I feel like the character in Robert Louis Stevenson's 1886 novella Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. One moment, I'm in full agreement with the government's assessment of a very serious threat to people of all ages. Yes, the majority are older, but I've been reading reports about children, college students and middle age people being infected with the virus. I watch what is happening in New York City right now and I see fear and overwhelming conditions where people are being left to die in the hallways of hospitals. The daily briefing from the White House has medical experts telling us to expect between 100,000 and 240,000 deaths in the coming weeks.
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If I'm honest, my fear and anxiety (Mr. Hyde) show up after watching the evening news. It doesn't matter where the news is coming from -- print or television -- 95% of it is bad news with daily banners (A FOX NEWS ALERT followed by ominous music) showing the number of dead and infected. It's quite depressing, and can drive a sane person, much less someone with actual depression, over the edge. I may not physically change and become violent like Mr. Hyde, but my personality certainly changes from someone who is optimistic to one who feels like locking the doors and crawling into bed.
The next moment, I'm struggling with the impact this virus is having on our economy.
This transformation occurs, without pain and disfigurement, when I am asked to take the same precautions in Wisconsin that someone in New York City is taking.
I think, do we really need to shut down the entire country? All the medical experts tell us, yes. Businesses must be shuttered, many with little hope of being re-opened. Ten million people are unemployed because our government has told us it is in our best interest. Honestly, the economic hammer is falling faster than people dying from the Wuhan virus. And we're supposed to take it all in with a smile on our face and to color our sidewalks with a box of chalk. Puppies and coloring books are coming next week.
Common sense (the Jekyll transformation) tells me the majority of people who become infected suffer only mild symptoms, such as cough and fever. La Crosse County has reported only 20 cases with no deaths. I talk daily to friends and co-workers who are doing fine. Working from home, maybe, but other than dealing with communication delays and learning how to video conference, most are doing fine (thank you Lord). I suspect many other communities are the same.
We are treating the whole country as one huge "hot spot." Applying the same extreme measures to every town whether it's a small, sleepy Mississippi River town or a Mardi Gras infested city like New Orleans. By doing so, we have shut down vital businesses in many places not overcome by the virus. Making it worse, the media is chastising American employers for "thinking of money at a time like this. Why are they putting profit before people?"
As I said, my mood changes day to day. I wonder which personality will win out -- Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde? We all know how the book ends.
*
And now, "Tales From The Pandemic":
Despite the poor weather, Liz and I are standing outside City Hall under a tent, listening to rain drum on the overhead yellow and white canvas material. One by one, people are being issued into the building by a big burley police officer, wearing light blue surgical gloves. He holds the door open for one person, then shuts it, until allowing another person inside.
As we wait, I look at Liz who is wearing her HealthyAire cotton mask (made in China!) and gloves she wears when shopping for groceries. I am braving the weather and early in-person voting without the benefit of either protective device. I am less comfortable wearing masks and gloves than I am limiting what I touch and washing afterward. Although, with the temperature in the mid 30's I wouldn't mind a pair of gloves.
I am ushered into the building and told to "go right ahead to the left." Despite the confusing instructions, I turn left and am told to wait by someone sitting behind a desk wearing the afore mentioned mask and gloves. The floor is marked with yellow stripes marking a six foot safe zone. A lady before me goes up to the desk and I move up one spot to the next yellow stripe. I am reminded of the ending sequence in the movie "Men In Black," where some giant alien is playing marbles with the planet Earth. Only this time someone is moving us like chess pieces on a board marked with yellow stripes.
Finally I move another spot and am told to take a pen from the table to my left. Next, I am asked my name and address, then given an a slip of paper with a number on it. "Please keep your pen and follow the yellow line into the next room," the female poll worker says, somewhat muffled by her mask. "They will tell you what to do next."
