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Day #82 of Self-Isolation in Epidemic Central
Day 82 finds me battling a sick headache - which is not COVID related, so no worries on that front.
And..I'm not so sure it is epidemic central any longer. We're entering Phase #1 of the re-opening tomorrow. This means that manufacturing, construction, curb-side pick up, limited and at a specific appointed time - in store retail pick up, and more subways. Although G trains were going every 12 to 15 minutes during the crisis according to the notifications on my phone. Subways in NYC will continue to close down between 1 am and 5 am, which is kind of an adaption of European guidelines. This allows the trains to be thoroughly disinfected.
At 3 Am this morning, I woke up from a nightmare about the COVID virus, to the vertigo/sinus-tension headache from hell. The vertigo aspect lasted until 5:30 am. I finally was able to sleep from 5:30-9:30. Took a shower, had oatmeal (the idea of eggs was kind of naseuating), green tea, and did the worship service ZOOM.
The sinus-tension headache portion has lasted all day long, with me fending off the vertigo. As a result, I've not left my apartment. And outside of Zoom this morning spent very little time online. I'm half convinced that the headache is a symptom of the menopausal period from hell (basically I feel like I'm having a period, have all the negative symptoms but no period outside of spotting.) Irritability is through the roof. Not helped by the onslaught of the sick headache. I wanted to talk a walk around the Cemetery today - it helps put things in perspective somehow - the knowledge that everything dies, and yet, life sprouts from death in various ways, is comforting somehow in these troubled times. I also feel less alone walking in there, and less terrified.
But, alas, the headache wouldn't let me. My balance was completely off. Every once and a while I feel as if I'm walking on the deck of a ship. I've taken decogestants, tynenol, and advil, also antihistimine. Around 4:30 pm I took my blood pressure medication, because according to my home blood pressure gauge - my blood pressure was about 149-164 over 100-101, with a 58 heart rate. I couldn't help but wonder if that was adding to the headache.
Maybe. Maybe not.
Sinus headaches are kind of akin to a migraine.
I lay in bed this afternoon for about two hours, with the lights off, and tried not to move my head. That helped, and it seemed to get better.
This Morning's Zoom Church Service was our Annual Flower Communion - this honors a Czech Unitarian Minister who harbored refugees from the Nazis and spoke out against the Nazis in his church during WWII. He was captured and died in the concentration camps - but while there made music and provided hope. In his church they had a ritual in which people would offer flowers and place them on the altar as symbols of love and faith, at the end of the service, each person takes home a different flower than the one they brought.
For this service - which took place entirely online via Zoom, we were asked to send photos of flowers to the interim Minister, a black UUA minister. (Considering the scandal in the UUA church in 2019-2018 about the lack of POC in the UUA, it is a big deal that our church had its first black minister leading services particularly during this time. Through him, we were able to find peaceful ways to express our rage and desire for justice.) For the flower communion - he posted each of the pictures we sent (I sent about six that I'd taken at Greenwood Cemetery) with a different name and description of an unarmed black man or black woman who had been killed by the police within the past few years. The list was very long and painful. At the end of this presentation, we were told to take a picture in our hearts along with a name of the person alongside it and remember them.
The name I can't quite let go of is Breonna Taylor, the EMT worker, who was killed in her home this year - shot nine times, in Louisville, Kentucky.
A healthcare worker, who runs and works in a facility that helps the underprivileged with health care needs and services, stated during the service that it was as if we had all been sent to different planets. Some to Venus - where they played games, sat at home, or in their terrace gardens, watched television or worked remotely, while others went to Mars - where they made excruciating life and death decisions daily and saw people struggling to live. Life on Mars, he stated, was hard and painful, and while he's happy we were safe on Venus and staying there - to make Mars a little less hellish...he hoped we'd all realize what had happened and that we should not be returning to the same Earth that we left behind.
After service, my headache lurking painfully in the background, I called my mother for our daily phone chat.
Mother: I don't understand why they are still protesting. How long are they going to be protesting - it's been over ten days.
Me: I understand why. They are fed up.
Mother: Probably of being stuck inside and want to party.
ME: No. You don't understand because you've never had to live it. But it's not that - and they aren't partying -
Mother: Getting outside, marching gathering together -
ME: No. It's more than that. It's...(and I tell her about our service this morning). It's Breonna Taylor who was killed in her home - the EMT worker, who was saving lives - she sticks in my head. She was turning twenty-eight.
Mother: OH god, yes, mine too. Shot eight - nine times in her home. With no warning or reason.
Me: OR George Floyd killed after he recovered from COVID-19 for what? A counterfeit twenty dollar check? Or the old man in Buffalo who is attacked by a squad of cops, and they step over him as if he has no worth.
