Discerning whether going our for a meal or to see the dentist is "safe"? And if we venture out, how "normal" is it?
While this weekend allowed people to venture out for a drink or meal, it was definitely not all of us. "Super Saturday" for me was no different to all my other recent Saturdays. There was nowhere I was rushing to try for the first time post lockdown. Has there become a divide in people's views of what is "safe" to do while our current infection rate remains low? The under 40s are apparently making up the majority of those braving it out for a long awaited pizza or glass of wine. Maybe the rest of us, or those with a health concern are staying in our own cosy kitchens cooking for the gazillionth time since March?
When I heard about the UK Treasury discussing this week whether to award each adult £500 vouchers to spend on "face to face" retail and hospitality to boost the economy, I laughed. I realised it was definitely not just me that is remaining cautious. If Rishi Sunak is seriously considering waving vouchers like carrots to tempt us out of our rabbit warrens onto our high streets, there must still be huge collective concern. With a glance at new case numbers soaring in some parts of USA after they have eased restrictions, possibly too soon, caution might just be common sense. The delicate path we are weaving between keeping infection rates down and opening up the economy is definitely full of uncertainties.
Even the experts struggle to decide what is currently safer, 1m or 2m social distance, indoors or outdoors, face masks or not? Maybe dividing experiences into "safe" or "unsafe" at this stage in the pandemic is not so helpful anymore. This kind of language is useful for our "reptilian" part of our brain that evolved deciding whether it was safe to pick berries from a tree or run from a predator. But now, in this complex phase of "new normal" we need to make more discerned judgements about the level of risk, ranging somewhere between high, medium or low? This has become part of my everyday life and I find it exhausting while going round in circles weighing up potential risks.
I wish I could go to my local cafe, that has happily reopened, and eat a colourful plate of salad surrounded by local people and the smell of fresh coffee. Just like in the good old pre-coronavirus days. But now we have to consider how busy it will be and is it a risk worth taking? My compromise will be to try sitting outdoors at a table, if we can get one and if the weather is dry! That will be a step towards some kind of normality, the first meal we haven't prepared for months. As more places open that rely on outdoor seating and long queues outside, I'm already wondering what will happen when the weather turns and we are all shivering on our coloured spots on pavements?
Yesterday, I rather drastically went to the dentist, breaking all my rules about sticking to low risk options. I struggled to make the decision, agonizing over how high the risk might be. I weighed up all the pros and cons numerous times. As I'm still at the "mostly at home but can meet a friend outdoors" phase, to suddenly opt for a higher risk activity felt more like jumping out of a plane with a parachute. The rationale went something like this -
1) I've had mild tooth ache intermittently all the way through lockdown.
2) I have a chipped mercury filling in this tooth that needs replacing.
3) The rate in our area is relatively low now but could start to rise again as we ease lockdown, so get in quickly now.
4) It can't wait for as long as it will take to get a vaccine (how long is that?) and it will get worse.
5) They are using copious amounts of PPE and answered all my questions about air particles (they swap rooms after each patient to let it ventilate).
On the way to my nice dentist, I cycle past my local cafe and smile at seeing real people sipping coffees outside. Minutes later, my smile evaporates I as I reach the dental practice that now feels totally impersonal. To even get to the point of having an appointment, I have already emailed at length with my concern, been ranked in priority, waited until fillings have become permitted and passed ten screening questions on the telephone. I know this is not going to feel normal or be easy.
Now, I'm standing outside the building as instructed to wait for someone to come out as the door is
locked. I already feel like crying, never enjoying dentist procedures at the best of times. I'm wearing a face mask, I have my temperature checked, ten questions repeated and then I'm allowed in. I can sit on the one chair that is far away from the other patient also wearing a face mask. The nice glossy magazines have gone. Huge screens shield the office staff and I'm already prepared for my lovely dentist, Laura, to look more like an alien that a human with her PPE.
The trouble with a dentist visit during a pandemic is that something normally painful and deeply unpleasant becomes ridiculously challenging. In the past I can slightly ease my anxiety with a moment of connection with the dentist as she asks how things have been with genuine interest. This time Laura still asks, but I cannot see much of her face as it is behind two shields. Nothing feels relaxing and I feel tearful although in my own stoic way I hide these feelings away.
Before she starts the procedure, she tells me that she has to wear a further shield now so I won't be able to hear her talk properly. I watch as she becomes buried behind her PPE and I grip the arm rests with force. Now I feel isolated, afraid and somehow vulnerable without my own set of protective clothing and face shields. As she works, I'm hoping that I don't breathe in any virus containing droplets as well as dealing with injections, drilling and trying to breathe with suction tubes and metal tools in my mouth.
The whole drilling out and replacing with various complications feels like it takes forever. The couple of times Laura speaks through the masks, I get a vague idea of sounds and then have to try to work out what she could have said. She said something about "high" towards the end and I thought she meant a side effect of the injection (which there wasn't!), but then I deduced it was to do with the height of the new shiny white filling. Finally we are done and she shows me a mirror as I sit there feeling shaken up and exhausted. I really don't care what it looks like, I just want to get home and curl up.
