Hope and Fear: The Unspoken Threat

Last week, I shared mixed feelings about travel, and mentioned some of the threats and fears that guard the door to the runway as I head for a distant adventure. I did not mention the threat that I find most daunting. I did not want to wake it from a nap in the corner and draw its attention to my escape. It woke and hunted me down.

That first night in Georgia, a raging sore through clamped down on my vocal chords, kicked off a disabling week of laryngitis, and eventually led, step by step, to the full viral catastrophe.

Getting sick, especially while traveling, is a unique kind of misery. There is no way to hide and retreat until it clears. There is a need to keep moving despite the absence of strength or energy. There is a need to communicate, even if it is painful and ineffective to speak. There is the worry of infecting others, invading their space with sniffling and coughing and giving them good reason to fear that they are next. Sometimes the symptoms overcome the strongest of drugs and, quite frankly, you are going to be someone’s unwelcome seatmate.

Physical discomfort is reason enough to fear this demon; however the effect on mental and emotional comfort is even worse. My thoughts and feelings formed uncontrollably into a bitter and angry flood of reproach and despair. Hard as I tried, I could not access the sources of hope, optimism and joy that are typically close at hand.

I was possessed. I slogged through the week in a spirit of grim determination. Surrounded by caring friends and family, I had every reason to feel peace in the midst of chaos, but it eluded me. Silver linings were, at best, tarnished by the toxicity of my inner view.

What can I share from this experience, other than a self-indulgent rant? I discovered (again) that hopeful thoughts are not always available on demand. The pipeline to reframing challenges, accepting “what is,” and practicing gratitude can get clogged.

When the feelings of peace, love, and joy stop flowing we are left with the basics--focusing on the next few steps. Get gas. Study the map. Find a bathroom. Buy tissues. Keep track of keys, cell phone, driver’s license, credit card. Eat. See a doctor(wait 3 hours). Check in. Deal with the new “e-boarding pass.” Whisper and croak. Hack and gag. Snuffle. Acknowledge the love and nurturing of others who want so much to make it better, even when nothing can help.

It is humbling to be disabled by a virus, and even more humbling to be disabled by a mood. Neither body nor spirit is always able to resist infection. The silver lining in this case is on the other side of the cloud. The cloud passes. Your friends and family have not given up on you. Joy, hope, and inner peace are waiting and happy to return. Eventually.

Until the next time, go well.

Pam