Mother tells me about her friends who voted for Trump because they are Republican. They didn't like him, but hey, they are Republican.
Me: You aren't helping me see the good in Republicans here, you know that right?
Mother tells me about funny, kind elderly lady, whose kids hate Trump, and has stuck with him because of "the economy" - it's doing fine under him, why change. And my headache slowly burns behind my ears, rearing it's ugly head. And I find myself wishing her friends were dead. I tell her that they are greedy bastards with no souls. Caring for no one but themselves.
Mother: No no, they are kind. They care for us, they care for their families, they donate to homeless shelters...
Me: kind of like my co-workers - but they care for the things they care about. The causes that affect them. My co-worker/former boss who donated money and time to domestic pet shelters because she loves cats and dogs. But voted for Trump and supports him.
Mother: Do you tell her that you saw Trump kicking dogs in a dog park on video?
ME: Yes, but she didn't believe me. You can't argue with people who don't want to believe you.
Mother: I wonder if your cousin's husband still supports Trump? He went out of his way to adopt a black teenage boy.
Me: I don't know. I hope not.
Mother: People aren't one thing.
Me: Yes, but the reason people are protesting is the pent-up frustration. I get it. I do. I wish I was out there.
Mother: You are like I am - you aren't a protestor.
Me: Maybe not - but I'm trying to fund them. I want to wave a magic wand and make the world and everyone in it the way I want them to be. Kind, loving, compassionate, and not selfish bastards.
In my Covid nightmare which I shared with my mother - I was going to see my friend Diana, and got there, and there was a huge party, and she came in focus wearing a beautiful mask and I realized I'd forgotten my mask, and I held up what seemed to be an oven mitt over my face. Then I got into a debate with these people trying to pull it away from me - they weren't wearing masks and they told me that I shouldn't be wearing one either. That's when I woke up to the room spinning, I remember lying there for a while wondering if would stop long enough for me to go to the bathroom, and get some meds.
Outside my window, it is a beautiful day. In the low seventies, with light fluffy clouds, and blue sky and a nice breeze. The trees a fervent green.
And the weekend such as it is has rushed past me, I've felt as if I've accomplished little within it - outside of raging at my own impotence.
I leave you with a picture of a flower...my own since I can't seem to grab one from my church... to which I offer up to Breonna Taylor - whose petition for Justice, I signed this past week.
And..I'm not so sure it is epidemic central any longer. We're entering Phase #1 of the re-opening tomorrow. This means that manufacturing, construction, curb-side pick up, limited and at a specific appointed time - in store retail pick up, and more subways. Although G trains were going every 12 to 15 minutes during the crisis according to the notifications on my phone. Subways in NYC will continue to close down between 1 am and 5 am, which is kind of an adaption of European guidelines. This allows the trains to be thoroughly disinfected.
At 3 Am this morning, I woke up from a nightmare about the COVID virus, to the vertigo/sinus-tension headache from hell. The vertigo aspect lasted until 5:30 am. I finally was able to sleep from 5:30-9:30. Took a shower, had oatmeal (the idea of eggs was kind of naseuating), green tea, and did the worship service ZOOM.
The sinus-tension headache portion has lasted all day long, with me fending off the vertigo. As a result, I've not left my apartment. And outside of Zoom this morning spent very little time online. I'm half convinced that the headache is a symptom of the menopausal period from hell (basically I feel like I'm having a period, have all the negative symptoms but no period outside of spotting.) Irritability is through the roof. Not helped by the onslaught of the sick headache. I wanted to talk a walk around the Cemetery today - it helps put things in perspective somehow - the knowledge that everything dies, and yet, life sprouts from death in various ways, is comforting somehow in these troubled times. I also feel less alone walking in there, and less terrified.
But, alas, the headache wouldn't let me. My balance was completely off. Every once and a while I feel as if I'm walking on the deck of a ship. I've taken decogestants, tynenol, and advil, also antihistimine. Around 4:30 pm I took my blood pressure medication, because according to my home blood pressure gauge - my blood pressure was about 149-164 over 100-101, with a 58 heart rate. I couldn't help but wonder if that was adding to the headache.
Maybe. Maybe not.
Sinus headaches are kind of akin to a migraine.
I lay in bed this afternoon for about two hours, with the lights off, and tried not to move my head. That helped, and it seemed to get better.
This Morning's Zoom Church Service was our Annual Flower Communion - this honors a Czech Unitarian Minister who harbored refugees from the Nazis and spoke out against the Nazis in his church during WWII. He was captured and died in the concentration camps - but while there made music and provided hope. In his church they had a ritual in which people would offer flowers and place them on the altar as symbols of love and faith, at the end of the service, each person takes home a different flower than the one they brought.
