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.
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