The lockdown journal: Closer it inches

Shaken. Rattled. That's how I feel. Like my breath was knocked out of me. Like the solid ground under my feet vanished. 

I woke up today, with a concrete plan for the day. As I was eating breakfast, I called home for my daily check-in. I was blabbering about some inane detail of my day, when my Mom cut my call saying she was getting another call. And then, she did not call me back for a good five minutes. My parent radar immediately went on alert, because this behavior was very uncharacteristic of her. I called her back, and after a bunch of probing questions, she blurts out: One of my patients tested positive yesterday.

I froze for a full second, and then felt a tsunami of emotions hit me. 

Concern and worry came first, and they caught my breath and held it captive. 

My mother. I hope she's fine. God, this is the stuff of nightmares! Why is this happening to us?

Anger was a powerful second, and I was so tempted to yell.

I told you  a hundred times not to see patients. Why did you not listen to me? 

It took all my strength to rein that in and not give voice to it, but I somehow managed. 

Sadness arrived next. 

This happened yesterday? A whole day before? Why did you not tell me? Would you even have told me today had I not probed?

I held this one back too, with great difficulty.

The waves receded, and I felt a little bit of clarity return, along with a million questions. I chose to give voice to one of these questions and have a logical conversation, rather than walk the emotional minefield, inevitably hurting us both.

What's next? Do you have to get tested?

The clinic is shut for the next 15 days. Yes, I have to get tested. Once from 7 days of exposure. And then, after 15. We're home quarantined for now.

My mind is already in overdrive, and it keeps wandering off from the present. Over the past three months, I have had this conversation a thousand times with my mother. Here's how it goes:

Please consider closing your clinic for a few days. These are risky times, and I want you to be safe.

Yes, I am safe. I am taking all precautions. Risk of infection is an occupational hazard for me, and it has always been that way. Don't worry about it.

How can I not? You are 60+. Dad is 70+. Grandpa is 90+. All 3 of you are co-morbid as well.I understand where you come from, but rethink this.

What if all doctors shut up their practice to be safe? Who would treat patients then? There are already so few doctors who are open in our area, as you know. If I too close, where will those poor people go? This is my duty.

It is your duty to treat people, but not at the cost of putting yourself at risk or dying. Please close for a few days.

Don't worry about me, nothing will happen.

Any more nagging on my part would get her very defensive, and she would joke about testing positive or dying,which is the medical profession's equivalent to gallows humor, I suppose.

In every conversation, I could see the merit of what she said. I understood her. I even agreed with what she said if I thought about it rationally. But she is always my mother first, and a doctor next to me. I suppose I am selfish. I am not ready to sacrifice her for the greater good. As her daughter, my first concern is her safety. Yet, despite all this mental turmoil, I have tried not to push or coerce her too much. I am proud of what she is doing, and her free will is something I respect. But now, I am irrationally drawn to hoping she had listened to me. We would have never gotten here, I muse. But there is no point to saying that out loud. It is what it is, and I can only control how I deal with it. I can yell and hurt, or I can soothe and comfort. I tell myself, choose wisely. This is water. 

I drag myself back to the past, and resort to humor, to bring some sense of normalcy.

God has given you a vacation of 15 days, which you have never taken all your life. Enjoy! Sleep for as long as you like. Watch a few movies. Catch up with a few people over phone.

She agrees, and we laugh. But soon, I am drawn to what the reality is.

What about testing? Will you have to go to the hospital?

Yes.

The risk-bells in my head start clanging again, and I spiral off into darker thoughts: What if she tests positive? What if my Dad does too? What if they develop severe symptoms? The hospital bed situation is so dire, we're told everyday on the news.Oh God, what will I do?

I feel like visiting them, just to reassure myself that everything is alright, to actually see my parents, to hold their hands and tell them that things will be okay. Then it strikes me:

She is a primary contact. No one is allowed to visit.

There is no point being in the same city. I might as well have been in some remote corner of the world, there is so little I can do to help. We are islands connected by the internet.

These are idle musings again, and they help no one. I reassure my mother, who worries about my Dad and grandpa in case she tests positive. We talk for a short while. I offer to order groceries online. I tell her that I will call everyday. I ask her not to worry, and I nonchalantly tell her that I am not worried at all. She believes me, and tells me that they had been contemplating not telling me because I had important things going on at work. I am horrified, and insist that they always tell me everything, and that I am very strong, and can remain completely unaffected by whatever it is.

The inane, uncreative lies we tell our parents. 

Minutes after the call, I am still shaken. I am still processing this. I cannot bring my mind to focus on that carefully planned out day, and equanimity seems so far out of my reach. Worry nags at the back of my mind, and I can't concentrate. It will be this way for the next 14 days, and probably even longer.

I sit at the keyboard and bleed. Words. Thoughts. Worries. Till I am bereft of everything, and my mind is empty, at least for now. Catharsis, my friend, thank you.

P.s: This is not my struggle alone. How many people around the world must be going through these same things? Or even worse? I feel for them all.

Stay safe, Reader! Whoever you are, I wish you don't have to go through this agony. I pray that it never touches you or your close ones. And if it does, I hope you find the strength to deal with it. Much love!