I am currently at an emotional nadir. I’m apparently healthy (hard to tell, of course, without being tested, but there simply are not enough tests to go around and I blessedly remain free of any real physical symptoms), I know I’ve said this before but our home is comfortable, we have what we really need physically, I will go out in a few days to re up the groceries, and that, of course, always adds both risk and stress, but there simply is no delivery option right now other than take out food so I’ll mask up, glove up and do what I can to get it done. Both of us are physically doing well, I’m active, reading, listening to music, getting my ducks in a row for my return to remote teaching next week (Sue is working all this week as well). I took almost an hour walk with Abbey the dog today, will likely run tomorrow (inside if the weather does not cooperate), I’m not overeating, I’m limiting my alcohol a bit (though, frankly all I want to do is numb up all day). I’ve dropped the few pounds I put on at the beginning and then some. But…..

Back when I set out to do the bariatric surgery  that has helped me be healthier than I’ve been in decades, there was a prep period where adjusting to low calorie, then full liquid diet to reduce the fat around the liver was hard. The first few days it seemed easy, then there was a very dark period where it was torture and seemed like it would never end, especially since there was a post surgical adjustment where “real” food was two weeks away after the procedure and it was really five weeks before a return to “everyday” food. It seemed endless during the middle, got to the point where I actually considered packing it in and foregoing the surgery. Then the last day or two, there was the proverbial “light at the end of the tunnel and it didn’t seem so bad. Finally, after surgery, there was physical recovery (for me incredibly easy) and a return week by week to reintroducing different foods. Now, five years later, it seems like it passed very quickly (and I am still incredibly grateful that I did it). I’ve tried to compare the current state of affairs to that. I’ve not been successful doing that. The surgery pre and post stuff had a clear beginning, middle and end, this does not. While I do believe it will end and “one day we’ll look back on this and it will all seem funny” (likely not really funny, though), it does not seem like it right now. When I ran the SoNo Half Marathon in 2016, that, too, had the same joy at the start, (miles 1-3) then struggle (miles 3-7) then real significant cramping (miles 7-12) then elation from 12-13.1 but again, there was a measurable endpoint, something with each mile marker both posted on the road and floating by on my Run App, letting me know I was 1/2, then 3/4 then close to the end. Not so today.

Then there are the gut punches that seem to happen every day, the sudden notification that a friend for more than 50 years had suddenly succumbed to this monster, being notified that others you know are fighting it, some successfully others in imminent peril. Couple that with my own sense of mortality born of age, coupled with the danger of contracting this and maybe not being able to fight it off and days are filled with trying to ignore it then trying to make sure the things are put in “order” just in case, all the while not knowing. I realize that not one single day is ever promised, that accidents happen, that physical trauma can be instantaneous, but never is it the overriding story, the seemingly never ending story. There is not a single moment that even commercials don’t mention “The Virus”.  I’ve not seen my kids, my grandkids, my friends, the colleagues at school, I had a tele med visit with my Doctor yesterday to discuss my seemingly increasing blood pressure and it was very strange. I’m not young, not even middle age anymore, while there is currently no end in sight to this virus event, the event called “life” does have an endpoint, maybe not measurable but clearly with limited boundaries, and the intertwining of these two events adds much stress.

I have been through some seriously rough life events, but I cannot ever remember being so emotionally shot for so long. I do the best I can to ignore it most of the day, but the shank of the evening almost always brings it into full focus.

I guess this outlet is the best hope I have to both chronicle it for when it’s done so I can look back on it, and simultaneously use my fingers to get rid of it as best I can.

“Don’t let us get sick, don’t let us get old, don’t let us get stupid, all right?”  closing thought courtesy of Warren Zevon…