Anxiety from the Comfort of Home

I'm going to keep this one short because I just haven't got it today. 

Way back, five weeks ago, I remember admitting that I was actually kind of looking forward to some government-mandated do-nothing time.  I thought I might finally have a minute to breathe.  I am still employed, and I am childless, so an extended WFH should be a breeze, no?

Guys.  I am not relaxed right now.

I have been pulling extra long days to get all my work done and I feel like my husband, who is home but not working, feels neglected and wishes that I wasn't spending so much time on work. He will correct me, and I appreciate that.
I have lost 20+ people I provide care to in the last month and though I know there was no way to prepare for this whole thing, I feel like it's partly because I wasn't prepared.
I have friends and family who want to have zoom calls with me and I really miss their faces but I have had literally one or more video conference calls (three today) or meetings every day to learn something new or to fix something I can't fix in person and I have nothing left for those people at the end of the day. 

Last week I got a note from my corporate contact letting me know my work supporting front-line workers was noticed and appreciated, and I honestly couldn't think what I had done for her to give me that feedback.  It was nice, but I also feel a little like I'm going to be found out somehow.

Anyway, that's how I feel.  Like an impostor. Anxious.  Not rested.  I'm sure I'm not alone.

Stages in the Storm

The last time I wrote something here I wasn't in a good place. 

COVID-19 had taken hold in two of the long-term care homes I service, and as the Ontario Premier described, it spread like wildfire.  I was working a lot - to the point of overwork.  And even though I was feeling overworked, I had an overwhelming feeling of guilt because I still felt like I wasn't doing enough because at least my overwork was happening from the comfort and safety of home.

Early on in the week, I read this article. It's a comforting read.  I recommend it.

I've been having weekly meetings with my contract companies about what we know about how to provide nutrition care to people affected by COVID-19, how our practice is changing and how to manage new directives coming from the Ministry of Health in the wake of a worldwide emergency.

I know, and have always known, this about myself: I like a plan.  

My family would take a trip to visit our East Coast relatives every summer.  My mother would sometimes give me the provincial tourism book so I could daydream about what adventures we might have on our trip.  The end result would typically be that I had itinerized our entire trip with tourist traps, cultural festivals and local oddities.  My parents always had a much more low-key idea about how our trip would go.  There would generally be a meltdown at some point.

I've seen this meme floating around the internet lately that says "We're all in the same boat.  We're not all in the same storm."  

Years of disappointment about my abandoned clipboard of fun taught me to lower my expectations about how much I can fit into a day or a week.  Despite that, my need for a plan...any plan...has not wavered.  I do not like changing the plan.  Our collective response to our planetary crisis has required by-the-minute modifications to how we, as a population, as a community, and as a profession, manage our lives.  At the same time, the people collaborating on those plans are being pulled in so many different directions.  Engaging people who are busier than they ever signed up to be in making new plans is really difficult.  That is my storm.  Ever-evolving plans make me incredibly anxious. Creating contingencies with missing information or without input from key players puts me in a state of panic. Like I have to put a puzzle together to save my life or someone else's, but I know from the beginning that there are pieces missing.

After a videoconference meeting this week, I finally sent an email to one of my contract administrators expressing my anxiety.  I was nervous.  I don't like exposing myself and my vulnerabilities like that.  (I can broadcast them on the internet, but not in an email to one person...lol...).  The act of writing what's bothering me and sending it to someone was actually incredibly freeing. It helped that she was understanding of my opinion and was reassuring.  We need more of that these days.  But in that moment I had achieved acceptance of the grief I was feeling.  And that was good.

I've been here before.  Grieving.  I know it's not a set of stairs I can run up, Rocky-style, and be done with it.  But I know I can remember those moments of acceptance and know that over time (a long time, it seems) there will be more moments of acceptance than anger or anxiety or sadness.  I'm trying to look forward to that new normal.

A Big Steaming Pile...

This week has not been my best.

Isolation is starting to wear me down.  The last time I was outside was Monday and tomorrow's not really looking good for fresh air either.

Somehow, my right hip stopped working and now it's in constant pain.  Slept funny, maybe.  Who knows anymore.

Two of my three homes have positive COVID-19 cases and though I'm not on the front-lines there's lots of work to be done.  The paradox of this whole situation is that even though I can literally see the places I relax ALL DAY, I'm working much more than normal and can't actually spend the time relaxing.  I've been pulling extra long days and as things get hairy onsite, I'll be doing more to take as much load off my colleagues on the floor as I can.  They're...appreciative...I think.  To be honest, when I call the evening RN with my orders, the reception I get is not exactly warm.  I try to remember that what I'm doing right now seems pretty cushy in comparison to what they're doing and keep the smile plastered to my face, but the smile's starting to crack at the corners.

Everyone I know is struggling and my default response is to try and find a solution, but I'm tired and there are no solutions except to dig in and bear it.  This too shall pass.

But when?

Seriously, when?