I am vulnerable. I am on chemotherapy. I am hiding from covid-19.
The few strands of hair on my pale scalp shiver at the slightest draft. So do I. A small breath of wind from the world outside and a special kind of cold runs down my spine. A threat that I cannot see lurks. The virus runs amok. I cannot risk it. I am not going out there. I hope it won’t be more than a rumour and a shiver down a wisp of falling hair.
Lockdown. My cabin fever is only alleviated by the weekly bloods I need to give and the chemotherapy sessions I spend the rest of the week recovering from. My breakfast consists of 11 pills, my supper of 4.
I could go on.
Oh and I will.
Because I am one of the lucky few who is getting treatment.
My cabin fever is not feeling limited, it is a whole new universe of relationships with my children.
The treatment is a blessing, and I am lucky that the medical system I depend on is able to cope for now and keep treating me.
All the pills I eat are not medication, some are supplements, and I am lucky to have them. They are not available anymore because of panic buying.
I could make it sound gloomy but that would be a lie. I am not alone and I am in good (clean) hands.
There. Another strand of hair escaping my head, off to see the world. Carried by the wind, who knows where it will land? Floating across dissolving boundaries owed to human imagination. Witness, in some of humanity’s most trying times, to solidarity that before wasn’t there? My thoughts follow that floating hair…
There is the invisible and there is what we can see. A country going in lockdown to save humanity is what I see. And I humbly thank everyone for it. Because I am vulnerable and you are keeping me safe from covid-19.
This post is also published on Medium.com.