Pandemic Lessons, Week 7



I can't write a story yet in full paragraphs, but I can write a list of what I've learned these past seven weeks:


People have a hell of a time being still. Even when they are forced to be still they cannot be still.

Canadians hate being inconvenienced. God forbid.

Capitalism is going to be the death of us all.

My anxiety is 99% social anxiety.

Mike, Aaron and I really like each other.

I still find my husband’s jokes funny, even 18 years in.

We finally dumped that damn Keurig for French Press coffee.

People who live in this condo should pick up their socks off the floor.

We waste less food because food is a restricted commodity now.

We enjoy watching the tree buds unfold from our balcony.

We are saving a fortune by not eating out.

There is comfort in small routines – coffee together when we wake up, tea in the afternoon, Aaron and I watching Top Chef in the bedroom after dinner, holding hands.

It is a continuous loop of Groundhog Day involving planning meals, making meals, eating meals and cleaning up after meals.


Playing Tragically Hip really loud drowns out that small barking dog upstairs.

I’ve looked through old photos to remind myself that I’ve had a wonderful life.

I’ve started gentle yoga again in lieu of my beloved lost walks.

Sibling relationships are flourishing: Aaron has weekly hour-long FaceTime calls with his sister. He plays Fortnite online with his brother-in-law.

Humanity in health care for all still matters. But let us not forget about the patients.

The people with big egos are going to be more insufferable now with all this hero talk.

Be your own hero.

My comfort foods are rice pudding and casseroles.

I mostly miss doughnuts, sushi and going to movies.

Many people are selfish and care only about themselves and not the greater good. Is it because they’ve never had a glimpse into health care and what it means to be sick?

I’m tired of Twitter. It has served its purpose for me. I’m post-Twitter. What is post-Twitter? Somebody let me know.

Patient Engagement Is Dead. Stick A Nail In It. Burn It All Down.

I think this means my Ducks in a Row book is also dead. Unless I write about the resurrection of patient engagement. Then patient engagement will no longer be patient engagement. It will be something else.

If Socialism doesn’t rise up now, it never will.

People are terrified of becoming irrelevant. I'm embarrassed for them watching them online and in the media.

I don’t need to see the inside of the kitchens of celebrities in their massive mansions anymore.

The world is collapsing into itself instead of reaching out to create community. But maybe that’s just me.

My husband is an authoritative Project Manager.

‘Scream time’ needs to be limited to two scream time calls for Aaron a day.

Dozy naps are good.

I’m never wearing jeans again.

Mindless shows like Next in Fashion and Glow Up are good replacements for US Magazine.

People don’t care about people who live in nursing homes, group homes or jails.

Making billionaires richer seems to be more important than keeping workers safe.


I’ve realized the truth of what my eldest son told me: Just keep doing your best work, Mom, and don’t worry about the response to it.

Tomorrow is a new day.

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