I’d waited patiently – keeping my two metres of distance. Then, I was next in line to cash out at Zehrs. I started placing groceries on the conveyor, and the young cashier began processing my purchases. Problem was, the sensor that stopped the conveyer automatically at the cash register, suddenly failed. My bananas, sour cream, chips and meats all tumbled together onto her code-reader. She couldn’t scan the barcodes fast enough. We both shrugged and took advantage of the moment to smile at the jumble of food. And I couldn’t resist.
“Have you ever heard of Lucille Ball?” I asked, thinking she was far too young to know.
She looked skyward for a second, “Oh, yeah. Sure,” she said.
“Ever seen the I Love Lucy episode with her on the chocolate factory assembly line? You’ll laugh yourself to death.”
I stopped myself, and winced at having said the word “death” out loud. It’s neither the time nor the place to make fun of death, I thought. And I apologized. But she didn’t seem to mind. We commiserated that there wasn’t much funny in these times when thousands have died of the COVID-19 virus. And we wished things could get back to normal as soon as possible.
Quite correctly, we’ve been preoccupied with the life-and-death struggles of health-care workers for weeks now. Theirs is the tangible race to keep patients isolated, tested, quarantined and alive! It’s quite accurate to describe this as war. But war leaves psychological wounds too. And not just in the front lines.
Over the past weeks, I’ve watched cracks beginning to appear in our mental health care system. A story in the Toronto Star the other day warned of the spike in cases that agencies such as Kids Help Phone are facing. Their youth officers have noted a 112 per cent increase in overall demand for their services, 24 per cent in just the past few weeks.
A spokesperson for Children’s Mental Health Ontario (servicing up to 130,000 children) said their professionals are “scrambling to provide more care through virtual platforms,” in response to youth who are more suicidal or aggressive. The virus has changed our actions and our attitudes.
With the coronavirus story shifting every other minute, my wife and I have found ourselves glued to the radio or television for breaking news. This is either the best time ever to be a news junkie. Or the worst. But I think she and I have both realized – after watching Trudeau repeatedly step out of his Rideau Cottage for prime ministerial updates, and witnessing yet another train-wreck press briefing at the White House, where Trump routinely rewrites the history of his disastrous presidency – it was time to find other things to do with our time at home.
She’s taken to decluttering. I’ve taken to Zoom (the brain child of Eric Yuan, the China-based software developer who’s created this new form of video-conferencing). Among others, I’ve joined a group I call ZooMondays, a gathering of fellow educators and friends; we’ve initiated weekly virtual coffee breaks. Same time, same day, over coffee, but at a distance in our own kitchens or offices.
One of the things we’ve chatted about during our ZooMondays is the way the pandemic has re-invented our vocabulary. Where once we knew nothing about personal protective equipment, now we’re suddenly experts in PPE, ventilators and N95 masks.
And on the lighter side, our virtual kaffeeklatsch group all loved it, recently, when Nova Scotia premier Stephen McNeil lost his cool with fellow citizens ignoring his calls to self-isolate at home; so, to make the point, he peered into the camera and scolded, “Stay the blazes home!”
Which raises an interesting point. One outcome of all this staying home we’re doing, hasn’t been addressed at all in the news. I don’t think I’ve heard any reporters or commentators looking any further ahead than a day or two or a week or two. I’ve been thinking about Christmas. Not for the distance it’ll put between us and the virus, but for the distance it’s removed between us.
December is about nine months from now, you see. And I’d be willing to bet, given all this time people are spending at home with nothing left to do. And, I’m guessing that lots of folks will be back at hospitals – not in emergency wards, but in maternity wards. The corona-baby-boom. I mean people – of a certain age – can only tolerate social distancing between consenting adults so long, right? And perhaps their reaction may be the only positive joy to come out of all this.
The cashier had finished packing my groceries at Zehrs, the other day. I’d paid my tab and was heading for the door.
“Don’t forget to watch that Lucy episode,” I called back.
“I will,” she said. “I might need the laugh.”
