We, of all people, cannot complain. Between the isolation of the Maldives, the remote islands of Chagos, and the Seychelles’ careful policies about quarantine and travel, we spent all of 2020 enjoying the luxury of Covid-Free zones. Certainly, our travels have been curtailed by closed borders and administrative headaches caused by Covid, but so far, we haven’t been much “exposed" to the virus itself. All that was about to change.
In the weeks leading up to Christmas and New Year, Andrew conducted his shopping excursions for groceries and gifts. “I am observing a disturbing trend.” He reports back to me one evening while I lay among icepacks and pillows.
“What?” I ask.
“Free range tourists.”
Everywhere he went, he was seeing tourists from UK, Russia, South Africa, Israel, Europe and Dubai. They weren’t tucked away in the controlled settings of resorts, but instead, wandering the local malls as anyone might. Crowds of people were everywhere, mixing and mingling, some with masks, some without, everyone enjoying “safe and Covid-free Seychelles!” And we knew, Covid was coming.
It, therefore, was no surprise when on December 27 it was announced a Seychellois taxi driver had contracted Covid and a track-and-trace process was underway to find all his contacts. On December 29, it was pretty much known that he and his family had contacts with many other Seychellois, and in turn, all of those people had contacts with more Seychellois, and the first major event of “community spread” had gotten started here in earnest. This was a big disappointment; because speaking with Seychellois, we heard over and over again how New Year’s Eve is their favorite holiday.
“Except we can’t celebrate this year because of Covid.” They would all say, each of us going long in the face with our disappointment.
In normal times, everyone holds great big street parties, and they all roam with their friends from house-to-house-to-house listening to music, eating holiday kreole food, dancing, and enjoying each other’s company the entire week between Christmas and New Year. This year, though, the government has precluded those types of street parties, and nothing is the same. Restaurants and bars cancelled New Year’s Eve celebrations and everyone held their breath in the hopes that the track-and-trace process would stop this Covid outbreak in its tracks.
Doing our part to limit our exposures, we decide to hold our usual Oddgodfrey Crabcrack in the confines of our little Leslie-Backrepair=Land-Abode with only our two closest friends.
"Make it to Midnight" Irish Coffees
Pete contributed a Scottish Culinary Delight - Cullenskank - which doesn't sound all that appetizing, but actually is as a concoction of smoked white fish, potatoes, cream, and parsley.
Crab, which we force our friends to crack themselves, a side salad, twice baked potatoes stuffed with cheese and garlic;
And Lemon Meringue Pie.
Andrew and Pete get acceptably New Year’s Eve Tipsy on Champagne and are overly enthusiastic that the Champagne label has the same last name as Pete. Andrew begins talking with his hands, and we all know its almost midnight.
Just in time for midnight, we all step onto the patio to bang celebratory pots and pans, pop the cork on the first champagne of 2021, and offer our loves a kiss under a New Year’s Eve full moon. That’s bound to be auspicious. An island full of fishermen shoot off their stash of expired flares which make a long whine as their fire read streak burns across the midnight sky.
And then, all goes silent.
On January 3, we begin 2021 in earnest with a full lockdown. All businesses except a narrow scope of “essential services” are closed. Lines snaked around the grocery store as a limited number of people were let into the building at a time. Fines were implemented for failing to wear masks, and curfews were imposed.
At the land apartment, we were required to track our temperatures and report them to the government each morning. Tourists are not allowed to change “resorts” or locations during the lockdown, people are meant to remain with their immediate household only, and no visiting friends or extended family. For a moment, we were concerned whether Andrew could move back and forth between boat and land apartment to visit me, but there seemed to be ample exceptions made for caretakers - for boats and humans both?
After my emergency room visit, we followed up with the orthopedic specialist and my doctor in the U.S. to revise our plan to get me on the mend. I visited the Seychellois physio and osteopath once each, but lockdown put a halt to that strategy, causing both doctors to close for at least two weeks except in cases of emergency. Is this an emergency?
“You probably need to come home to solve this,” my doctor in the U.S. advises. He’s not wrong, it just feels impossible right now.
Even in the best of times, surgical procedures are not recommended here. Seychellois citizens facing troubles like mine are flown to Mauritius or India to have treatment. Would I be willing to get treatment in either of those locations? What about Thailand? South Africa? Or just flying all the way home to the U.S.? The flights home are - at the shortest - 28.5 hours of travel time. As things were, I could not sit up at all without severe nerve pain - even with pain meds in my system. How could I manage twenty-eight hours?
