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The Great Pandemic: Dispatches From Sweden

We at The Band Back Together Project are looking for your stories of what you’re going through in the time of the great pandemic. Please share your stories with us. You can use this to login, or you can send your story to becky@bandbacktogether.com or stacey@bandbacktogether.com.

Please share this around – we are none of us alone; we are all connected. You never know who’s lives you’ll change with your words.

This post comes courtesy of an OG friend who lives in Sweden; it’s a good taste about how life is around the world, plus she promised to eat any mayo I send her way (I LOATHE mayo)

As for now, me? I’m not coughing, and I’m not REALLY sick.

Just a slight fever (37.9 in real money (degrees Celsius), which is what, 150 in your weird measures? or is that for baking muffins?), and a higher resting heart rate than usual – and way high as soon as I do something. Like go upstairs.

Takes me 10 minutes to catch my breath after such strenuous exercise.

I’m not all alone though. My daughter moved home a couple of months ago – bipolar and a masters in biology with remote studies didn’t really work out, despite how much she loves biology.

She’s got a slight cough, now and then, but again, not very bad.

We sent my partner to his flat in the next town over on the 12th of March and it seems like he got out before we got infected, thank BoB.

He’s 25 years older than I am (and I’m 52 soon), so he’s more at risk.

I’ve been working from home since the 14th, had some minor niggles last week, but the fever hit on Saturday.

So now I’m going to work a little less, I suppose, and nap more.

I’m so glad I brought my work set up home – big screen, keyboard, “mouse” which is a big stick in a holder that you spin and slide along… I think it’s called a Bar Mouse, which frankly is awesome.

Cheers, Mouse!

So that’s comfortable.

Only nuisance is that being 160 cm tall (5’3”? maybe?) and having a desk that doesn’t lower, means that the chair is at it’s absolute top level (at least I have that, right?) and a foot stool that’s the hight of my sofa to keep my legs from dangling.

And nobody there to watch how funny that looks…

And work… we’re in the medical device industry, but since no planned surgery goes ahead ANYWHERE, sales have tanked.

And for emergency/trauma, people can survive without our products, even if they’d benefit… So.

Management are cutting their salaries by 20%, and ask staff to voluntarily cut ours by 10%, for 3 months. You don’t have to, and you won’t be punished if you don’t. I like that they lead by example, and that they do all they can to not have to let anyone go, even if it’s going to hurt a little.

Nothing compared with the company going under though, and having a job to get back to when things return to normal is quite motivating.

I agreed to it.

I hope it helps.

Spring is arriving, with a surprise overnight snow, the other morning. So there’s that. Isa power-cleaned the patio during the weekend, it’s a whole new colour!

But today, she’s tired.

We don’t have complete lock down, our leaders trust that most of us are sensible, and follow the recommendations (stay the fuck home!), and so far, it’s not too bad. Anyone who can work at home does. No more than 50 people allowed in one place, which seems to work.

I see people about, but then I don’t really go anywhere. The shop is pretty normal. We have toilet paper.

I mean, if people ignore it, they will of course put stronger measures in, but so far, not terrible.

Well, except Stockholm. Those people seem to think they are above the rules, which shows in the infection rates… (3.5 x the second worst region).

But maybe they learn. They are also learning that no, you are indeed NOT WELCOME at your summer house, because a) you come from an infected region and x) DON’T TRAVEL and 19) it’s a sparsley (sparesly? s’Parsley??? few people.) populated region where they go, and the hospital has NO capacity for extras, let alone the locals.

And as in the rest of the world, low stocks of face masks, disinfectant, protective clothing. Someone figured out that you can use overhead projector film to make visors, but then some bureaucrat said, hey that’s not been tested and approved, so you can’t use them.

I say screw that, it’s better than a naked face.

Hum. This turned out long. Sorry for the ramblings. If i were a blogger, I might have posted it. If you want to use it for the Band, feel free. Or not. You know.

anyway.

Love, hugs, and I’ll be happy to rescue you from any mayo that comes your way!

Maria, way over in Sweden and all.

The Great Pandemic: Coping with a Pandemic

We at The Band Back Together Project are looking for your stories of what you’re going through in the time of the great pandemic. Please share your stories with us. You can use this to login, or you can send your story to becky@bandbacktogether.com or stacey@bandbacktogether.com.

Please share this around – we are none of us alone; we are all connected. You never know who’s lives you’ll change with your words.

I’m stressed. There is a lot going on out there, it feels like the information changes every day. My kids are home all day, every day. They don’t get to run around with their friends, even if we do see them while we are out for a walk. The news coming out of Italy gets more bleak by the minute, and I wonder if we are doing enough to stop this before it hits us like a runaway truck.

I worry about being able to feed my family long term, assuming this continues, which doesn’t feel like a stretch. I worry about my family, all of whom live at least 175 miles away. I worry the grocery stores will have to close because all their employees get sick. I worry that all medical personnel are burning themselves out and will suffer tremendously for it. I worry about the scientists working day and night to give us concrete answers.

This novel coronavirus has kicked my anxiety into full gear. I spend my days and nights imagining all the worst case scenarios. Sleep is not relief from this. The tension in my shoulders, jaw, whole body never releases. Taking a complete, deep breath seems impossible. My brain is a squirrel on meth stuck on a hamster wheel.

I talk to others online about their concerns, and I find all of them relatable. Maybe not in a specific detail kind of way, but in a general kind of way. I’m not a single mom struggling to care for her special needs child with no extra cash to even start to stock up on basics I may need. I’m not a new mom feeling isolated after building my routine around meeting up with friendly faces three times a week. I’m not the mom of a medically fragile child, panicked because people just can’t take this seriously.

I’m not these specific people. But I understand their struggles. Yesterday, I wrote a little post full of sass about how to survive. The sass hid the truth. This is not normal. It is not sustainable for our mental health. I need my friends and support system as much as anyone. And I need to support people just as much.

If you read this far, thank you. If you find that you just need to vent your fears, write them out here. You can post it anonymously, even we won’t be able to identify you. If you have some kind of resource I can link to that would help some of the people I listed above, shout them out. We will link anything that will help.

Lots of love, but don’t touch me,

Stacey