March 13, 2020 to 2021

It all began with the Toilet Paper Crisis

It all began on March 13, 2020. That was the day when we were told that there was no more toilet paper to be had. Where I live that is a highly valued commodity. It is kind of  a long term hospice that specializes in taking care of younger people (no one over 60) with disorders that will probably eventually end their lives over a span of at least 10 years. My parents have money, so they could afford to have me kept here. I have severe emphysema, and am 40 years old. Once I contracted it, I had to quit my job. I worked at a fitness centre.

The three toilets in this home are not quite the urgent need for me that they are for others that are here, but still, they are important to my daily life. March 13, 2020 was the first day of my life when I heard anything like these words being spoken: “We have to conserve our toilet paper. Use as little as you can, or we will run out.”

You see, Fridays are the days that a member of the staff goes shopping for our basic supplies, and March 13, 2020 was just such a Friday, a real Friday the 13^th horror show. There was no toilet paper to be had in any of the local stores. One of the leading jokers in this place, when hearing that the stores were ‘back ordering toilet paper’ said, “It isn’t the back that is doing the ordering, it is a part of the anatomy lower down that issues the commands.” It was worth a laugh, just barely. Conserving was the rule for a little over three weeks before we were supplied with more. During that time, when I walked out of one of the washrooms, I would be stared at by people who questioned me with their eyes, saying, “So how many sheets did you use? Were you wasteful?”

I spent a lot more time in my room because of those eyes. And I had to keep my door open, as otherwise, I would be suspected of keeping a toilet paper stash.

Then There Was the Distancing

It was a few weeks later when the next phase of the Covid curse hit our establishment. We were told that we were to meet together in the field behind our building on Friday afternoon. As each one of us walked out the door, the head nurse or one of her assistants would lead us out and before we could stand next to the person that came out before us, she would produce a hockey stick, and ask each of us to hold one end, the far end of the blade or the tape-covered end of the handle. We were then told to remember this distance, that it was how far we were to stand apart from each other once we returned to inside our building. Then we were told that there would be ‘shifts’ for our three meals so that we could sit the required distance apart from each other at mealtime. No one was happy with this, except for the anti-social few. And there were a lot fewer conversations, as people did not like to shout along or across the tables. I spent more time alone in my room because of this. 

Then It Was the Masks

For the next step, a few weeks later, we heard that “As of today, you will all have to wear masks when you are outside of your rooms.” That was not a problem for most of my fellow inmates, but it certainly was for me. It is hard enough for me to breathe when my mouth and nose are clear of any covering material. I just could not wear one of the masks that were being provided.  I could suffocate.  What this meant was that I was confined to my room even more than I had been before, when the distancing was instituted.

           There was an added problem here. I have a boyfriend, Pierre, about the same age as I am and with the same disorder. We met at a ‘breathing clinic’ one fortunate day. He lives with his parents, solving all their computer problems, as well as working from home to do same for the company that employs him. He too could not wear a mask.

 It was bad enough when he was frowned upon as a suspected toilet paper thief when he visited during the time of the great toilet paper shortage. It was doubly bad when social distancing was imposed. Whenever he came to visit me, our social distancing was ‘policed’ by some of my fellow inmates, who would be quick to tell an attendant of any violation of policy. And we were told by the leading tattletales that I would have to leave the door for my room open so that we could be monitored in our proper distancing.

. Now he could not visit me at all because of his not being able to wear a mask. We started to see each other on-line, which is as much a tease as it is a way of getting together with him.  With Zoom, you can press “unmute” to speak to someone, but you can’t press ‘undistance’ to touch that person when you desperately need to. Still, it offered up a little joy to being physically alone in my room

Then One of Our Members Contracts Covid

I had thought of meeting Pierre at his parents’ place, but they were very protective of their son despite his being in his early forties.. We were trying to negotiate such a meeting, doing so gradually, so we might wear down their resistance. Then someone in the home contracted Covid 19. That ended our hopes of a visit, and of anyone but staff being able to leave or enter the place. We were confined to barracks.

           Fortunately, the individual returned to good health, but our home still bore a black mark of condemnation. We were deemed ‘unclean’ in the health reports, and in the streets in our town. People would actually walk cross the road, rather than pass on our side, where the sidewalk was some 15 yards away from our front door. We were cursed.

The Time of the Vaccinations

Then came the time of the vaccinations. Fortunately for both Pierre and I, our emphysema made us eligible for the second wave of the vaccinations. We were too young to be in that wave on the grounds of age. It was actually exciting when I had my vaccination in the home, along with the others. All I could think about was of Pierre having his vaccination the same week.

           It was March 13, 2021, a Saturday this time, when Pierre came to visit, not being suspected of toilet paper theft, not needing to stand apart from me, not wearing a mask, and able to walk boldly into the home, and to my room. We couldn’t lock the door, against the rules. But we did wedge the wooden visitors’ chair up against the doorknob. Peace, pleasant company, and physical contact at last. Altogether a great way to celebrate my March 13 birthday.