Month: August 2020

Silent spring and the summer without an end

Posted on Posted in depression, existentialism, guitar, mental illness, music, PoliticsTagged , , , , , , ,

I roll my eyes at the weather app on my phone. The mercury rises above 110 degrees for the fiftieth day this year, obliterating the previous record and taunting Arizonans like some rival home-run king smacking grand slams at will. I press my palm to my face to hide my frustration, only to feel a sweaty film forming across my brow.

Below my third floor perch, an apparition walks its equally ghostly dog. With its face concealed by a mesquite tree, the creature could be man or woman, old or young. I listen for a bark, a howl, even the sounds of children playing, but all I hear is the gentle whir of the ceiling fan and the jet-like sweeps of traffic on Southern Avenue.

Anxious for the weekend, I close the lid on my work computer and migrate downstairs to escape my home office. What used to be my earthly paradise, my escape from it all, has become a prison.

I plop into the leather couch. Our cat, Jane, comes up to nudge me. She might be the only creature in this world glad that I have been home almost 24 hours a day since March. I begin my ritual scroll through shows on Amazon Prime and Hulu. Never before have humans had so much instant access to entertainment, and yet, never before have we been so bored by it all.

The summer of hobbies and low-interest financing

In March, I told a friend Amazon, GrubHub, and Netflix would be our saviors during this pandemic. One glance at my credit card statements proves my prediction.

I smile at my new Fender Stratocaster. The cobra blue electric guitar cost more than anything I own, save for my house and my car, but throughout this ordeal, it has been my saving grace, my one pride and joy. Plus, nothing will motivate one to practice like spending two grand on an instrument.

Truthfully, though every day is a never-ending nightmare for someone as extroverted as myself, COVID-19 has been relatively kind to me. Despite being in the high risk group, I have not been sick. Traffic to and from my frequent medical appointments has been non-existent. I haven’t been laid off, and the few weeks in April my team spent on part-time were a welcome relief from the 50-hour work weeks.

I shave three-hundred dollars from our mortgage payment by taking advantage of low-interest rates to refinance our condo. And I happily obliged car dealers desperate for customers by trading in my expiring lease for an electric-blue Hyundai Elantra Sport.

Perhaps one day I will even look back and see this year as a blessing. But right now, despite those positives, as it has for most of us, 2020 has stretched the limits of my sanity.

Endless summer stretches the limits of my sanity

What started as a spring so silent that Rachel Carson’s classic now reads like the musings of a whiny birdwatcher has turned into an Orwellian summer without an end. Words like social, connotating closeness, have been combined with veritable antonyms like distance, implying far away. Activists obsessed with skin color are being called “anti-racists.”

Masks that may or may not work, depending on which study you cite, are required to go literally anywhere. Police are being asked to shame or imprison those who refuse to comply. Schools all over the country have been canceled, delayed, or gone virtual.

Like an emperor at gladiatorial games, Arizona’s executive branch holds the fate of local restaurants, bars, and gyms in its hands. Thumbs up, you may re-open. Thumbs down, brace yourself for the sun-heated steel of the governor’s sword on your neck.

Our other cat, Bert, curls reposed at my feet. Like most animals, he lives for routine: breakfast the minute one of us rises from our bed, nap most of the afternoon, dinner shortly after he wakes. Lather, rinse, repeat. Same shit, different day. Groundhog Day may be our nightmare, but it is his ideal.

Like a schoolchild awaiting news from Punxsutawney Phil, I cling to the weather app and local news websites. Did Arizona’s health czarina see her shadow today? Will she let my gym reopen? Will we have six more weeks of this infernal summer?

The forgotten man and the perils of one-size-fits-all policies

Posted on Posted in autoimmunityTagged , , , , , , ,

Politicians and intellectuals around the country have defended governors’ one-size-fits-all policies for combating COVID-19. Among their boldest claims is that they are saving lives and sparing health-care systems. For them, the ends justify the means—no matter who they hurt along the way.

On June 29, Arizona Governor Doug Ducey forced gyms, bars, theaters, and water parks to again close. They had already suffered March, April, and most of May without customers. Many had to let employees go.

A handful of Phoenix-area gym owners defied the order and sued the governor in county and federal court. They claimed their constitutional rights were violated. Unsurprisingly, the gym owners lost. Though they recognized the hardships bore by the fitness chains, both judges sided with the strong arm of government. In short, they gave the same excuse all governments give when overreaching: crisis.

Yet, lost in the fitness chains’ lawsuits and in the judges decisions is what William Graham Sumner termed the forgotten man—the person whose interests have been neglected, the person who often suffers the most.

Unintended consequences and the forgotten man

This summer, I am the forgotten man.

As a dermatomyositis patient, I take drugs that suppress my immune system, putting me at a higher risk for contracting the virus than healthy thirty-somethings.

Yet, I also need access to real gym equipment to fight inflammation and keep my lungs and muscles strong. Without controlled weight exercises, my muscles slowly degenerate. Breathing becomes a chore. Should I contract COVID-19, strong, healthy lungs and chest muscles will be my best chance of survival.

I am faced with what philosophers call a hard choice: Should I go to my gym to keep my muscles and lungs strong, even at the risk of getting the virus? Or should I stay home and make the most of YouTube workouts and garage equipment at the risk of sacrificing my long-term health?

In March, even before the Arizona governor shutdown Phoenix, I chose the latter. With so little information at the time about the virus, I recalled my internist telling me in January that I was at risk for influenza and shingles. I also assumed the worst would be over by May.

But as the pandemic drags on like a nine-season Netflix series, isolation was no longer an option—for me or anybody else. Amazon Prime freebie workouts could only do so much for my muscles. My mental health deteriorated. My old gym, like so many business dependent on in-person customers, had to bury itself in the mass grave of COVID-19 casualties.

I went to my new gym for the first time on June 9. As I joked with my friend, returning after 3 months of being away is like having sex after three years of being abstinent: You’re sloppy and out of practice, but it feels so good, and the eye candy is worth it.

The government chooses for me

Fast-forward three weeks. I reached the bottom of the stairs in my gym shorts and running shoes when my girlfriend informed me the governor closed the gyms. My face ruddied. My brain wanted to explode. I shouted several curse words and struck the wooden railing with my fist. Fortunately, neither broke.

By late June, daytime temperatures consistently hovered around or above 110 F. Contrary to the governor’s attorney’s presumptive suggestions, working out in the garage or outside is not an option—especially for someone supposed to avoid the sun.

Now, thanks to the Arizona governor’s one-size-fits-all policies, I find it harder to sleep and to breathe.

I’ve tried to make the most of my situation. My girlfriend and I faked our way through Zumba videos. I’m 13 days into a 30-day ab challenge video. And there’s always push-ups and the occasional cool morning or late evening to go for a walk.

All the same, I want to be able to decide for myself what I can do and where I can go. Only I know what is best for myself. And for me, that means not living forever in fear. It means being able to access what I need to fight for my life—both now and 30 years in the future.

Editor’s update: The current and former Arizona health directors do not even agree on the dangers of contracting COVID-19 at the gym.