It’s easy to get lost in these puzzling times! All I could manage yesterday was getting out the box. . .
NOTE: Since this blog was written I have substantially recovered my spirits. Yay! Please take the following as a PSA on behalf of “shelter in place” friends and family members who live alone.
Midway through the second day of “stay home, stay safe” time here in Washington State, I got lost. On Wednesday, with twelve and one-half days to go of isolating myself at home, I lost all sense of worth, of who I am, of what I can do.
Midway through the third day of isolation, as I write this, I am still lost and I am getting angry. Because truth is shifting as people act either in fear of the pandemic or with the presumption that they can control it. I’ve wanted to cry before now, but couldn’t. This is what finally made me cry.
A simple thing, an appointment at the vet to get Doc’s claws trimmed. Bruce and I used to do this at home, once a month, but Doc is too wiggly for me to both hold him and clip his claws without injuring him. This is because the “quick” in his claws is very close to the point. If the claws go untrimmed the quick advances even farther. If you cut a dog’s quick it bleeds and causes the dog pain.
I started taking Doc in for monthly claw trims after Bruce died. One time I spaced out how much time had elapsed and didn’t get him in for two months. I received a kind but firm lecture about how once a month was essential for Doc’s health and mobility; in two months, the quick had extended and it had only been possible for the vet technician to clip the point at the very end.
Since then, I’ve been diligent, and was extra-sure to get him booked for his monthly trim when restrictions in response to the Covid-19 outbreak were announced by Governor Jay Inslee. Yesterday morning, when we arrived for our 9:15 AM appointment, cautionary signs were taped to the veterinary hospital door. Only one person in the waiting area at a time. If there is someone ahead of you, wait in your car. Only one person per family, please.
I appreciated these precautions and peered through the glass. The waiting area was empty. A vet tech I’ve known for 13 years was behind the counter. I gladly adhered to additional signage inside: Please stand to the right for service. A ubiquitous pump bottle of hand sanitizer was to the right of the sign.
The vet tech looked up, greeted me by name, and said, “Just so you know, after today we won’t be doing claw trims or other unnecessary procedures until further notice.”
She said this in a perfectly polite way, the same delivery she’d used last year when she told me Doc really needed to have his claws trimmed every month. The disjunction hit me instantly. My eyes teared. Another tech came out from the back to take Doc for his trim. By the time Doc came out again, tears were rolling down my cheeks.
“Strange times,” the vet tech at the counter commented as she handed me back my credit card and a printed receipt. She said something else, probably meant to be reassuring because she laughed a little bit after she said it. Whatever she said didn’t reach my brain. By the time Doc and I were back in the car, I was bawling my head off. He crawled onto my lap and remained there for the drive home.
In the fifteen months since Bruce died, I’ve learned that small, unexpected things trigger tears more than the big things I can prepare for in advance. There are so many layers to grief, and fear, and the feeling of isolation. It’s hard to know where the triggers lurk. Here’s what I think happened at the vet’s:
A year ago I was told a truth: the monthly frequency of Doc’s claw trims was essential. Yesterday, I was told that claw trims were considered an unnecessary procedure until further notice. The change in what was presented as truth, by the same person after a 12-month interval, felt like a lie, a betrayal. Who can I trust if I can’t trust this vet tech, someone who has been professional and firm but kind ever since I’ve known her?
I will never believe that this guy’s health and well being are less than essential! Doc Holliday, in the prime of youth. Photo by Liesl Zappler.
This betrayal may not have been such a blow, but unfortunately it happened after some very sad hours of reflection about our new reality. For the past four months I’ve been surviving emotionally by reaching out and putting myself out in the world, growing my new, solo life and rediscovering things that bring me joy. I’ve been reaching out to friends and family during the pandemic through cell phone and social media, but people don’t respond like they used to.
