COVID19 in-house Day 9: Fuck This

This situation has got me thinking: thinking about all the facades and masks we usually wear. We don't walk around with hospital masks on; we wear our social masks that tell everyone who and what we are. I feel my mask slowly slipping off.

I moved to Montreal from a small organic farm in Umbria, where I had four young sons, hens, ducks, geese, a dog, a cat, a vineyard, a garden, a wheat field, and a busy and productive life. In 1996 I joined a cult (shame, shame) that brought me to Montreal.

Once here, I devoted myself to accompanying mothers through childbirth. I taught prenatal classes, provided support to women in labour, and visited families postpartum. I studied how to be a doula and then how to be a midwife. I started a school that taught the art of doula work. I founded a volunteer organization that provided doula services for free to marginalized women. I probably assisted over 1000 women, one way or another, in their birth experiences. I retired from that work when I realized that working in a broken maternity care system was wreaking a huge emotional toll on me. I was angry all the time. I hated the fucking hospital, and started to hate the women themselves for being such stupid sheep, being led to the operating room to have their babies cut out when they didn't have to be ... and who was the bad guy? Me! Because I didn't somehow prevent it from happening....

And my volunteer organization, well, that suffered too from my anarchist tendencies... we had no structure in place to handle (an inevitable) a sexual assault that happened to two volunteer doulas... and so everyone broke up, traumatized and confused.

But hey! I'm a survivor! So I decided to open a cafe... we would serve healthy food, vegetarian and vegan... good food, like what I used to make on the farm, and we would provide a space where everyone could come and eat, feel safe, be happy, man it was gonna be good!

Good Vibes

And it WAS good! We opened on June 8, 2015. We had some idealistic ideas when we first started,  that we scrapped. We started with sandwiches and soups, that we scrapped. We changed and grew organically based on what worked for our customers. We were doing well enough that I had time to spare to help others. I left for Greece in January 2017 to use my midwifery skills to help the Syrians who were pouring into Greece. The cafe survived without me. And continued to survive, and thrive, until about ten days ago when I decided to close because I know about infections ... clearly I didn't know enough. I had no clue that we would be closed as long as it looks like we will be closed. I had no idea that my cafe would be brought down by a virus. 

I didn't know how much I would miss my sons who are living far away. I miss my friends, especially the ones who are already living through difficult times. I miss my normal life. I miss doing half-marathons and marathons. I miss having small things to worry and complain about.

I don't know what's going to happen. Every time I cough I freak out inside. I worry about myself, my family, my friends, the world. I didn't know how much our lives would be changed, and obviously I don't know how much they will be changed in the future. I don't have a crystal ball. I don't have a foolish belief that Allah will save me if I don't tie the damn camel to the tree tight enough. I hope the rope will hold.