Pandemic

I’m still here.

I’ve struggled to find the time or energy to write lately, but my recent silence is not for want of having anything to say; I just hadn’t figured out where to start.

At the start of 2020, we joked about how things couldn’t get much worse than last year: what with my husband’s cancer diagnosis and treatment in the spring, the kids getting chicken pox successively at the time of his chemo, the cat getting run over in the summer, and then our next-door neighbour setting their house on fire a few days before my son started school, amongst other things. I’m not going to lie – I’ve had better years. But a pandemic in 2020? You’ve got to be kidding me. I cried in the kitchen when it was formally announced that the schools were closing back in March. Everything over-spilled upon realising the severity of the situation. As much as I love my kids, and love having them at home, I’m sure every parent can relate when I say that I also loved our routine as it was. A bit of breathing space for us, fun for them with their friends, the run-hug at pick-up, smiling faces, yet another accident form for bumping ears with another child. Yes, ears. The chat with the other parents at the gate, an impromptu coffee, a consolatory hug. The thing is, I genuinely never took these things for granted before. I didn’t need Covid-19 to come along wreak havoc for me to realise how lucky I am, to know how vital and valued human contact is in my life. I live with a chronic neurodegenerative condition: I spend all of my spare time volunteering so as to be around other people and not confined to home. Because one day (sooner than I’d probably like), it is possible that I will have no choice but to be confined to home.

At the start of lockdown, I plunged myself into the ‘home-learning’ (mainly craft, let’s face it) side of things with the children, which I enjoyed very much at times – as did they, I think – but also to distract me from all the small, yet hugely important, things I was missing so much. Growing up, I always thought I would be a teacher, like my parents, so I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take some pleasure in setting up activities for the kids, seeing them not only enjoy them, but taking pride in what they achieved, however small a task.

But it hasn’t all been plain sailing. As the weeks went by, enthusiasm from both sides did wane. What seemed novel to the kids to start with fast became habitual and, as such, not as fun. Cosmic Yoga was cool for the first few weeks, but soon became a chore. Even the Pokémon one, and that’s saying a lot. With my husband working throughout in our loft, he and his customers had no choice but to endure my kids’ frequent screaming (and mine). We are fortunate, though, that he was able and already set up to work from home, selling wine throughout lockdown to supply the nation with a popular coping mechanism. I put every ounce of energy into making sure the children were happy and entertained that I possibly overlooked my own health in doing so. I have been exhausted, and with no access to my usual exercise routine, I have noticed a definite decline in my motor function over the past three months. I could go for a run, do something in the evening, but that’s easier said than done. By mid-morning by left-hand side is usually slowing down; by mid-afternoon my walking has deteriorated to the extent that my left-hand-side drags along, trying to keep up with my right.

With this in mind, the decision to send the kids back to school/nursery for the few remaining weeks before the summer holidays was a fairly easy one, and I don’t have any regrets – it was the right choice for us. It’s a much debated topic and every parent will have different reasons for keeping their kids at home or sending them back, but having been all cooped up together in our small house for so many weeks, for the sake of all our sanity and my health – not to mention for them to be in a different, stimulating environment before spending another six weeks at home – we didn’t hesitate for too long when going back became an option. As a younger person with Parkinson’s, it’s unclear to me how vulnerable I might be in terms of susceptibility to Covid-19 or complications in the event of catching it. The school have done an amazing job; I feel a lot of confidence in them.

I miss my family. My parents live a few hundred miles away, so there’s no option to pop our heads round the garden gate to say hello at a safe social distance. They live slightly north of Durham, but it’s not like we’re going to do a Dominic Cummings. No trips to Barnard Castle (or Northumberlandia) for us. We video chat, and I’m grateful for the technology we have in this day and age to be able to see them, albeit not in person. But it’s not the same as a hug with your mam or dad. Even parents need parent-hugs.

I’m a realist verging on pessimist, so I struggle to be positive about anything to do with the current situation – the death toll, the impact on the economy, the uncertainty of what the future holds is all too serious to sometimes see beyond. When you live with a chronic condition, time is precious; when you don’t know what your state of health will be in the next year or two, it’s hard to look forward to plans for subsequent years. However, this time spent at home with my husband and children will be time I will look back on fondly in years to come. More family meals around the table, drawing together, learning. Growing. It feels like the children have grown up so much in such a small space of time. My son lost his first tooth and it felt monumental. The world may be testing us, but there is pleasure and joy in the small things.