The trees blossomed. Daffodils and bluebells appeared. Pollen filled the air. Our thickest coats became redundant, the rains and storms let up, the sun came out. Somehow, while our heads were turned, our attention consumed by a situation so strange, so unprecedented (the world’s new favourite word), winter slipped away like a ghost in the shadows and spring, without fanfare, quietly got on with it.
A month earlier I’d been seeing friends, having a weekend away, going to the cinema and out for meals. Yes, ‘things’ were happening in far off lands, but over here all was fine. A week later, a trip to Paris went as planned and antibac gel and hand cream made their debut appearance in my handbag. Museums were empty but restaurants were full. The buzz of unease was palpable but we were all in it together, and at least part of the tension was for the gilets jaunes protesting in the streets.
A week later, France closed its borders, America slammed the door, Italy went AWOL and Spain moved into lockdown. We, meanwhile, hovered like insecure kids round the sides of the playground, not sure what we should be doing or how we should behave. Be cool and carry on? Or be square and follow new rules? What was the protocol? Were we overreacting or not taking this seriously enough?
While some friends on social media were still going out, still socialising, still apparently not giving a toss, I became nervous about even getting a takeaway. (Contamination! Germs!) I stopped short of stockpiling enough bog roll to flood the black market, but I did turn all tactical when it came to food. Finally on a supermarket website (6,879th in the queue), I reserved slots up to four weeks in advance and tweaked my regular shop with frozen veg and cans of many different beans. I started popping Vitamin C and throwing back elder daughter’s homemade apple and ginger shots like there was no tomorrow. Maybe there was no tomorrow. We didn’t have a clue.
Theatres closed. Pubs and cafés closed. Offices closed. Schools closed. Exams were cancelled. Trains stopped. London emptied and homes filled. Then our prime minister (got off his arse and) announced lockdown.
Consumed by a world pandemic, I took a much-needed walk around my local streets and stopped and stared. How could this be? Trees were in blossom! Bluebells and daffodils were in flower! The season I looked forward to most, indifferent to my concerns, had started without me. Despite everything awful and surreal that was going on, the Earth was still turning, the seasons were still changing, life, in the natural world at least, had kept calm and carried on.
I, on the other hand, had, it seemed, slipped into survival mode: one foot in front of the other, taking each day an hour at a time. And while I never thought I’d think this, the Cancer Year had, I realised, held me in good stead. Admittedly, the fear seven years earlier had been substantially greater, the panic considerably worse, but two things were similar to now.
The first, during the chemo months, I’d get on the train after four hours at the hospital and blink like a mole emerging from its hole, in recognition of summer, and heat, and commuters who’d had a normal day and were probably heading home for a glass of wine; carefree people leading normal lives in a world I wasn’t part of. Walking the streets seven years later, the feeling was not dissimilar; life was getting on with it while I was on the sidelines.
The second, during the cancer year my brain turned to mush, my memory faltered, my productivity dimmed, my concentration levels fell. The chemo played its part, but stress was more to blame. And now, just like then, I couldn’t concentrate, I wasn’t productive, I kept forgetting things, my brain was overwhelmed.
But muscle memory is a wonderful thing. I’d confronted an uncertain future before and instinct kicked in again. The golden rules were these:
- Have zero expectations.
- Make no plans.
- Keep things simple.
- Don’t think about tomorrow.
- Don’t dwell on yesterday.
- Don’t scour the internet.
- Don’t watch too much news.
- Get information from reliable sources.
- Eat nice food.
- Ditto cake and chocolate.
- Listen to music.
- Read what you fancy.
- Watch entertaining TV.
And as my wise consultant said, ‘Put one foot in front of the other and tackle each day an hour at a time. Be kind to yourself. Don’t overthink it. Focus on what you can control, not on what you can’t.’
Grateful for small mercies, I don’t have to home-school the kids. But if I did, I’d hold on to the thought that every single child in the country is in the same boat. Juggling’s a challenge without a lockdown. If they watch more TV and play more computer games nothing bad is going to happen.
Got to support an A Level student who’s no longer an A Level student though. No exams, no school, no lessons, no structure. Seven weeks (not counting), and parenting goals (like quiz-free Saturday nights) are a thing of the past. If they want to sleep all day, stay up all night – what does it matter? Lessons I’ve learnt for an easier life – don’t try to organise them. Don’t tell them how to fill their time. Don’t ask what their friends are doing. Do not give advice. Be there to listen. Nod and just agree. It’s harmony over discipline, sanity over vanity.
For many of us, the challenges we’re facing are new, yet hopefully they’ll pass. For those of us with a compromised immune system, a long-term illness or a new diagnosis, if we suffer with anxiety, are victims of domestic violence or live with an alcoholic, they are our long-term reality, worse, a threat to life. If we learn anything from this experience, hopefully it’s a greater understanding that social distancing and self-isolation, loneliness and fear are, for many, not a temporary state but their everyday lives.
We may be craving human contact, but it’s simpler than ever to click and connect. We’re Zooming and Slacking, Skyping and Bunching, we’re having watercooler chats in Workplace, and meeting in Google Hangouts, we can FaceTime and Houseparty, WhatsApp, or – just – bloody – call. We might be working, be on furlough, have had a pay cut or lost our job. We’ll struggle to find employment, but the Additional Skills on our CVs are full to bursting and ready to go.
To those of a certain age who are still harping on that they don’t ‘get’ social media, think smartphones are the devil’s work – ‘People don’t talk anymore. They’re always on their screens. I don’t like computers. I prefer my interaction face-to-face,’ – I have a few things to say. That’s not smart. It’s not clever. It’s the 21st century now twenty years in. You’ve moved on from horses, carrier pigeons and candles. Stop being pompous and embrace technology while you still have a pulse.
We are separate by necessity but there’s been a sense of unity. With strangers on my daily walk as we share a we’re-all-in-this-together smile, or my colleagues on Zoom at 9.00 Morning Check-In, or a friend overseas whose email reveals she feels the same as me, or even back in Paris, all those weeks before, when people chatted everywhere we went. ‘What’s it like in England? Are people scared? We’re losing business. How do you feel about Brexit?’
Brexit? What’s Brexit? Who’d have imagined it would stop being news? But, where to find food and medicine, my youngest and her friends unable to celebrate their 18th birthdays, friends who couldn’t access hospital treatment – did indeed take over in importance. Only now is it evident how Europe is working together while the UK remains stubbornly separate as our governments tackle lockdown.
We are instructed to celebrate VE day yet support Brexit, to stay at home yet have street parties. A grim game of Boris Says – stay in, go out, clap your hands, don’t use your head. Our prime minister is a clown, our country is a laughing stock, and as we slip and slide into a future that’s about as secure as a stroll on quicksand, instead of feeling united and confident that someone is in control, it’s every man for himself as we figure out the right thing to do.
But – hurray for the positive – we’re learning resilience and how to be resourceful. Who are our friends and those with integrity. We may have to stand alone and dig very deep. But we have the choice to do what’s right and not follow the sheep. So maybe, when this is over or we have returned to a semblance of ‘life as we knew it’, we’ll emerge from our bunkers more soulful, more humble, richer in the knowledge that good health and love are what count, and happiness is freedom from fear.
daniellesimpson 