Pandemic Thoughts

Isolate

Isolated

Isolating

It seems like a lifetime since the middle of March, when the world as we knew it began shutting down.

It’s been one hell of a time.

My oldest son had a call back date in place for work that was scrubbed as soon as his branch of the construction industry was deemed non-essential.

My daughter and her twin brother have been home from school and recently began distance learning online. My partner’s shop closed and might start back up again the first week of May.

My toddler granddaughter has been rampaging at home ever since most of Ontario’s licensed daycare centres were added to the growing list of lockdowns, testing her father’s patience and causing me to stifle giggles. Am I heartless enough to call his reactions Grandma’s revenge?

It’s been weeks since I’ve seen my parents, who are in their early 70s. The last time I can remember such a lonely Easter was 17 years ago when SARS was the health concern and I was alone with a very ill infant in Toronto, in the pediatric critical care unit at SickKids Hospital, awaiting complex open heart surgery.

My granddaughter has the solution to Covid-19: bandaids and hotdogs.

Netflix and our pets have been constant companions this time around. My lifeline has been a Facebook Messenger group comprised of me, my sister, and three close girlfriends who have become sister-level kindreds. Most mornings the chatter begins with a posting of a photo of Adam Driver, followed by a series of GIFs of Golden Girl Blanche Devereaux spritzing herself with cold water. (Picture it: Ottawa, April of 2020.) I also sleep with my handbag, a habit born of necessity after I caught my special needs kid trying to order random crap from Amazon with my Visa debit card.

I finally attempted grocery shopping today. The store my daughter and I went to has imposed a ‘one person per household’ policy, so she went back to the car and was soon bombarded with a series of PM texts and photos from me as I bumbled through the aisles. My son texts me that my granddaughter has the solution to Covid-19: bandaids and hotdogs. I also learn that she calls Netflix “Crackflix.” Kid’s not wrong. Sometimes hotdogs are the answer, especially when they come from a chip stand.

Once this quarantine is over, if it ever ends, I think I want to load up the car and hit the road west. I have never been to the western part of Canada. The Pacific Ocean beckons.

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

Life with T1D: Game Changer

Just my luck. I sit down to write and the room starts to spin.

I may have eaten my weight, or at the very least a newborn’s weight, in Orville Redenbacher’s Caramel and White Cheddar popcorn. Wondering now if that’s behind the sudden tilt in my balance.

My daughter and I had our first session of insulin pump training at the hospital today. It was a lot to take in. The dietitian who helped us work on some advanced carb counting told K. that today she has been reborn. (I thought perhaps she meant that K. got a new lease on life. Six and two threes?)

We have accounts to create and supplies to order. Neither of us wants to mess this up. I’d better remind K. to set alarms on her phone for finger pokes overnight. (No, wait. That’s next week.)

I had been thinking about doing an UberEats shift. Maybe not the best idea for today.

Game changer.

That’s what people in the T1D groups are saying.

K. and I are more than a little freaked out, all the same.

Soon this will no longer be her reality.

Happy Gotcha Day, Loki!

A year ago today, friends needed to rehome a black cat who had adopted them by virtue of showing up on their back step and persisting in being allowed inside their apartment.

I’m a sucker for panther babies. My daughter promptly claimed naming rights. Thus Loki, aka Lolobirdy and The Lokinator, came to live with us.

He’s an easygoing fellow, unless his water bowl is empty or he can see the bottom of the kibble dish. He is expert at weaving an infinity loop around human legs. We have no idea how old he actually is, but age ain’t nothing but a number. He has been a source of comfort to me ever since Jeeber Cat died last October. Even Coco has – in true tortie style – made peace with Loki.

Enjoy your day, Lolobirdy. I’ll give you a chin massage and belly rub later, when I see you.

All photo credit goes to Keely Martin, Loki’s favourite human.