Two Painted Ladies

The doors are closed but the windows are open. For now. Our normally vast world is as small as a shoe box. The sound of a cough makes my head snap round. Who, where, how far away from me was that?

It’s day one of this new surreal existence.  Social distancing, self-isolation, panic buying and stockpiling are terms which roll off the tongues of the most un-likely family and friends. Video calling my elderly – now classed as vulnerable - Mum is a daily event to ensure she is not turning red in the face with a soaring temperature or coughing more than she usually does. My phone screen time has tripled as I catch up with friends and family to discuss the bizarre world we are currently in.

I check the long list of underlying health conditions; people at an increased risk of developing severe Coronavirus symptoms, to see if my name is there.  I don’t tick a specific box but with my hotch potch of health challenges and run-down immune system I decide to have a box of my own. 

On evening number two I feel sick as a screwed-up fist like lump lodges itself in my gut. A sense of dread of the unknown. I’m not particularly scared of getting it, Mr H meanwhile is terrified of the consequences if I do. I’m more worried about Mum. Should we collect her, is it too much of a risk, the Politicians and Public Health experts are advising against it. I offer to take the risk if she will stay for the whole time but her rapid reply I want to be at home, slams that idea straight back into the box.

Isolation is not new to me. In 2008 I spent a month shut into a small cell without bars on the window. Nurses, Physiotherapists and Doctors came in and out. I was dependent on them for almost everything.  If I couldn’t reach my glass I couldn’t drink. I couldn’t get out of bed without other people’s hands and equipment as my legs no longer responded to any requests. A bedpan or commode replaced my toilet. I spent the next two months in a larger isolation room, a ward, with a group of other patients but by now I could do a slow zimmer frame walk to freedom. Closing the door on an ordinary toilet, placing a beautiful barrier between me and others was like being on a Caribbean beach!  I kept myself busy, Chris brought me easy knitting to encourage the use back into my left arm. I watched Disney films. As I began to recover, I even helped staff with their interview practice.

Like then I have a project plan for this latest self-isolation. I’m a list maker so I make a list of the jobs I want to do in my flowery list making note book. 
My headliner is writing, I can scribble contentedly hour after hour; put dusty black and white photographs into the recently bought albums for the job, clean out cupboards; the list is long and enticing. I wonder how much I will actually do.





I have a new occupation though, facetime interview practice with my friends who are applying for new jobs. This voluntary role sprung out of a couple of telephone calls and requests for help. Help is something I can do virtually from home. Supporting friends puts a tingle in my belly and lightens my spirit.

Mr H returns from a grocery shop there’s an atmosphere out there he says, it’s like the manic ness of Christmas but without any of the joy. The only full shelves were those filled with Easter Eggs which no one was buying.

As we pass day 8 the UK has accepted that Coronavirus has already infected too many people here and the rules are tightened. However, despite the new rules the fist in my stomach has melted. I now know that the advice and decisions I have been making to protect my Mum, Mr H and myself are, beyond a glitter of a doubt, correct.


We are lucky, we have our own green outdoor space. Our garden is our sanctuary, my Zen time, Mr H’s daily mindfulness practice. When the golden ball is high in the clear blue sky and throws light and warmth across our outside world, like cats, we purr with contentment.

I plonk myself down in our front garden and watch our rule abiding community take their daily exercise. Like the Queen I wave from my throne and call regular hellos to people as they pass on the pavement across the road. They are many metres away from me but the passing connections make my spirits soar as high as a buzzard.

Out of the corner of my eye I spot a flurry of orange and brown mid-air activity, a speedy acrobatic whirling of wings which my eyes struggle to follow. Two Painted Ladies I say to myself. However when I get in and check my wildlife book I realise my Painted Ladies were in fact Red Admirals. Whatever their name I am reminded that amongst this crazy Coronavirus world nature calmly carries on…