Sometimes things just are difficult and in a pandemic, challenging times are perhaps more plentiful than "normal". I understand there are things far harder than going to the dentist, but it felt bad enough. Experiencing something unpleasant and painful while separated from normal human contact is extra hard. My long hour at the dental practice filled me with empathy for those who have needed any form of medical treatment since coronavirus. And while the amazing dental and medical professionals are buried behind their PPE, they are still kind, caring humans and it must be really uncomfortable under there.
I think going for that salad might have been easier!
When I heard about the UK Treasury discussing this week whether to award each adult £500 vouchers to spend on "face to face" retail and hospitality to boost the economy, I laughed. I realised it was definitely not just me that is remaining cautious. If Rishi Sunak is seriously considering waving vouchers like carrots to tempt us out of our rabbit warrens onto our high streets, there must still be huge collective concern. With a glance at new case numbers soaring in some parts of USA after they have eased restrictions, possibly too soon, caution might just be common sense. The delicate path we are weaving between keeping infection rates down and opening up the economy is definitely full of uncertainties.
Even the experts struggle to decide what is currently safer, 1m or 2m social distance, indoors or outdoors, face masks or not? Maybe dividing experiences into "safe" or "unsafe" at this stage in the pandemic is not so helpful anymore. This kind of language is useful for our "reptilian" part of our brain that evolved deciding whether it was safe to pick berries from a tree or run from a predator. But now, in this complex phase of "new normal" we need to make more discerned judgements about the level of risk, ranging somewhere between high, medium or low? This has become part of my everyday life and I find it exhausting while going round in circles weighing up potential risks.
I wish I could go to my local cafe, that has happily reopened, and eat a colourful plate of salad surrounded by local people and the smell of fresh coffee. Just like in the good old pre-coronavirus days. But now we have to consider how busy it will be and is it a risk worth taking? My compromise will be to try sitting outdoors at a table, if we can get one and if the weather is dry! That will be a step towards some kind of normality, the first meal we haven't prepared for months. As more places open that rely on outdoor seating and long queues outside, I'm already wondering what will happen when the weather turns and we are all shivering on our coloured spots on pavements?
Yesterday, I rather drastically went to the dentist, breaking all my rules about sticking to low risk options. I struggled to make the decision, agonizing over how high the risk might be. I weighed up all the pros and cons numerous times. As I'm still at the "mostly at home but can meet a friend outdoors" phase, to suddenly opt for a higher risk activity felt more like jumping out of a plane with a parachute. The rationale went something like this -
1) I've had mild tooth ache intermittently all the way through lockdown.
2) I have a chipped mercury filling in this tooth that needs replacing.
3) The rate in our area is relatively low now but could start to rise again as we ease lockdown, so get in quickly now.
4) It can't wait for as long as it will take to get a vaccine (how long is that?) and it will get worse.
5) They are using copious amounts of PPE and answered all my questions about air particles (they swap rooms after each patient to let it ventilate).
On the way to my nice dentist, I cycle past my local cafe and smile at seeing real people sipping coffees outside. Minutes later, my smile evaporates I as I reach the dental practice that now feels totally impersonal. To even get to the point of having an appointment, I have already emailed at length with my concern, been ranked in priority, waited until fillings have become permitted and passed ten screening questions on the telephone. I know this is not going to feel normal or be easy.
 |
| Dentistry using some PPE (mine was wearing even more). Photo by H. Shaw |
locked. I already feel like crying, never enjoying dentist procedures at the best of times. I'm wearing a face mask, I have my temperature checked, ten questions repeated and then I'm allowed in. I can sit on the one chair that is far away from the other patient also wearing a face mask. The nice glossy magazines have gone. Huge screens shield the office staff and I'm already prepared for my lovely dentist, Laura, to look more like an alien that a human with her PPE.
The trouble with a dentist visit during a pandemic is that something normally painful and deeply unpleasant becomes ridiculously challenging. In the past I can slightly ease my anxiety with a moment of connection with the dentist as she asks how things have been with genuine interest. This time Laura still asks, but I cannot see much of her face as it is behind two shields. Nothing feels relaxing and I feel tearful although in my own stoic way I hide these feelings away.
Before she starts the procedure, she tells me that she has to wear a further shield now so I won't be able to hear her talk properly. I watch as she becomes buried behind her PPE and I grip the arm rests with force. Now I feel isolated, afraid and somehow vulnerable without my own set of protective clothing and face shields. As she works, I'm hoping that I don't breathe in any virus containing droplets as well as dealing with injections, drilling and trying to breathe with suction tubes and metal tools in my mouth.
The whole drilling out and replacing with various complications feels like it takes forever. The couple of times Laura speaks through the masks, I get a vague idea of sounds and then have to try to work out what she could have said. She said something about "high" towards the end and I thought she meant a side effect of the injection (which there wasn't!), but then I deduced it was to do with the height of the new shiny white filling. Finally we are done and she shows me a mirror as I sit there feeling shaken up and exhausted. I really don't care what it looks like, I just want to get home and curl up.
Sometimes things just are difficult and in a pandemic, challenging times are perhaps more plentiful than "normal". I understand there are things far harder than going to the dentist, but it felt bad enough. Experiencing something unpleasant and painful while separated from normal human contact is extra hard. My long hour at the dental practice filled me with empathy for those who have needed any form of medical treatment since coronavirus. And while the amazing dental and medical professionals are buried behind their PPE, they are still kind, caring humans and it must be really uncomfortable under there.
I think going for that salad might have been easier!
Comments
Post a Comment