I quickly find myself in another line with more yellow stripes. As I approach another desk, with more people sitting behind boxes, I glance around the room. For the first time in my life, I am standing in the Common Council Chambers. The city's bright yellow seal, mounted on black fabric paneling, serves as a backdrop to the council chamber dais and reminds me of the importance of why I am braving the pandemic, even if it is just for primary voting.
"Next?" asks the lady sitting behind the desk to my left.
I walk forward to the last yellow stripe and extend the slip of paper I was given earlier. She shakes her head, then says, "You can throw that piece of paper in the basket over there." She regroups, then continues, "Your name and address please?"
Next comes my driver's license, which I hold in my hand for her to see. Without touching it, she confirms the name and address match the information in her book, and hands me a narrow envelope with instructions on where to go next. "Please keep your pen, take this envelope and go into the next room to get your ballot."
Following another yellow line, I am greeted by another lady, without a mask, who hands me a ballot with further instructions. In a serious tone she says, "When you are done voting, fold the ballot into thirds and put it into the envelope. Do not seal it! Another lady will take the envelope and wet it with a water stick. You will then be done and can leave. Please keep your pen."
"Thank you," I say and follow another yellow line to the polling booth, where I vote a straight ticket, fold the ballot, stick it into the envelope and walk another twenty feet -- at all times making sure I don't deviate from the exiting yellow line.
Finally, I hand the unsealed envelope to another woman who announces for the up tenth time that she is sealing the envelope with a water stick and that I am allowed to leave. With one final nod from the police officer who let me into City Hall, I am escorted out of the building into the rain.
In my hand is the blue pen I selected when starting. A souvenir of the pandemic, I think tucking it into my coat pocket.
*
Despite the ominous threat we all find ourselves living through, there are bright spots helping us through this tough time.
Despite it all, they are giving us everyday messages of hope and love from little hearts, sunbeams and rainbows. It serves as a reminder -- for me at least -- that we will find a way through this pandemic. As one child wrote, "This too shall pass."
Another bright spot -- a Facebook post encouraged the entire state of Wisconsin to tune into their favorite radio station on April 4th at 2 PM and do a "Jump Around" -- a fourth quarter tradition done at Badger football games. It will never replace the actual fun we have at those games, but it does remind us that we are all in this together if we bleed Badger red. Rock on Wisconsin!
Because of social distancing, there are now Google Hangouts, ZOOM and Netflix parties, FACEBOOK LIVE and virtual happy hours. I'm not usually one to embrace new technology, but I have to admit it's a lot of fun to hang out with friends and family all at the same time. One of the things I miss most during these times is getting together with people. And while it's not the same as sitting around the table playing cards, it's pretty nice seeing the smiling faces of those you love and miss.
Last but not least is the thought that this could have happened sometime in November, before Thanksgiving and Christmas -- when the days were getting shorter and the night colder and longer. Instead, I have been out raking the yard, tilling the flower beds and watching the daffodils, irises and lilies emerge from their winter sleep. I don't think I've ever seen so many people out walking their dogs. Or raking their lawns, which is nice. But one thing is consistent -- people will wave or stop to say hi. Neighbors I've never talked to before come out of their houses to see how you are doing.
One of the more unsettling things about the last month has been how you look out the window and everything looks the same. Your mind tricks you into thinking that nothing is changed. You should be able to leave the house, jump in the car and pick up some hamburgers, tomatoes and buns. But while everything looks the same, it's not. You drive down empty streets, you walk into the grocery store and encounter empty shelves, people wearing masks, and a check out counter with yellow lines and plexiglass. From your house, everything looks the same, But when you get out a little ways from home, everything is different.
If this was France, England or Germany during World war II there would be collapsed buildings, others bombed into obsolescent while others were destroyed to cover one the reminder of the atrocities of the war. When the "smoke and fire" of this war finally clears, we won't have to rebuild damaged buildings, streets and homes. My hope is that we won't have to rebuild our damaged lives either.
To all of us waiting for company to come ring our door bell, remember the words of a little child with chalk in her hand.
"This too shall pass."
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