By Johnny Sandelson
On Friday I put down my pen. My 14-day career as a travel writer, an autobiographer, and a diarist has come to an end. Two weeks have exhausted every last whimsical thought. I have ground out about as much humour and observation as is possible from this hospital cell.
A lot of feedback from readers of my blog has been complimentary and it has kept my spirits up. It seemed to make time pass more quickly, and provided me with some sense of relevance, a place in the world.
Regardless, I have become cynical, bored of the messages of those just trying to deal with their own pathetically veiled hypochondria. ‘By the way Johnny, did you notice any kidney pains, as part of your early symptoms?’ So I put down my Iphone (pen) and concentrated on finishing the final part of Hilary Mantels trilogy. Henry VIII lived constantly in fear of plague and disease, often living in a self-imposed quarantine. It’s odd to think that only 500 years later, everyone has a better standard of life than that old king.
Without modern medicines, people lived in almost constant and varying degrees of pain and discomfort. High infant mortality rates, low life expectation. My senior housing business, Auriens wouldn’t have had any customers in the London of1530.
There was another factor at play, I had become a tad morose. Being so far away, as a father, I was incapable of directly comforting my children, I wasn’t able to offer any support to Annette. I could hear through the daily radio reports the increased fear, and could witness the effects of these increased measures on all those whom I love.
Sometimes we think we have control, we believe we can shape and mould events by our actions. Ultimately, it provides us the comfort of thinking that our actions are relevant in helping to influence the wellbeing of those we love, and those we wish to protect.
By Day 14 I felt completely out of control, and at the whim of a world that was also spinning out of control. I was merely a feather in a storm. I felt I was a passive observer in a global society clumsily playing a game of Blind Man’s Bluff.
But Singaporeans seemed to be behaving differently. They had a plan, in which I had a tiny role to play.
They knew of every single Covidian (TM) in their country, and had put into play a strict rule enforcing domestic quarantine for anyone who had been in close contact. By way of example, the Duty Manager for Raffles has been placed into quarantine as a direct consequence that he had briefly shaken my hand on my arrival at the hotel.
Consequently, Singapore’s figures were low, with only two deaths at time of writing. When I say ‘only’, these “case siblings” of mine who died were only one floor below me in the hospital. It definitely changed the atmosphere in the hospital, and I now feel more engaged in this pandemic than ever.
Perhaps they have been merely the builders of the most resilient sandcastle on the beach. The planning and order may have largely shielded and protected their population and their economy to date. Yet will the Covid-19 high-tide overrun their moats and buttresses, to deliver the inevitable calamity?
I’d love to be on a beach with my young children building a sandcastle, Cornish ice creams, the abundance of fresh air. I don’t think I ever did that properly with my kids, I’ll ensure I do it with theirs.
Just ten days ago I could sense the insanity of a world which in one country allowed the Cheltenham crowds to gather, whilst in another country I was incarcerated, not for my health, but for Singapore’s ‘commonwealth’, a good Tudor word.
Annette had a thought. She had started calculating the number ofthose who were admitted to this hospital, and how long they stayed, and how many people they might have previously infected.
She seems to have spotted a trend, she says: ‘it’s too early to say anything definite, there’s too little evidence, and it’s not scientific.’ I say: ‘you’ve almost certainly uncovered a new scientific phenomena.’ That tells you a lot about our differing personalities.
Annette’s observation is this. She’s noticed that some of my fellow house guests, contaminate higher numbers of the public before they become quarantined. And it seems to be these are the same people who oddly get released first. So Charles and I, who have infected nobod , and yet we are still cell-bound, whilst super spreaders such as case number 89, who infected 30 at a dinner party, is free to go.
Therefore, it follows that some people shed the virus more violently and efficiently to others, but these guys quickly become risk free. For others, like me and Charles, we keep the virus in our system, and we are potentially long-term holders of the virus, but not spreaders.
Some pension funds purchase shares and have a 10-year hold strategy, others are day traders. I always thought I was a trader, it turns out I’m an iron clad institution.
I only know three people who live in Singapore: my friend, his wife, and their daughter. They are close friends, they shlepped-across the world to be present at my boys’ bnei ( plural of bahmitvah,) last summer.
So on the Saturday I arrived, I met my friend, and as a consequence of the strict guidelines, he was domestically quarantined for 14 days. He has shown no symptoms and thankfully is now released. His wife and daughter flew out from the UK last week, as he felt that the health facilities in Singapore would be a safer environment should they become ill. Only two days after her arrival, I hear that she has become my neighbour. A friend of 30 years is now a floor above me, so we comfort each other and share observations about our common welfare, but in reality we might as well be on the other side of the world. Then there’s her 16 year old daughter, who, like my son, has been absented from school, and with her dog are in quarantine in one apartment, her father in another, and her mother is case number 333 upstairs.
This disease is playing havoc with lives. So many of those in the hospital came from the UK. Despite the mayhem caused to his daily life, my dear friend’s judgement that Singapore is the best place to protect his family in undoubtebly true.
It’s now Monday, and sulk over, I’m writing again.
There’s this weird sensation I’ve never previously mentioned where I lost my sense of taste for a while, In truth it was a blessing to mask the deeply appalling food. The sense of smell has now returned, along with the metallic taste. I literally have the taste of Covid-19 in my mouth. I don’t need another nasal intrusion, I am clearly here for an institutional stretch.
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