Week 1 - Lockdown
Had anyone suggested that living alone with a dear friend would be an ordeal, I would have indignantly denied it. Yet, for both of us, it is quite a strain. I suggested that my sister Ursula might like to come and see us, but her daughter Erica laughed loudly at this possibility, saying we would bicker with one another the whole time. And in fact, after considering our offer, Ursula has turned us down. Despite us living with her for 3 days and getting on fine – or, so we thought, anyway.
Thinking about things, we have both decided that we will do our own house cleaning from now on, and if we are still alive 2 weeks from now, there is a better chance that we will have got away with the risk of some one unwittingly infecting us.
When I invited Anne to resume living with me after a 63 year gap, I justified things to myself by saying that we could come back alive by going out to dinner with friends, by going to the theatre, to films, to museums and to restaurants. And yes, we have done all these things, and thoroughly enjoyed them. Unless this appalling ‘social distance deal’ is not called off fairly quickly, we may never have anything remotely resembling a normal life again.
What should we do if, despite this heavy burden of not living life to the full, we do somehow catch the virus? Do we go along meekly, to receive indifferent care, and perhaps be dumped into a communal grave? (I’ve been watching Boris too much, with his repeated homely threats to us that many thousands are doomed to die). Surely it would be preferable to die at home, in greater comfort and dignity than the NHS is able to provide at present?
Another gloomy thought is that either or both of us could get suddenly worse, and even need hospital treatment for some non-viral cause? We are quite old enough to have such a problem. It goes without saying that such a possibility should also be avoided if at all possible.
So, for only 6 days in, and 78 days to go – that’s where we are, this Sunday evening, 22 March 2020.
David
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