Last night I got the call from my oncologist – it is time for me and my family to go into self-isolation. I need to leave the house as little as possible, wear protective gear when I do, and disinfect when I get home. We should pull my daughter from school, whether it is closed or not. My husband should work from home if possible. It is scary and disappointing and inconvenient, but the primary emotion it brings up is one I haven’t accessed much during my cancer – anger.
I am angry at the idea that I have suffered through 4.5 years of cancer treatment to be threatened by a virus that is a mild cold for most. I am angry that it didn’t need to become a pandemic, but our global governments have mismanaged it into one. I am angry that my small joys are being stricken from me – going to see movies, midday naps while my daughter is at school, volunteer work at my cancer center. I have plenty of books and yarn and TV to fill the hours, but it is demoralizing to have no end in sight. And I think I am most angry that I am not even immunocompromised. These are all the right steps to take because the risk of things going bad for me is too high, and it shatters my illusion that I can live like a healthy person. I can’t count on good hygiene to let me do the things that are important to me.
I feel like I should close on a positive note, with a list of all the businesses and people who have been so generous and found solutions to keep some normality during this season. But I’m not ready to go let go of my anger and move to appreciation yet. Maybe by my normal update next week.