<"My Head Just Exploded..."/Take I: The Reckoner>
<i.>
The unthinkable and the unimaginable roll on, as we gird ourselves for another dreary, bleary-eyed year of COVID-19. The global death toll, as I write, now stands at 2.06 million, in nearly 96 million cases, and 54.05 million recoveries. The US numbers stand at 414,229 deaths, out of 24.5 million cases. (I didn't find any figures for recoveries.)
Come tomorrow, or the next day, we'll see a different set of numbers, as the new Biden administration struggles to roll out the long-promised vaccines. Arguments continue to flare on Capitol Hill about whether a third round of stimulus cash, which Joe Biden ran on, is needed. It's grotesque when you consider that one of the loudest objectors is Senator Joe Manchin (D-WV), whose estimated net worth is $10 million, so Google tells me.
Manchin's not the only offender to whom you can draw a red thread between his apparent lack of urgency, and the robustness of his personal bottom line. (To be fair, Manchin has since qualified his objections, apparently prodded by a brutal radio ad -- see link below). Fear and weariness fog the air. I'm hearing (or reading) a lot of people say, "I can't take this much longer," or, "I'm going to crack up, if I can't get out soon," or even, "Maybe I will get the damned vaccine, just so I can get out."
I'm seeing similar distress signals ricocheting across the social media landscape, especially for those who supported the attack against our nation's Capitol. Life seems especially brutal and unfair for those who actually expected Trump to pull a rabbit out of his hat, and somehow stay in power, just like the dictators he so admired.
The reactions I've seen, during a brief spot check of my social media feeds, range from continued disbelief at Trump's defeat ("Biden lost by at least 12 million votes! He didn't campaign in a meaningful way"), apocalyptic I-told-you-sos ("the warnings were aplenty, but the propaganda too strong for the spiritually blind to understand"), to enraged disgust ("Trump could have called martial law and had the traitors arrested, this is fact"), and reassertion of fundamentalist Christianity as America's default religion ("Trump stood up for God's people at every turn. For that, we loved him").
Judging by the various statements and memes I'm seeing, the villains of this particular worldview haven't changed a whit, either. The Chinese are still vying with Black Lives Matter and reprogrammed voting machines for dominance of that particular sphere. It reminds me, in a strange way, of one of my favorite Jack T. Chick tracts, The Mad Machine (1975), which stands out for its darkly satiric overview of modern life, and all the stresses that bedevil it.
One of my favorite punchlines features an apparently prosperous, yet harried-looking couple debating their need for mental health care. "I've had it!" yells the husband. "Everything is caving in on me...I'm going to see my shrink!"
"You can't," the wife responds, still cradling the phone. He's seeing his shrink today!"
But seriously, folks...I just flew in from this virus, and boy, are my arms tired. Ba-boomp!
<"My Head Just Exploded..."/Take II: The Reckoner>
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The Squawker and I have spent lots of time lately discussing how COVID-19 has affected our mental health, and the inner well-being of those around us. One measure of how long the pandemic has dragged on is the number of day trips that Squawker wants to take, when the nemesis of COVID-19 finally winds down.
Ann Arbor...Kalamazoo...South Bend...South Haven are some of the latest names that Squawker has dropped. "Not a problem, dear Squawker," I respond. "We'll do these things in due time. But they have to happen the right way."
"I'm so tired of living like this, though," Squawker retorts. "I'm tired of not getting out. I'm sick of not seeing anybody. Not to mention all those mask-less assholes you keep running into, whenever I try to take a walk outside, or go to a park."
My response, at this point in this conversation, is to nod grimly, and voice my sympathy. What else can I do right now? COVID-19 continues to impact our lives in random, arbitrary ways.
Case in point: our local library, which had remained part of our routine, because we could still enter the building. That meant we could talk to people, print out whatever materials we needed, and check out books. It gave us something to enjoy, and look forward to doing...until a patron tested positive for COVID, around Thanksgiving.
Bam! Everything changed overnight. You can still pick up whatever books you want at the curb, but otherwise, the building's closed (except to staff). Anything else, like one on one conversation, is out of the question, for now. (We never bothered to keep a printer, but we're actually talking about getting one. Who knows when we'll get back in the building?)
The same reservations keep us from getting out of our car when we drive by the beach, or one of our local parks. Too many others have the same idea, especially if you're experiencing a milder than normal winter, as we have been in our town. I'm even seeing people parked there at nine or 10 o'clock at night! With so many activities off limits, you take your outlets where you can find them.
Another side effect is being pressed into a counseling role, but not for the reasons you'd expect. I got a taste of this feeling after the January 6th coup attempt against our government, as I found myself trying to talk down people who just wanted to pack their bags, and punch the nearest ticket to some far away place -- Australia, or Asia? Europe or England? Mexico or South America?
Anywhere, it seemed, felt better than the madness unfolding on the Capitol steps, on live TV. I found myself walking people through the practicalities: "Okay, how many people live in the US? Don't know?" Pause. "Not really, no." "Well, it's 330 million, give or take. Now let's try and figure out, how many millions of militia men would it take, to make everybody do what they want?"
It's an odd role to find yourself occupying, isn't it? But strange times create strange responses, as I'm learning lately. One measure of the widespread misery that we're feeling comes in a University of Michigan Health Lab study of patients who survived hospitalization for COVID-19 (see link below).
Nearly half said they'd been affected emotionally by their experience, while 10 percent had used up most (or all) of their savings, and an additional seven percent "were rationing food, heat, housing or medications because of cost," the researchers said. "The sheer number of people struggling after COVID brings new urgency to developing programs to better promote and support recovery after acute illness," said Dr. Hallie Prescott, senior researcher.
The researchers -- and, for that matter, the nation -- might start with such basic niceties as making mental health part of any healthcare reform initiative. I see little point in declaring healthcare a human right if we focus solely on the physical side, at the expense of the mental. Only then could we eliminate the absurdities of a system that incentivizes counselors to reject health insurance, even when people have it, in favor of collecting their full fee upfront.
With so many millions' lives, psyches and spirits hanging by a thread, business as usual is no longer acceptable. Nor is shrugging it off by saying, "Well, that's the best we can do."
It's the same sentiment running through the Foo Fighters' latest track, "Waiting On A War," as Dave Grohl explained recently: "Is there more to this than that? Is there more to this than just waiting on a war? Because I need more. We all do." I couldn't have said it better. --The Reckoner
Links To Go (Hurry, Hurry,
Before Your Counselor Needs Counseling)
Foo Fighters:
Waiting On A War (Lyric Video):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z2kswhvKIHM
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z2kswhvKIHM
The Intercept
Joe Manchin Was Hit With Tough Ad
Back Home After Going Wobbly On $2,000 Checks:
U of M Health Lab
Life After COVID-19 Hospitalization:
Major Lasting Effects On Health, Work And More:
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