I realize that many people’s lives are more complicated than mine right now, with all the adjustments required to move their work from office to home, or face the worry of being temporarily out of work all together, or going to essential jobs and exposing themselves to dire health risks. Worry in taking care of children, home from school for an indefinite length of time. Worry about the most vulnerable in our families who may not fare well if the anticipated terrain of medical triage comes to be.
All of these things are hard and stressful. It is also hard and stressful to be isolating by myself, seeing people and things I’ve come to rely on trickle away under the weight of mandatory precautions. Right now I feel like I can’t depend on anybody or anything.
I’m here.
Yes, you are, Lily, and thinking about you is making me cry again.
We have to do this for now. You know that. It’s for everybody we know.
I know.
It’s a good thing you put me in charge of the Bowl game this round. “Lily Bowl” has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?
I guess.
Today we’re on the hook for #6. Puzzle! As in jigsaw puzzle? Let’s get lost in that for a while instead of chewing on the rest of it, okay?
My breakdown came Wednesday morning. I felt better, more relaxed afterward. I almost look forward to the relief of my next one! 🙂 We’ll get through this, hang in there! <3
Breakdowns are cathartic, that’s for sure! In solidarity, Susan
This all made so much sense to me. I’m certain that being home with children 24/7 is challenging and the worry about finances is scary if not terrifying. I just keep thinking that if you have other people, people that you may fuss with and get frustrated with but love with all of your heart, getting through this would be much different in a better way. I have spent some time picturing what we, as a family, would have been doing if this had all happened when Andi was an indignant 15 year old and Petey was 9 and Melissa was 7 and Bruce was still alive. There would have been a LOT board games and some of us would have spent a lot of time reading(mostly me) and eating and then there would have been fussing over and strict rationing of the prized toilet paper. It would have been so very different than my complete and utter aloneness with my three very best fur-friends always nearby. I am sure there are advantages to both scenarios. I’m doing ok … better than I would have ever guessed. I am starting to read again … I walk my dogs … I sit on my charming front porch and wave at neighbors and I listen to music and watch way too much tv. After giving it too much thought I have decided to buck-up (what a funny term) …. to ‘make the best of a horrible situation’ …. to be thankful for all that I have and to work on thinking of a hundred more euphemisms. I lI’ve your blog … I love Lily and I’m looking for my own younger , funnier and maybe wiser self thanks to Lily and you.
Here is to the coming days when we can throw our doors open and have family and friends stop by for summer root beer floats on the porch …. it will be so much more than worth waiting for. Thank you.
I love the image of open doors and root beer floats! Thanks for your wisdom, and for setting a good example, Vickie. Keep looking for your younger self, she’s probably closer than ever now! In the meantime, I highly recommend a “Bowl” game of your own design. Lily was absolutely right about the puzzle. . .Love, Susan (and Lily!)
Thanks for sharing your breakdown. Mine came after a trip to the grocery store where the shelves were bare of bread, ramen, cheese, milk….The only thing on my list that I actually got were wine and toothpaste. I teared up driving out of the parking lot.
I understand completely, Betty. It’s scary to look at an empty shelf when you were expecting comfort, also scary to contemplate how many of our fellow passengers on this trip are frightened/greedy/selfish enough to hoard staples. For years I lived 20 miles from groceries and during that time developed the practice of stocking extra nonperishable or frozen forms of basics as a regular practice “just in case.” This includes a small quantity of powdered and canned milk (gotta have it for the morning coffee, right?). Wine and toothpaste are good things to find as they are so hard to substitute!
Thanks for this Susan! I was trying to clip Lola’s claws and noticed one on each foot had reached her paw pad though not pierced it. Some claws are black, which makes it so hard to see the quick! I managed to clip only two before she bit at me, and didn’t get them short enough. Ugh! I’ll just have to keep trying every day. 💗
Major tip for getting through all of this- -yesterday, I didn’t 1. listen to or read the news 2. go on Facebook. Result: a 24-hour restoration of peace of mind! Hang in there, Deborah!