The Daffodil

March 17, 2020: I came into our little clinic that day full of uncertainty. Tension and worry were palpable: COVID 19 was encroaching on rural Northern Idaho, and all the news nationally and internationally was bad. There were rumors swirling about cases, that there were people who had come in from the West Side (Western Washington) and they were sick. I didn't know if it was true, if they really had the virus. I just knew that my worst fear of a pandemic sweeping across Humanity was being realized. I did not feel equipped to deal with the massive number of deaths, the suffering, the fear. Images and stories of the Spanish Influenza pandemic of last century ran through my brain from nursing school. All I could comprehend was that I was wildly unprepared, personally and professionally. I thought about friends, family, my colleagues and patients. What if they got sick? What if they died? Would the clinics and hospitals be overrun with critically ill people? Would people be dying at home alone from a virus we knew so little about?

Amid this, someone brought in a daffodil that was still a bud. It sat behind me at a desk in a long line of desks innocently taking up space. A little ray of hope broke through and I thought, "Life finds a way", thus proving the influence of science fiction on my current thinking. My lips formed a smile just for me and the flower. Back to work I went.

Despite my worries, I tried to go about my day. I checked in with my Medical Assistant, conferred with my colleagues, and met with patients. Uncertainty about "what happens next" weighed in my belly like lead. I didn't know if I would be required to see patients in the clinic, or if my role would be phased out since I am a psychiatric nurse practitioner. Under all of this I worried about illness. Death. Isolation. Devastation. With these thoughts in my head I assured my patients, some very ill, others not, that we would stay in touch somehow. I think this anchored all of us.

When I was in between seeing patients, charting, and talking to everyone around me passing by, I saw the petals of the daffodil beginning to open. I checked the water in its glass and wondered if it would have enough tomorrow. Lighting didn't seem ideal, and I wondered if someone would be looking out for it. I chanced a sniff; no fragrance, just freshness. It still smelled good, like Spring.

At 5:30 pm we got word that on Thursday we, meaning my fellow colleagues in mental health care (therapists and psych NPs), would be working from home. We would "see" patients by phone, or virtually. All of us had to cart our computers home and get ready to set up operations there. This was supposed to be the wave of the future, but not for at least a year. In the past I had toyed with the idea of working from home, with the buzzwords of "telehealth" and "telepsychiatry" flying around me like bees. I wasn't crazy about it. Despite the chaos that sometimes occurs in clinics, it was still where I did my job. Peeking around a corner for a quick chat about a patient wouldn't be an option, at least not for a while. I would miss this. I would also miss eye contact, a shared joke and laughter, mixed in with a high five.

By the time I put my coat on to leave, the daffodil had fully opened up. I pointed it out to my friend Janice, an internist, and she paused. Then she said: "I am glad that with all this fear and worry, you saw beauty unfolding in front of you". She also said it reminded her to check her own daffodils at home.

I was the only person who noticed the flower as it transformed during the day. What a treat! I carried it in my heart like a precious gem.

I must confess that I look for meaning in everything. I didn't think to look into flower lore until now, although I enjoy reading about it. The daffodil is planted as a bulb in Autumn so that it can bloom in the spring. It represents rebirth and new beginnings, and is a perennial. Daffodils are one of the first to bloom after winter frosts are beginning to subside. At the time I didn't know to what extent I would get to indulge in watching Nature unfold. I worried about being trapped inside with no contact with fresh air or people.

Now it is the end of October. I have worked from home just over seven months, and secluded myself as much as I can. There is no way I could have anticipated that I would have made it this far staying infection-free. I also had no idea that I would be able to do my job, pretty much the same as always, with hardly any skip in busy ness. For better or worse psychiatric care is a booming business. We have no day in sight for returning to the clinics, and I admit that now I am quite happy staying at home. After all, I don't even have to wear make up or adhere to a dress code. I can even step outside between patients and watch my dogs roam the yard, or take a nap over my lunch hour. When I have to go anywhere near people I mask up. It is all a new normal for me, and I just accept it.

My roses now keep me company.