Everyone
is doing the best they can at the hospital, but things are changing
constantly, new
information
is coming in at a dizzying pace, and day by day I never know what is
going to hit me. My work life is an
exercise in unpredictability. Case
in point: After
weeks of being told in
no uncertain terms not
to mask, suddenly everyone was asked to mask. This
whiplash
change in policy
meant
I had to
enact
a big, frenzied communication pivot within the job I am currently
doing (managing the Non-Clinical Labor Pool and Entry Control Points)
and then
the
questions,
questions, questions:
Where
to obtain
and store the masks, how to distribute,
who is the point person for what and how, why, when, where
and
what about
the reprocessing bins
and
then the next day it’s all different again. All
I do is react to change. It
is not a time of planning or developing or building for the future
It’s a time of war and it is on, my friends.
Anyway,
long story short,
I am masking at work now, and it’s weird both physically and
psychologically. It
feels alien to have a piece of material covering over
half
my face. It’s hot, it’s vaguely
itchy, it smells disconcertingly
medical,
and I am brushing my teeth and rinsing with mouthwash multiple times
per day because I can’t tolerate even the slightest whiff of odor
on my breath. With the amount of coffee I’m sucking down these
days, this is a challenge. I’ve always been very paranoid about my
breath as
it is, and
I’m
one of those people who compulsively pop Altoids and breath
gums.
Now there is no escaping the smell of my own breath. I’m
going to have a get a handle on this neurosis because skipping lunch
and living on Dentyne is not a sustainable option.
With
the advent of the mask, I’ve
ditched the lipstick (the
masks go
to be reprocessed and
they
can’t reprocess a mask that has lipstick stains on it), and I
have decided to go minimalist on the makeup. I just brush on a little
mascara
and call it good,
which saves me a remarkable amount of time in the mornings.
I’ve also taken to wearing tennis shoes because I’m constantly
running to our Entry Control Points to deal with issues and
my normal
work shoes aren’t great for clocking
miles on a hard surface.
No
one’s
said anything
about the tennis shoes.
The
way things are going, I could probably get away with jeans and
hoodies
at
this point.
This same
sort of sartorial
breakdown also
happened during the strike, with
senior
management
all
but
wandering around in their pajamas towards the end. The
near-total breakdown of professional appearance is
an interesting signifier
of a crisis.
Speaking
of sartorial breakdown, I was minding my own business sitting on the
couch playing Bejeweled on my phone when Mr. Typist called out from
the bathroom, “You’re not doing anything important. Get in here
and help me.” I would quibble with his assessment of my chosen
activity,
but nonetheless, I put down my phone and
came into the bathroom to find half of his afore-mentionedmad-scientist hair in a towel on the sink and a set of clippers
scattered over the counter. “I need you to get the spots I missed,”
he implored. I was very reluctant, but I bravely picked up the buzzer
and went to work. I must say, by the end, it actually looked pretty
good. It’s very short, but it looks nice. Almost
like
a normal haircut. I wonder how many other people are doing home
haircuts through all of this and how they are faring. I’ve decided
let my hair grow as it will, bangs and all, since
all other pretense of a polished
appearance
has
gone out the window.
By the end of this I expect to look like a full-on cave woman,
complete
with a deer-skin hoodie.
For
your amusement, here is a gentle funny video from comedian Trey
Kennedy on the travails of quarantine. The
argument about the make-up and the fat made me laugh pretty hard.
--Kristen McHenry
2 comments:
It's awfully reassuring to know you're one of the people minding the ship.
Every week goes by so much better, Kristen, after reading your post!
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