Back in Canada

Beginning with jack’s collapse and seizure a mere week ago, followed by the discovery that his cancer has metastasized to the brain, and the almost simultaneous decision by the Canadian government to call all citizens back to the country in the face of the rapidly developing corona virus pandemic, it’s been a crazy eight days. 

As I write this, we’re flying somewhere over the southern US on our way home, where we will be self-isolating for two weeks, as required of all Canadians returning from a foreign country. But before we get there —and this weighs heavy— we will be met at the airport by our daughter and spend tonight at her house. This is contrary to the letter of the self-isolation mandate, and may require her to isolate as well. I say require, but there is no enforcement mechanism except the good will of those who are deemed a risk to others. My sense is it’s working, a small ray of hope in what has become a terrifyingly unhopeful world. We will, of course, keep ourselves at arm’s length for our short stay and resist the impulse to see our young grandchildren who live just half an hour away.

We are not returning from a so-called hot spot.The first case of COVID-19 turned up in Guanajuato a couple of days ago, the same day the first case showed up in Sault Ste. Marie.  So we are going from one relatively safe place to another. But unlike Canada, where aggressive measures and public health warnings have most of the population on high alert, avoiding crowds and physical contact, Mexico is just beginning to wake up to the threat. The confirmed number of cases is still small, but the capacity for both testing and treatment is worryingly limited. The government has closed schools, but there is little evidence of social distancing in this country where a hug and a kiss come as naturally as breathing. Large gatherings continue, and the country’s president seems determined to downplay the threat.

The airport in Mexico City was quieter than usual, though hardly dead, but when we arrived at the gate for our flight to Canada, it was packed. Contrary to advice, we donned face masks when close to others. It may be a false sense of security, but how can it hurt? I’d say a third to half of the people we saw today did the same. 

Once we’re home, we will follow the self-isolation guidelines, and hope they are interrupted by medical appointments to assess Jack’s condition and begin treatments. Or maybe we will have to sit out the two weeks first. If there are rules, we don’t know what they are. 

We will soon be landing in Toronto. I’m not the type to fall on my knees and kiss the ground, but I can understand the impulse. Although it’s sad to cut our Mexican winter short, under the circumstances I’m eager to be back in my own country, in my own space. 

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8 pm.

The international terminal at Pearson International was nearly empty. Less than half an hour after we landed we had cleared customs and immigration, answered a few health questions, acknowledged that we were obligated to self-isolate, and picked up our bags.

We’re now comfortably settled at Erica’s house, musing about this strange world in which grocery shelves are empty, people who were employed a week ago are suddenly without work, and disinfecting light switches and cell phones doesn’t seem symptomatic of mental illness. There will be lots of time to think about these things–and perhaps write about them–during the next couple of weeks.

Since I’ll be doing all the driving on the 8-hour trip home (Jack will not be behind the wheel for quite a while, as required by law after a seizure), and the weather tomorrow looks iffy, I think we’ll relax here for a day before driving home Saturday.