Crazy Times

 

Last week I had an appointment with my oncologist. Not to worry, it was a routine check up after breast cancer last year. The doctor started off the conversation with asking how I was in these “crazy times”. To which I replied, “Fine, since I actually have an excuse to get out of the house.”

 

It is crazy times when a visit to the oncologist counts as cause for celebration. It’s also a bit of crazy times when I count myself lucky to have been diagnosed with breast cancer a year ago rather than now. Back then, all I had to worry about was surgery and radiation.

 

Now, in the midst of a pandemic some people have had to put off treatment; others have delayed medical screenings and may face more advanced diagnoses than they otherwise would have; and some need to worry about their particular vulnerability to a virus, which has claimed more than 215,000 American lives, while undergoing otherwise life-saving treatments.

 

As I told the doctor, I also was happy to discover that I still remembered how to drive—the skill came back, sort of like riding a bicycle. Maybe that will lead to a new saying, “Oh, it will come back—sort of like driving a car.”

 

Contrary to what this may sound like, I am not a recluse or home-bound. We go for a walk in the park every day. Though I found it odd that my husband, who has been out more than I have since he does most of the grocery shopping, said he planned to drive downtown to deliver our ballots, even though there is a drop-off site much closer to our home. He explained, “It will be fun to drive somewhere different.” Who can argue with that?

 

And we have a lot of social contacts, albeit in different formats. We talk with our sons and their families by phone regularly, email with friends, zoom with book club and other groups, and as special treats (for us) FaceTime with grandkids. 

 

I was happy to learn from our 16-year-old granddaughter with her newly-minted driving permit, that she is practicing driving in the car I had used to pick her up at daycare. Many years ago when she was a mere toddler, she told me she liked my car best “because Grandma’s car talked”. (Since I’ve always been “challenged” by directions, I had one of the earliest GPS devices.)

 

Also, since we last saw our teenage grandkids in person BP (during the time Before the Pandemic), we keep track of their heights by asking for comparisons. Not all that surprisingly, our 13-year-old grandson’s height no longer is compared to either his mother or sister but now we ask if he is taller than his father.

 

My oncologist predicted it will be at least a year before life and travel return to something approaching BP. I certainly hope we are able to visit with our grandkids in person before our grandson reaches that milestone and while we can still recognize them. 

 

In the midst of a pandemic there have been other historic disasters. And I’m not even referencing our President. Unprecedented natural disasters are announced on the news every night: fires of over four million acres, hurricanes hitting the same place twice in one year, so many hurricanes meteorologists had to move to the Greek alphabet to name them all.

 

Meanwhile, even as Mother Nature causes destruction in multiple locales, she provides some consolation in others. Despite these crazy times in which we live, autumn in the Ohio River Valley is as gorgeous as ever I recall. The golds, yellows, and reds are particularly vivid. The combination of rain, cool, and decreasing sunlight have worked their magic on the leaves to create a spectacular palate of nature.

 

Last night I chanced to look at the sky just before dark. The sky appeared to be painted with psychedelic bands of reds and purples at sunset. I am trying to sear these images into my visual memory to sustain me until we emerge from crazy times.