For this service - which took place entirely online via Zoom, we were asked to send photos of flowers to the interim Minister, a black UUA minister. (Considering the scandal in the UUA church in 2019-2018 about the lack of POC in the UUA, it is a big deal that our church had its first black minister leading services particularly during this time. Through him, we were able to find peaceful ways to express our rage and desire for justice.) For the flower communion - he posted each of the pictures we sent (I sent about six that I'd taken at Greenwood Cemetery) with a different name and description of an unarmed black man or black woman who had been killed by the police within the past few years. The list was very long and painful. At the end of this presentation, we were told to take a picture in our hearts along with a name of the person alongside it and remember them.
The name I can't quite let go of is Breonna Taylor, the EMT worker, who was killed in her home this year - shot nine times, in Louisville, Kentucky.
A healthcare worker, who runs and works in a facility that helps the underprivileged with health care needs and services, stated during the service that it was as if we had all been sent to different planets. Some to Venus - where they played games, sat at home, or in their terrace gardens, watched television or worked remotely, while others went to Mars - where they made excruciating life and death decisions daily and saw people struggling to live. Life on Mars, he stated, was hard and painful, and while he's happy we were safe on Venus and staying there - to make Mars a little less hellish...he hoped we'd all realize what had happened and that we should not be returning to the same Earth that we left behind.
After service, my headache lurking painfully in the background, I called my mother for our daily phone chat.
Mother: I don't understand why they are still protesting. How long are they going to be protesting - it's been over ten days.
Me: I understand why. They are fed up.
Mother: Probably of being stuck inside and want to party.
ME: No. You don't understand because you've never had to live it. But it's not that - and they aren't partying -
Mother: Getting outside, marching gathering together -
ME: No. It's more than that. It's...(and I tell her about our service this morning). It's Breonna Taylor who was killed in her home - the EMT worker, who was saving lives - she sticks in my head. She was turning twenty-eight.
Mother: OH god, yes, mine too. Shot eight - nine times in her home. With no warning or reason.
Me: OR George Floyd killed after he recovered from COVID-19 for what? A counterfeit twenty dollar check? Or the old man in Buffalo who is attacked by a squad of cops, and they step over him as if he has no worth.
Mother tells me about her friends who voted for Trump because they are Republican. They didn't like him, but hey, they are Republican.
Me: You aren't helping me see the good in Republicans here, you know that right?
Mother tells me about funny, kind elderly lady, whose kids hate Trump, and has stuck with him because of "the economy" - it's doing fine under him, why change. And my headache slowly burns behind my ears, rearing it's ugly head. And I find myself wishing her friends were dead. I tell her that they are greedy bastards with no souls. Caring for no one but themselves.
Mother: No no, they are kind. They care for us, they care for their families, they donate to homeless shelters...
Me: kind of like my co-workers - but they care for the things they care about. The causes that affect them. My co-worker/former boss who donated money and time to domestic pet shelters because she loves cats and dogs. But voted for Trump and supports him.
Mother: Do you tell her that you saw Trump kicking dogs in a dog park on video?
ME: Yes, but she didn't believe me. You can't argue with people who don't want to believe you.
Mother: I wonder if your cousin's husband still supports Trump? He went out of his way to adopt a black teenage boy.
Me: I don't know. I hope not.
Mother: People aren't one thing.
Me: Yes, but the reason people are protesting is the pent-up frustration. I get it. I do. I wish I was out there.
Mother: You are like I am - you aren't a protestor.
Me: Maybe not - but I'm trying to fund them. I want to wave a magic wand and make the world and everyone in it the way I want them to be. Kind, loving, compassionate, and not selfish bastards.
In my Covid nightmare which I shared with my mother - I was going to see my friend Diana, and got there, and there was a huge party, and she came in focus wearing a beautiful mask and I realized I'd forgotten my mask, and I held up what seemed to be an oven mitt over my face. Then I got into a debate with these people trying to pull it away from me - they weren't wearing masks and they told me that I shouldn't be wearing one either. That's when I woke up to the room spinning, I remember lying there for a while wondering if would stop long enough for me to go to the bathroom, and get some meds.
Outside my window, it is a beautiful day. In the low seventies, with light fluffy clouds, and blue sky and a nice breeze. The trees a fervent green.
And the weekend such as it is has rushed past me, I've felt as if I've accomplished little within it - outside of raging at my own impotence.
I leave you with a picture of a flower...my own since I can't seem to grab one from my church... to which I offer up to Breonna Taylor - whose petition for Justice, I signed this past week.