COMMUNITY DISPATCHES
FROM MAY 2020 ISSUE OF WEST END PHOENIX
Neighbours across the country offer insight into the ways life in lockdown has changed them
“For the first time in my career as a family doctor, I had to tell a patient she has cancer by phone. I couldn’t watch her reaction, offer reassurance, hold her hand or give her a hug. What I do feels very small compared to my colleagues who are holding down the fort in ERs and ICUs and COVID assessment centres across the world. But that moment with my patient, who I have known for 20 years, was incredibly difficult and poignant for me. It’s now become the norm to deal with almost everyone by phone, and, strangely, it’s both less personal and more personal. It’s a bit like going to confession – some people feel free to talk without being seen.”
“It was one of those little time-stop moments. A woman who was picking up books brought in some cookies and this beautiful watercolour book cover she had made. It said, ‘How to Absolutely Serve Your Community During a Pandemic by Type Books,’ with a personal note on the back. Everything here has been so frantic. I was in the middle of four different tasks and the phone was ringing, but it made me freeze for a second. I fully cried. That caring gesture and moment of appreciation just floored me.”
“I hadn’t seen my daughter, Leah, in over a month. Her partner drove her down to Victoria from the rural community of Metchosin in his big, rickety pickup truck. When she arrived, I stood on my second-floor balcony and she threw freshly foraged fiddleheads up to me. I asked myself if this was the last time I would ever see her. I memorized what she was wearing, her face, her hair, her voice, just in case it was.”
“In February, my elderly mother called me saying she didn’t want to go to her community centre anymore until the virus had passed. That was when the situation became real for me. As someone in healthcare, I feel like I have an advantage in having better knowledge of what’s going on. Still, I’m surprised by all the non-scientific opinions, or folks who just choose to not take guidelines seriously. It’s not about lack of knowledge – it’s about selfishness. I’m touched when parents bring their children to my office and they wear a mask, because what they’re saying is they care about my safety as well as theirs.”
“If you had asked me a month ago, I’d say I was doing everything right for my age. I was a full-time media and public relations student; I had two jobs, one of them with the government. But both my jobs have disappeared on me and I still have to pay rent. I might have to pass up an internship at CBC, even though I’ve spent the last two years saving up, hoping that I could do it. I wake up and don’t know what to do with myself. I’m getting into fights with family and friends that I normally wouldn’t. I’ve never been depressed in a way where things don’t have meaning, but now I’ll be doing homework and think, ‘Who gives a shit about my homework?’ I know my profs have more important things going on in their lives. If everything can fall apart so quickly, why does any of this matter?”
“I was helping a gentleman who was upset I wasn’t accepting cash at my register. While he was moving his things to a different line, one of my co-workers tried to help him by moving his cart. He pointed at her and yelled, ‘Get your hands off my cart!’ Everyone stopped to see what was going on. He got very upset and complained to one of our managers. All he cared about was what we were touching. He didn’t care about the risks of paying in cash or how he was treating us. It makes me feel like my co-workers and I are disposable.”
“I just wear a mask and hope for the best. You do get people who are coughing or clearing their throat. What am I going to do? They could be a smoker; I don’t want to assume the worst. Lots of people are grateful and generous, though. I drove a really polite woman who thanked me and gave me a $20 tip. Things like that feel good. Even just a thank you is nice. For people like me or people who are working and can’t stay home, it’s important.”
“The other day, I went to take my dogs for a walk, and as I journeyed out of town I came across what appeared to be a 200-metre strip of perfectly Zambonied ice on a meandering river. I had been passing the same spot for days and the river had been covered in snow and ski tracks, so I was more than a little surprised to see it this way. The weather had been warm enough to melt the snow on the thick layer of river ice, but had the nights been cold enough to freeze it hard enough to bring back Canada? I tested it. Yes! I raced home, grabbed my skates, gloves, stick and a puck, made a quick post babbling ecstatically about it on Facebook, and hurried back. Have you ever heard the sound skates make on river ice in the middle of nowhere with no one but you to translate what they’re saying? It got even better when my best friend’s son, who saw my post, showed up wearing a vintage Canucks sweater and a greasy Auston Matthews moustache. We skated for what seemed like hours, passing the puck between us, and filling the space in between passes with lip-jacking, just being kids again. And for a few short moments, everything was right with the world.”
“I take my dog, Murray, out every morning at 4:30 or so and look skyward. I take a few deep breaths and gird myself for the day of uncertainty, bad news, physical distance. It is a very, very peaceful moment. And the view marks the passage of time: I have looked up at the northern lights, a starlit night sky, and just today a hint of light cast from over the horizon. It’s warming up and the midnight sun is on its way.”
“By this new standard, I am one of the admired. The reality though, is that it has taken a global pandemic to provide me with a connection to mankind. Things that ‘normal’ people take for granted are again part of my life. I feel pathetic, but I also feel relieved. Mental illness was not reason enough for me to feel allowed to physically distance myself. A global pandemic was.”