Covid-19: Growing Awareness

This was my journal entry from a couple of days ago, day seven of the shelter-in-place order in our county:

This pandemic will be one of those things that define our personal histories, like where we were when we heard that JFK had been assassinated or the Twin Towers hit, first one, then a while later, the other. Unbelievable. Shock, horror. This illness has been slower making its way into my consciousness, but it’s certainly there now. And hopefully we will all—all the people I care about, I mean, but also all the good people out there (since it’s hard to include not a few of our government officials who seem not to have a shred of empathy or morality . . . but I suppose even them too, if I have to)—be okay.

So I’ve been trying to piece specific awarenesses together. I vaguely remember hearing about Wuhan and nearby cities in Hubei Province being quarantined—on January 23, as it turns out. But I didn’t think too much of it: so far away; just another virus, they’re springing up all the time; it’ll play itself out—and other rationalizations. I realize now I should have been more alarmed: it was unprecedented to quarantine an entire area of 11 million population. Wasn’t it? Suggesting that, no, this wasn’t “just another virus.” What’s more, the lockdown came two days before Chinese New Year—which also suggests something dire. At the time, however—maybe because I don’t read the newspaper regularly, but tend to rely on FB for news (most of which is focused on our own government shitshow)—I remained fairly unaware of what was coming down the pike.

Looking now at the New York Times for the couple of weeks before our departure for Chile on February 7, I see lots of reports, including the figure of 29 cases in the US as of the 5th and 350 Americans evacuated from Wuhan at the end of January and placed under 14-day quarantine. I somehow managed to miss the Diamond Princess “floating quarantine zone” in Japan on February 4th.

In any case, I had a vague awareness of something going on, but I was also preoccupied with packing and trying to alleviate my pre-trip jitters, so wasn’t looking too much at the news or social media.

And then, we were off! I am always wary of planes as disease breeders—but I’ve since learned that they’re not as bad as cruise ships (a good reason never to go on a cruise—David Foster Wallace’s essay “A Supposedly Fun Thing” being another). And how good am I really at keeping my hands washed while handling tray tables, seatbelts, and seats? Not very. I usually just fly on faith that I’m healthy, the people around me are healthy—and hope for the best. (That will change; I’ve become much more vigilant about hand-washing.)

Two evenings after arriving in Punta Arenas, after a day and a half happily tromping around town in lovely springlike weather, I got a wee tickle in my throat—which a pisco sour or two didn’t cure. That night, I developed a dry cough. The next morning, the cough remained, and I had a fever as well, as I learned once David found a pharmacy and procured a digital thermometer via sign language. Great. We were leaving for the airport and a flight to King George Island sometime that day. And I felt lousy. Plus, there were other passengers—both on the flight and, more significantly, on the small boat we’d be on for two weeks.

My friend Kate was in Antarctica with our trip leader Ted last year, on a 100-passenger vessel, and she had mentioned that shortly after arriving onboard she fell ill with the flu. On a boat that size, they have an infirmary, and she was quarantined there—pretty much for the duration. Ted remarked that she was more or less useless to him as a naturalist as a result. Not her fault, but still.

So I had that story in mind as my temperature kept bouncing around, up and down, up and down. I’d imagine myself feeling better when it dropped, though the cough continued. Then it would rise and I wasn’t sure how I felt. But the show had to go on. I did mention to Ted that I wasn’t feeling well, and he didn’t seem too concerned, just told me to take care of myself. I was on my feet, after all, and some cough syrup was helping.

To make a not especially long story (thank goodness!) somewhat shorter, I sequestered myself in our cabin for the first couple of days. I did venture out to Half Moon Island—first landing in Antarctica, how could I not! no matter how lousy I felt! But I stayed in that afternoon when the others made another landing. And the next day ended up being a full day’s sail, since weather conditions didn’t allow a landing on Deception Island. That afternoon I decided that the thermometer, with its ups and downs getting increasingly wild—now 101.something, now 97.something, and then a short while later, 100.something—was basically crap, and I threw it away. I immediately felt better! That evening, I went up to the lounge for dinner, assured everyone I was on the mend. Next day: I was fine. Whew! Let the journey continue!

Now, all through this, it never once occurred to me that I might have this new virus. I still don’t think I did (cough and fever yes, but no shortness of breath). No one else got sick, fortunately. It was probably just a mild 72-hour flu. Though I suppose if we actually had testing in this country I could find out if I am a carrier (yes? no? six weeks later?).

And then, while on our 87-foot-long ship the Hans Hansson, plying the bays and reaches of the Antarctic Peninsula: two weeks of radio silence, with no outside news whatsoever. The only reference to the novel coronavirus came as we approached Palmer, the US research station on Anvers Island. Logan, who has worked there in seasons past, said that the station was closed to outside visitors because of the virus. He needed to get some research supplies from a colleague there, but they Zodiacked out to him and did their business at a nearby landing spot.

So: back home on March 1. On the 6th, Italy’s northern region was locked down, affecting 11 million people. That I noticed. China may not be on my radar, but I know people in northern Italy. I’ve been there. And Europe locking down a large area? Somehow that struck me as much scarier than (authoritarian) China doing so. Three days later, the lockdown was extended to the entire country. Whoa.

That’s when I knew it was beyond serious. And then on March 11th, the World Health Organization officially declared this thing a pandemic. Done deal.

Since then, of course, we’ve all been watching the numbers as so many people have died in Italy, and as other countries have reported cases and deaths of their own. My husband, David, and his brother Geoff, after some back and forth, canceled their trip to Corsica after Geoff reported that he’d been on self-quarantine after a trip to Milan, and then that his doctor recommended he not go. Even I was thinking David was crazy for delaying his decision for so long, and I’m no alarmist (just the opposite).

We’ve also been learning more—what little concrete there is out there—about the virus: its symptoms, how long it may survive on surfaces (potentially up to 17 days, they’ve determined from the Diamond Princess—a radically different beast than your typical influenza, which lasts less than twenty-four hours, or as little as eight, outside the host), how to disinfect, how to social-distance, how to stockpile toilet paper, how to fill your emergency pantry. How to be afraid.

Here in California, individual counties have “locked down” on their own schedule (Monterey issued its order on the 17th, effective at midnight), until Governor Newsom issued a statewide directive on the 19th.

And here we sit. We still go out for walks. We still go to the grocery store, though we’re trying to plan meals ahead better. And make large-batch dishes that will last as leftovers. And we watch TV: Designated Survivor and, as of last night, Better Things. I have a dismal job in, but at least it keeps me focused. David will start teaching via Zoom come Monday. We’re pretty well set for the long haul.

But all that said, I feel like we’re living in an altered world. Some of the changes may be good—more telecommuting, more virtual meetings. But I do worry that this isn’t the first such pandemic. I worry that illness will have a new power over us. I hope I’m wrong. I hope we can relax again.

It won't be for a while, though. I'm pretty sure of that.