Corona thoughts from someone who is chronically ill

Author: Charlotte Secher Jensen

Right here and now, when your world is burning down.

When I look out the window, everything looks as usual. The birds are singing, everything is bursting with the color of hope, and the spring sun is slowly starting to show its bright face. But nothing is as usual. It's so quiet outside that I can hear my own heart beating.

And it strikes faster than usual, because the worries are in a queue. A crowd of thoughts and over-worrying cause insecurity and chaos on the top floor. Normally I have the usual chaos in the corners, but when I can't see the end of what's happening in the world right now - in my world, I get scared. It's hard not to wonder what this will mean for me and for my loved ones in the future and for the rest of the world.

It's easy for many to say: "Don't worry too much, because then you'll be engulfed in chaos and panic. Look at everything logically and rationally." I try to do that too. I really try.

But they don't necessarily know the consequences of being chronically ill right now. If we stick our finger in the ground and feel, that's how we really feel. Does anyone really know? What would the consequences be if I got infected? If you got infected? We haven't been in this situation before. The world has received a wake-up call, and so have I. My ancestors went to war, I'm staying on the couch.

Everything is becoming clearer. It's clear what I'm afraid of. I'm simply not only afraid of getting sick. I'm also afraid of dying. I'm trying to figure out if I'm in the risk group, if I should take more care than those who are healthy. When the first people got sick in Denmark, I had a life crisis. It had already been simmering for a few months before – the mental overload. It woke up from one day to the next, after a year of many challenges with my arthritis. I was given extra medication, which made me feel significantly better. I had just reached a point where I was living and not just surviving. But crisis equals development, and I learned something about myself quite quickly. About my psyche.

I turn my thoughts inward and say what needs to be said. To my doctor, to myself and to those I care about. I frantically search for information on Facebook, the Danish Health Authority's website, on the internet, contact the rheumatology department and watch the news. I am completely confused. But worries are like a rocking chair. They keep me busy, but I get nowhere.

I open the window and take a deep breath. Admit to myself that I have no idea what this is all about. That it's perfectly okay to be scared. Shifting between panic and reason. Panic about whether I should stop taking my immunosuppressive medication for my arthritis, or continue. Should I follow the recommendations? Do I have a sore throat? What now? Am I okay? Did I remember to keep my distance? Did I sanitize my hands? Remember not to put your fingers in your mouth. I miss hugs and closeness. My reason tells me to do everything I can to avoid getting infected. So does my family. They are ready when I almost lose my balance and help me back to real reality.

I try to be rational and logical. I plan my shopping online, stay home voluntarily. I keep in touch with friends and family online. I try to create a daily routine with lots of things to do so that I don't end up in a rocking chair – back and forth in the same place, without any help.

I walk in the garden, enjoy the gentle warmth of the sun on my cheeks, and my thoughts calm down for a while. I see the dogs playing carefree in the garden. I hear children playing further down the street. Everything seems almost normal in my little bubble. Life goes on, it's spring. Everything is springing out, and I take one day at a time. But my life has changed, forever.