Side Effects of COVID-19 (Disclosure: Nothing Medical Here)
By Elizabeth Yeter
Ring. Ring. The call comes through on my car’s bluetooth, interrupting my 1990s boy band singalong. I don’t recognize the number. Should I take the call anyway? Heck, according to a lot of people I’m living on the wild side by being out in this coronavirus-infested world anyway, so I may as well answer. “Hello?”
“Oh hi Elizabeth.” I recognize the voice immediately. My principal. Crap. In my three years working for her, she’s called me a total of two times. My mind does a quick search for things I’ve done wrong professionally in the past twenty-four hours. Since it’s still also trying to drive the car, nothing registers.
Thankfully, my principal is a cut-to-the-chase kind of lady. She doesn’t engage in any “how are you doing” chitchat that would give me more time to agonize over why she’s calling. “So, the superintendent wants all conferences to be over the phone tomorrow. Communicate that to the parents. Ok, I’ve gotta call a bunch of other teachers. Bye.”
I’m dazed. Each year students stay home for four days, two in the fall and two in the spring, while teachers meet with parents to talk about the progress of their student. Today was day one of the spring conferences and everything went as it always has. Parents came in. I gave them the progress reports. We talked about how great their student is for an hour. We shook hands, and they left. Now, all of the sudden those parents who had elected to come on day two are too infectious to be on the school grounds? Weird.
But I’m not upset about it, or even alarmed. In fact, I’m excited. I erroneously assume that means I don’t have to come in either, that I can simply conduct my conferences from the comfort of my couch. After all, if we’re exercising drastic measures to avoid contact with others, shouldn’t I stay away too? I drive home merrily thinking about how cool it is to have an unexpected day off.
But then I get the text message that my son’s baseball practice is cancelled at least until April 6. Next comes the news that my daughter’s dance competition is also called off. Hmm, this may be more serious than I thought.
About an hour later, my principal calls again. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the governor just declared that all New Mexico schools will be closed for the next three weeks,” she says. I’m shocked. Close school? That never happens. “Oh, but you still have to come in tomorrow for the teleconferences,” she continues. My mind is reeling. I’m coming in on the day I thought I was having off but then I’m off for two extra weeks after that plus the week of spring break? Is this for real?
I’m ashamed to admit that I briefly join the mass hysteria and head straight to the grocery store. I’m not a doomsday prepper, so I don’t really know what to buy. There’s no meat, frozen foods, bottled water, or toilet paper. I leave with a cart full of junk food and a block of mild cheddar cheese.
The next day I trade my usual conference knee-length dress and four-inch heels for a llama-printed onesie and head off to school. That’s way more dressed up than I planned to be if I’d gotten to stay home for these phone conferences. I stacked most of my appointments in the morning, so after those calls, I basically spend the rest of the day speculating with other teachers about the effects of the coronavirus on society. Just in case my principal is reading this, of course I am simultaneously working on lesson planning and other essential teacher duties.
At the end of the day, the bell rings, and something weird happens. I don’t want to go home. A couple coworkers and I are sitting in my classroom working on a little project. Nonessential. Just a fun activity for when the kids get back. “Hey, looks like it’s time to go,” I say. “Eh, I don’t mind finishing this up,” one of them says. Wow, I think. They don’t want to go home either.
“Yea, I don’t know what I’m going to do for three weeks, especially if everything’s going to be closed,” the other pipes up. So we stay. With the uncertainty of closures and possible quarantines looming ahead, we prolong the social interaction that is still being permitted.
That is, until the janitor comes in. “You ladies gonna be much longer,” he asks. “I’m looking to lock up the gates.” I want to tell him that I’m not ready to go home, that I’m dreading being cooped up in my house for the next three weeks. But he’s actually required to come in while we’re off for “deep cleaning” the school, so I know he won’t understand my reluctance to leave on this Friday afternoon.
We are by nature social creatures. We don’t do well in isolation (think solitary confinement in jails.) Through school and work closures, this coronavirus has forced many of us to physically isolate from the regular interactions that we are so accustomed to that we take for granted.
While you’re stocking up on nonperishables to sustain your physical needs, I ask that you also consider how you will feed your emotional needs. For me, social interactions are essential. Although catching up on Netflix shows in my queue sounds like it’ll be fun for a few days, I have no doubt that I’ll tire of screen time and crave people time. For you, perhaps going out for a hike in the mountains or keeping that pedicure appointment are key to keeping you sane and grounded. Exercise reasonable caution, but don’t let the uncertainty of the times disrupt your joy.