Romaine Hearts
MARCH 27, 2020
There is a package of romaine lettuce on my spare bathroom sink counter. It was delivered yesterday, or the day before. I was too exhausted to wipe everything. Wrapped in plastic, I thought it possible to have “the virus”. I couldn’t take the chance. So, I put it in quarantine, in the extra bathroom, along with other items I did not immediately need.
In the shower, I have quarantined the extra bags of dog food. Three cans of black beans now stand on the ledge that once held soap and shampoo, razors and shaving cream. Next to the beans is Soy Sauce, some boxed Almond milk. Pantry items I was too exhausted to wipe, so they are locked in the kids’ tub for safety sake.
There is a package of romaine lettuce on my spare bathroom sink counter. I can see it from the dining room and I glance nervously in its direction, each time I pass by. Does this fucking Corona crawl around, looking for a host? Will it hitch a ride on one of the dogs and find its way to me and into my lungs? I pull the bathroom door shut. And wipe the handle. And wash my hands, again. For safety sake.
My friend Carol is a scientist. Even though I only know her online, I’ve internalized a kind of “what would Carol say” dialogue with myself. Her two most popular replies of late, “highly unlikely” and “just wash your hands”. Sometimes, in my mind, she takes liberties and says, “Flori! get ahold of yourself” and other such dramatic statements. I doubt in real life she’d ever shout that at me.
]There is a package of romaine lettuce on my spare bathroom sink counter. It is a place holder for all the bad things that I fight in my life. Cancer. Anxiety. My shitty neighbor. I keep washing and wiping things down. Staying calm. Determined. My mother’s voice, “This too shall pass. This too shall pass, this too shall pass”. I can’t chant it enough.
It is nine days since my last infusion and I feel wiped. This cycle came with added waves of anxiety that I can only attribute to the pandemic. By the end of every day I fall apart. Exhausted and weary. It’s too much for me to handle on my own. The cooking, the cleaning, the washing, the laundry, the housekeeping. Despite my carefully culled TV and video playlists, some headlines sneak through. I feel a sense of dread, for everyone suffering and especially those suffering alone, in isolation, in ICU, away from their loved ones.
There is a package of romaine lettuce on my spare bathroom sink counter. And there are parents who are glad their kids are staying at college. They share no sense of social or moral obligation. These are the kids who will ruin our world. Their parents forgot to teach them the tough lessons. How to sacrifice. How to be resilient. They will cause others to suffer and probably not be aware of that either. They lack situational awareness. I detest lazy parenting and parents who don’t take their responsibilities to heart.
At the same time, there are so many selfless people who continue to keep our services running. Health care workers, therapists, engineers, pilots, grocers, scientists, physicians, drivers, shoppers, writers, broadcasters, rabbis, priests, mentors, friends---the list of selfless people is remarkable and endless. The best of humanity. They are our heroes and who knows if they will be properly celebrated? I hope so.
I want to sing them a party every day.
There is a package of romaine lettuce on my spare bathroom sink counter. I may leave it there all year. A small reminder that nothing lasts forever and my proof, that this too, shall pass.