Isolation station

Here we are firmly planted in isolation station. We’ve been in full blown lockdown, with zero isolation, for about two months now?

(I’d try and recount the days but I think it’s best all around if we don’t)

The children don’t believe in isolation or social distancing of any kind so when they go to bed each night I enjoy my isolation time, from them.

As all this began and the images of being locked down with my four children and a busy husband leapt into my head, I honestly imagined a scene from ‘The Blair Witch Project’ the bit where the girl is crying into the camera with snot flying everywhere because her surroundings were so scary. For the first two weeks I recreated this scene almost every day because being housebound with all the kids in close proximity, working from home, attempting to homeschool two kids while playing with the younger two, alone, whilst cooking food each day and being surrounded by huge lumps of washing, it was a very scary reality that I faced.

As you know if you’ve been reading my blogs for any length of time I have a kidney transplant which means in this current climate I am at high risk of contracting Covid-19 and not fairing to well if I do. I’ve had letters and text messages from our beloved NHS telling me to stay in doors. I’m not allowed to leave my house under any circumstances or go outside at all but I can crack a window if the need arises. I’ve had to register with the government and my local council has called me twice in two weeks, which is marvellous service by the way. It took me six months to get in touch with them about buying a bin sticker.

Full lockdown for us means no ‘once a day outing for exercise’ and zero face to face contact with anyone, which for me has meant screaming for my husband every time the doorbell rings and diving behind the kitchen door taking the children with me who are apparently ‘carriers’. We’ve had to sanitise everything that comes through the front door and I can tell you Amazon boxes are a lot harder to open when soggy.

As the weeks have passed I have become very lax on a lot of things, I answer the door now and stand back my two metres just in case the other person doesn’t. My hearing has become like that of a bat. I can hear conversations from my kitchen (possibly more than two metres away from the front door, but you can never be too careful) as recipients stand at the door. I’ve also had enough of opening soggy boxes, it became too much so I simply washed my hands a lot more than usual.

I am fully prepared to leave this isolation station, which may well be 2021 for me as things stand, with skin-barely-there wrinkly hands, bushy eyebrows and white hair. Indeed more than my appearance will probably change as I am stretched, pushed, pulled, worn out, and strung out during this season but one thing that my pre and post transplant years of isolation taught me is that, nothing is wasted and more often than not isolation needn’t be isolation at all. It could well be incubation? Which begs the question; what will be born from this nationwide time out? What will be born from a personal time out for me? There are still lots of things that need to grow within me, patience is still a stump, but perhaps there is more to come for all of us? That thought alone keeps me excited for the other side.

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