This is a photo of the robot that my son made for a school science assignment. We've christened it CO-19. Usually I display my sons' artworks or school projects in pride of place for a few days after which they surreptitiously disappear, but for some bizarre reason I have been unable to relegate CO-19 to recycling heaven. In fact, I have developed what I can only describe as a dysfunctional attachment to him. Robot attachment disorder, or something similar. I have, on occasion, found myself chatting to CO-19 while sweeping the floor and I've reached the point at which I find it difficult to unpack the dishwasher without the moral support of my loyal robot. It took me a couple of days to realise why I developed such a strong connection with CO-19: he looks disarmingly like the way that I currently feel (in fact, now that I think about it more objectively, I have to wonder whether this wasn't some sort of sarcastic commentary on my son's part...).
CO-19's overall appearance of general dishevelment? Tick. Even at work these days I manage to carry off the 'just got out of bed look'- especially enhanced by the fact that I now wear scrubs that have a pyjama-like appearance, to work. On the days that I don't go in to work...well, let's just say that it may just be actual pyjamas that I'm wearing at 3pm.
CO-19's rotundity? Tick. I feel that CO-19 can empathise with my rather rounded waistline. CO-19 doesn't judge me for that extra spoon (tub...what's the difference in the greater scheme of things?) of peanut butter. CO-19 understands. CO-19 too suffers from fattening of the curve. We are in this lockdown together.*
CO-19's lack of make-up and any attempt at hair styling? Tick. I'm going to be completely honest here and just say that I'm loving that lockdown gives me an excuse not to wear make-up or do my hair. Yes, I am intrinsically lazy and embarrassingly unladylike.
CO-19's cross-eyed appearance? Tick. That is my permanent look now. It's from trying to be mom, wife, house-cleaner, school-teacher and doctor all at the same time. It's why I don't have time to put on make-up. And why sometimes I might just border on being a little bit grumpy.
CO-19's mask? Tick. It has reached the point where I feel as though I've forgotten to put on underwear if I go out without my mask attached to my face. This doesn't imply that I have by any means become used to wearing masks. By the end of the day I have to resist very strong urges to rip my mask from my face (mostly it's the price and scarcity of the N95 masks that deters me) and I do worry that patients find my Darth Vader-like breathing mildly disconcerting. But, like CO-19, my mask has pretty much become a permanent feature of my face.
CO-19's heart? Tick. Like CO-19, I feel as though I'm wearing my heart open on my chest, vulnerable to all of the pain and heartache and anxiety around me. One of the most testing aspects of being a doctor is that one becomes, to some degree, a bearer of hearts. I like to believe that I help my patients to carry their loads, whether their load is the dismay of a diagnosis of cancer, or the worry of a new mom who isn't coping, or the heartache of looking after a sick child. Sometimes I feel as though my shoulders are huge and it is the greatest honour and privilege imaginable to be able to make some space on my shoulders to help carry someone else's burden. It is why I love my job. But sometimes the weight gets too much. I don't get to leave work and drop that baggage off at the door. It stays with me. I wake up at night in a cold sweat because I am worried that you might have overdosed on the anti-depressants that I prescribed you. I shout at my children because I'm angry and frustrated because you wasted 6 months trying snake oil as a treatment for your breast cancer and now it is too late for it to be cured. I cry because when I answer the desperate message you send me at 10pm, I am remembering my own struggle with my grandmother's journey into dementia. The lockdown has acted as a sort of catalyst. It's taken tiny sparks of worry and sadness and turned them into wildfires of anxiety and depression. I find that I've been trying to put out fires all over the place, while all the time trying to keep my own fires under control. The last 50-odd days has increased that load on my shoulders exponentially (as it has on everyone's) so yes, CO-19, I see you with that big raw, open heart on your chest and I know you understand.
CO-19's sustainability? Tick. He's made out of recycled materials**: of course he's sustainable. But so are we. We are all digging deep; we all feel as though we are at the end of our tethers; and we are all worried about what the future holds. But, like CO-19, we will endure. We may need to reinvent ourselves, but I am certain of two things: that this will pass, and that we will emerge from it (relatively) intact.
*I suspect it may not be coincidence that CO-19 has EET-SUM MORE plastered on his waist.
**Except the mask. Just saying.
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