Covid#19 - On feeling inadequate

I sat in the sunny garden this afternoon, reading about King John as background for a History lesson, occasionally throwing a ball for the dog, and pausing from time to time to listen to the birdsong, watch a blackbird peck in the grass for grubs or follow a swooping, chattering swallow over the hedge and across the field.  It was blissful; it was easy to forget about a ravaging virus; and once again, I felt lucky.

I also felt hopelessly inadequate.

The most useful thing I can do to combat the spread of coronavirus is stay at home and follow the social distancing rules.  It protects the NHS and saves lives.  The graphs they show on tv seem to show that longed-for flattening of the curve in the numbers of infections and patients in hospital and a gradual decline in the number of deaths.  759 deaths were reported yesterday, bringing the total in the UK to 18,100.  It looks like the peak was a couple of weeks ago when 980 deaths were recorded on 10 April, which suggests that it took about three weeks for the lockdown to start having an effect.  They reckon that before the lockdown, one infected person passed the virus on to 2.7 others; now the transmission rate may have fallen to below one.  For all it’s the only thing I can do, isolating like this seems to be working.

Just sitting around at home and basking in sunshine makes me feel guilty though.  Sure, I’m working – researching and planning lessons, sending work to the students in my class, checking on their welfare and staying in touch with them – but it’s nothing compared to the efforts of others.  We have a small number of children attending school and a rota of staff working with them each day.  So far, I haven’t been required in school myself so I can’t claim the credit my colleagues across the teaching profession deserve for caring for the children of key workers so they, in turn, can do their essential work, nor for the increased risk to which they put themselves. 

Doctors, nurses, paramedics, hospital staff and carers on the front line selflessly confront the virus every day, caring for the sick and dying, and saving lives.  Volunteers are making visors, sewing scrubs, providing meals and delivering food parcels.  Dustmen, postmen, supermarket staff, bus drivers, police officers … they’re all out there, doing their day-job, working hard, knowing that at any moment, they could have a life-threatening encounter with the virus.  Captain Tom walked his garden and raised £28million for charity and an army of other fundraisers are raising many more millions for NHS charities. Meanwhile, I watch tv, walk the dog, play cards, bake cakes. 

I know that by staying at home, I’m helping to limit the spread of the virus and protect others, but it feels selfish, like I’m just looking after number one, shielding myself.  It’s frustrating not being able to do more while others are doing so much.

I’ve thought about what more I can do, which is why I’ve joined the 2.6 Challenge, walking the Cornish clifftops, not just for my own pleasure and peace-of-mind but for charity and with care home workers in mind.  The £400 I’ve raised so far for Alzheimer’s Society seems paltry next to the millions being raised elsewhere, but it’s something.

I can be thankful for the hard work of others too.  Personally, I can put four names and faces to the frontline workers saving lives: my cousin, Anne is a nurse in Perth, Australia, and in Bournemouth, Adam is a doctor, another Adam is a paramedic and Claire is a nurse.  When I see masked medics on the news, it’s their faces I see behind the visors; when I think about and applaud the heroes of the NHS, I picture them.  Every day, I want each of them to know how much I admire them and how grateful I am for what they’re doing.  I want to send them gifts, buy them a drink, throw them a party, but I can’t, and it wouldn’t be enough anyway; nothing I can do and no words I can write can truly express my admiration and gratitude for them.

I’ve wondered when each of them decided to join their professions, what or who inspired them.  I like to think that for some of our medics and social care workers, their understanding, knowledge, skill, compassion, and the values they demonstrate in their relentless hard work, care for others and the courageous way they tackle the biggest challenges of their career is, in no small part, thanks to good teachers.  Perhaps my friends had great teachers who cared for them, nurtured their interests and ambitions, helped them to learn and achieve their goals and set them on the road to be the heroes of this emergency that they have become.

My friends and all our key workers will be role models for the Covid Generation; maybe one of the children I’ll teach in the coming years will want to be a doctor, nurse or paramedic just like them.  I’ve concluded then that being a teacher might be no small thing, not if I too can nurture ambition in the students I teach and help them to achieve their goals, not if I can help some of them to be the Adams, Claires and Annes of tomorrow.