Plague Pit
in Thoughtful Thursdays on February 3, 2022
I’ve been watching a BBC program called Ghosts. It’s about a young English couple who inherit an old manor house. Aside from the house being an absolute money pit, it is inhabited by band of misfit ghosts, from the top floor all the way down to the basement level. The ghosts of the main floors are somewhat more refined and fit for society; the ghosts down in the basement, not so much.
Why, you may ask?
Well, the manor house is really quite old. The basement level was once home to 13th-century occupants. And that is significant because of two words:
Black Death.
Yes. The residents of the manor house basement were the area leftovers from the plague that wiped out a THIRD of the world’s population. Grim, isn’t it. It should be, and it would be, IF the show wasn’t so well written and funny.
Now, I told y’all that so I could tell you this: My mind has been circling around plague pits for the last week. During the period of the Black Death, villages and towns were so overrun with plague participants, that they ran out of room in cemeteries, and the remaining alive people wanted to isolate the sick ones as effectively as possible. So they put people into basement areas, and SEALED THEM IN.
Humane, right?
Sort of.
Nine days ago, I got captured by the Rona, two days after my husband popped positive. Gasp! Sigh. Dramatic wail.
Naturally, I began to examine my options for isolation. Fortunately, my husband and I are empty-nesters, so the kids (who’ve already had this) were spared this time. So it was just me and Jeff who needed to figure out how to handle this mess. It turns out, rest and fluids, mixed with a bottle each of NyQuil, and we made it through.
But, seriously, now what? I’m not sure I’m totally okay with how catching this bug made me feel. I don’t mean, how it made me physically feel. I mean how, emotionally and psychologically it made me feel. It’s been more than a decade since I was sick—really, really sick. I vividly remember coming down with the flu somewhere circa 2010. It was rough. Once I made it through the flu, I developed pneumonia and bronchitis. In short, I was sick for about six weeks. During my time of convalescence, not one person made me feel as though I was dirty.
But, this time, when I got sick, I didn’t tell a soul. Why? Because for two years, I’ve managed to avoid being a active participant in the world’s longest game of Cooties. And, it seems to me, that the biggest connotation of the Rona is, IF you catch it—then, clearly you are being punished for not washing your hands, not wearing a hazmat suit, being a rebel, being anti-science or worse.
Those are INSANE emotions to have regarding an airborne virus.
I never felt bad, for feeling bad; until now.
Before I get the hate mail, I’m not insensitive or unaware of the misery and suffering this virus has caused. I’m just stating my thoughts, feelings, and opinions of some of the lesser talked about symptoms of contracting the vid.
The biggest symptom for me, wasn’t that I felt lousy (which I totally did), but rather, now I’m somehow contaminated.
So, as I spend the rest of my time holed up in my house, I’m going to try and think better thoughts, more positive thoughts, less condemning thoughts. I challenge y’all to do the same thing. We’re all going to get sick with something eventually. Can we normalize bringing chicken soup and a box of tissues to our friends again? Can we offer well wishes and encouragement? And can we check on each other, so than if there’s an emergency, we know about it and will be there to lend a hand?
We are not supposed to do this thing called life alone. We were created to be in community with each other. It’s really hard to be IN a community when you’re made to feel like a leper.
Please don’t abandon common sense. If you are sick, don’t go out and spread your sickness to the masses. Wash your hands, often. Take your vitamins. Eat right. Get some exercise. I for one, would like to find the normal we used to have—something like the eighties. Bring back open doors, open churches, kids on bikes, and the ice cream truck.
Stay safe. Be happy.