I was standing in line at Whole Foods earlier this month and felt like I was in the middle of a scene from a sci-fi movie. New plexiglass separating the workers from the public at checkout, markers on the floor reminding you to keep adequate distance, signs telling you that there will be no handling of cash, card only. Everyone soberly emptying their carts while wearing masks.
And then I was grabbing a cup of tea at work and while looking out of the spanning windows of the cardiovascular center’s atrium noticed all of the abandoned construction machinery scattered across the graveled site of what was supposed to be the “new” 12 story hospital that broke ground last October. The deserted scene felt again, cinematic. I don’t know, maybe I have just watched too many movies, or perhaps my imagination is just too doggone fanciful.
I’ve always been a germophobe, always. Probably to the extent of some baseline annoyance to Brian. For example, I’ve always cringed with face touching. Please don’t touch my face unless you have just thoroughly washed your hands no more than less than five seconds ago. Back in the early 2000s, when I was a staff nurse on a hematology unit, I would always take off my work shoes in the garage and my scrubs upon entering the house for fear of spreading hospital cooties around my condo. I’ve always had a baseline irritation with the church culture of “grab your neighbor by the hand.” Yeah, I’d rather not.
And way, way before corona cursed us, every time I heard a cough in public, I would immediately look to see if the culprit appropriately covered their mouth because one of my biggest pet peeves is an uncovered cough. Like how is that even natural to spew your germs into the air with no regard? So being germ conscious is not new for me and won’t change. If anything, it just made me have an ‘I told you so’ complex because now my instinctive germophobic behaviors are national recommendations. Furthermore, I’m an introvert in every sense of the trait, so social distancing has also always been my preference and comfort.
Even with all of that, I know that the COVID pandemic still dictates a new normal for me. There is no going back to pre-corona existence for any of us. I don’t imagine they will take the plexiglass down anytime soon, if ever, in the grocery stores. The first time you go back to sit in a restaurant, the first football game back at the Big House, the first time you send your child back to sit in a classroom, the first time you go back to church, this year’s Black Friday, I don’t imagine that will look or feel the same. (I’ve never been a Black Friday shopper either, but you get the point) There will now always be an extra sense of precaution with how we navigate our lives. Even those of us who were already pretty cautious will have new normal’s of precaution, some personal and some universally endorsed, that will become second nature over time, just like wearing a seat-belt.
At the hospital, the “new normal” for me is not so bad. The most significant change is that most of the visits with my patients are now virtual (i.e., video or phone calls) with no plan of returning to the prior way of seeing patients. Staff meetings, of course, are also now all virtual. My patients no longer see my feet, so I’ve worn gym shoes all day at work since virtual healthcare took over. I’ve noticed there seem to be two types of patients with virtual care, the five-minute patient or the twenty-five-minute patient. Both end with a new adieu to each other, “be safe.”
A COVID vaccine will eventually surface, and I imagine that there will be discussions at nearly every eminent hospital on its requirements for nurses and healthcare workers. I remember when the flu vaccine became an annual “mandatory” somewhere between 2005 and 2008. I was working as a hematology staff nurse at a cancer center in Detroit. An informal meeting was called in the nurses’ conference room where one of the infectious disease doctors was summoned to “relieve our apprehensions” and “answer our questions” about this new requirement. I had never gotten a flu vaccine up until that point. Since I am not allergic to eggs and don’t have Guillian-Barre syndrome, I’ve gotten one every year since then (to be compliant, of course)—new normals.
I even remember receiving the hepatitis B vaccine back in 2001 to fulfill the prerequisites for starting nursing school. Crazy how I was a young adult before receiving this vaccine, and Ash completed the now routine, 3-dose series as a baby. This is not me saying I will be first in line for a COVID vaccine. I can guarantee you I won’t be. It’s me merely acknowledging the ever-changing normality of our world.
I have several hyper-pigmented dots on the lower part of my inner left arm—little tattoo reminders of where, for years, tuberculin was injected for my annual TB testing. Last year we were informed that because of decreased rates of tuberculosis, annual TB testing was no longer required. Thank God. I hated that test.
And then there is church, which has been an ongoing controversy. Some feel their faith voids the need for precautionary measures. Some believe faith should work together with precaution. I have thoughts about the perpetual contention of faith and science, instigated over the years from personal experience as a (Christian) nurse, but that’s not what this post is about. Currently the new normal is virtual church via YouTube or Facebook. There has been no us rushing down I-94 to church for months now. I imagine that when attending church service in person does become apart of our agendas again, you’ll probably see a new accessory floating around the congregation for a while, a mask.
No one but God knows exactly what our world at large will look like post corona. There have been so many who have lost loved ones during this time. Their lives are forever changed. So many will be jobless post quarantine. Their lives will look different. There have been postponed weddings and vacations. The world has been on slow, erratic motion. For many, that is a welcomed new normal no matter how short or long-lived. I imagine being as contactless as possible will linger in many forms as a new normal. Will I ever unreservedly hear, “reach out and grab your neighbor by the hand,” again at church? Honestly, I hope not.
Hopefully, this pandemic will give us a new normal of mindset. A mindset of increased gratitude, intentional living, and making sure all of our God-given gifts are not stifled inside of us, unused and unshared. Life will be different. I can only hope that for many of us the new normal is better, more beautiful, jeweled masks and all.
What do you think your new normal will look like?
Be safe.
Photo from Instagram/Christian Siriano/@csiriano
