelly little guy. A Republican. Against all odds I liked him.
I began reading a new book about the 1940 Blitz, the German bombardment of London. The British were bracing for an invasion; western civilization itself was in the balance.
I didn’t expect a lesson from the book for our time. Even so. This is what author Erik Larson had to say: people – ordinary people – pitched in. How so? Street signs were hauled down to confuse the invaders, if they came. “Farmers left old cars and trucks in their fields as obstacles against gliders laden with soldiers.” Motorists disabled their cars to prevent their use by the invading Hun.
And this by the government: Civilian gas masks – 35 million of them – were distributed.
“Suddenly everyone began paying attention….”
By Wednesday this coronarvirus thing began to feel like a war. Us against the pathogen. A dire national emergency. Our Gen. Marshall was Dr. Fauci, immunologist.
As of midweek, the nation had a new hero. His name: Steve Mnuchin, the Treasury secretary. God bless him. Negotiating with Nancy (Pelosi) measures to calm the roiled markets. And wanting to send us all checks to beat back the looming recession.
Good for him. Good for her. Washington can work. Maybe.
(This demand for an immediate economic stimulus should be a lesson to all those through the years who have been banging the drum for a balanced budget amendment to the Constitution.
What a sorry mess that would put us in right now.
How about a more localized economic stimulus, like a property tax holiday? The state would have to foot the bill, of course, but it would put (or leave) money in our wallets. Here’s another: a temporary suspension of the state sales tax, though with most retailers closed, what would be the point?)
Toward the end of the week, I paid another visit to the grocery store. It was after nine at night. The store was pretty much deserted; the shelves were well picked over.
I asked the cashier about bread for the next day. “Hard to say. We’re at the mercy of our suppliers.”
I needed gas. I was a click or two from empty. I drove to the nearest convenience store. I filled it up. Getting back in the car, I unscrewed the cap on the 12-ounce bottle of Pepsi I had brought from home. I pressed the bottle to my mouth. Just as the first gulp was sliding down, I realized the thousands, the millions of microbes from the pump that must have been sliding down, too.
“Suddenly everyone began paying attention….”
Richard Robbins lives in Uniontown. He can be reached at dick.l.robbins@gmail.com.