“Could you get an epidural injection to tide you over until you can make it home?”
Unfortunately, especially with lockdown, the only way to get the MRI guidance and epidural injection here in the Seychelles would be to admit to the hospital and stay there to wait until the doctors had time and bandwidth to attempt such a procedure. I am loathe to do that, especially as more and more Covid cases are requiring hospital treatment. When I asked the orthopedic specialist here about it, he recommended against it. “Sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t.” The same could be said for all back strategies.
It’s such a mystery, and treatment protocols are often designed around trial and error. “Try this. If it increases your nerve symptoms, stop. If it decreases your nerve symptoms do it more.” Of course you can see structural problems like disc issues on the MRIs, but the MRI never answers the question why your discs are out for a wander. And it’s a chicken-and-egg question. Are you experiencing pain because your discs are pressing on a nerve that contracts muscles? Or are your muscles contracting oddly and pulling your vertebrae in a manner that exposes the discs? Successful treatment would differ depending on the answer to that question, but how do you know?
Traveling anywhere to try to fix this with surgery, during Covid especially, felt like an extreme option to employ only once every other option had been exhausted. Had I stretched enough, had I applied enough ice, had I rested on land long enough and in the right order to say it wasn’t helping? I couldn’t say for sure. I had been so hopeful with the newly formed strategy, I didn't think it was time to pull that emergency travel-home lever. But then, lockdown! We all know, intellectually, that this Covid situation is forcing people with other medical issues to forego necessary treatments. I can report back, now, I felt abandoned by society when I could no longer consult anyone except a pharmacist to try to solve my problem. I took a deep breath and thought, “the only one who can help you now is yourself, Leslie.”
And so, after having a minor breakdown on a telephone call that was supposed to be to wish my father a Happy Birthday, I gathered my wits. I decided to attempt a strategy of complete rest, impersonating a “melty cat” as I relaxed my muscles, ice, and anti-inflammatory meds for the first two weeks of lockdown.
“I’ve fixed this before in Malaysia, remember?” I say to Andrew. “I can fix it, again. I just have to get the pain down enough that I can start stretching without making it worse.”
Two weeks passed, and lockdown was extended.
Another week passed, and my pain seemed to be abating. Sometimes I could even relax my body into being less crooked for a moment or two.
Meanwhile, Andrew was ripping Sonrisa apart, piece-by-piece, offering her beautification treatments in Andrew’s sand and varnish spa. Having refreshed his brightwork skills in repairing the leak in Sonrisa's bow, Andrew set to work varnishing pieces inside and out with no particular order, based entirely on his whims. He would send me pictures every day of Sonrisa looking more and more glossy and beautiful with each passing hour. Unless, of course, rain drops dappled his freshly painted varnish, in which he’d curse and sand away that latest layer only to try again with a new, smooth course.
“I hope Sonrisa appreciates all your hard work!" I say, on a return text. She never likes sitting for long periods of time without some sort of beautification treatment.
“I know. What major repair is smoldering right now that I don't see?” Andrew asks, suspicious. “Sonrisa???”
After three weeks of lockdown and enjoying the view of nothing but four white walls, I needed an outing or I really might go insane. “The Physio recommended walking in the sea once my pain had abated a little bit. Will you take me to the beach?” I ask Andrew one day.
Under the lockdown rules, two people from the same household could go to the beach for the purpose of exercise. And so, I wrapped myself in my fancy back-brace, hobbled out to the car, and broke my confinement for a test run of ‘sea walking’. This particular exercise (luckily) made my pain better, not worse. And so, it became one of those strategies that I decided to do more.
Every few days when good weather, the right tide, and Andrew’s varnishing schedule lined up properly, he’d fetch me and take me to the sea where I’d bury my toes in soft white sand, walk through crystal clear water, and savor the view of green jungle, passing white clouds, and texture of tropical life I had been missing.
“There is nothing like taking away something you love to remind you of your priorities.” I say to Andrew.
Andrew nodded and agreed. This particular day, I was starting to feel well enough that I could lounge longer in the sand at a time. So, Andrew brought a disposable BBQ and briquettes to cook an early dinner. We bought a drinking coconut from a passing local (keeping our distance and wearing masks, except for his photo which I took from an ample distance away, I promise.) “It’s so sad! We’ve been here four months, and we don’t have many Seychellois friends to show for it." Andrew grumbles as the interesting and nice man who sold us our coconut carried on along the beach. “Stupid Covid.”
Between the land-apartment, back injury, and Covid - it seems we are adjusting to a “new normal" in more ways than one. How long will this “normal” last?