Coronatherapy

Like anyone else who has been through chemotherapy, I have a certain upper hand when it comes to dealing with the coronavirus situation. Those of us who have survived periods of very low immunity know all about hand-washing and cough-catching, and we are dab hands with the antiseptic wipes. We are used to keeping people at an arm's length, and giving virtual hugs. My children are familiar with me shouting "stay away" at them because of the number of times that I have been radioactive (and the odd few occasions when I have pretended to be radioactive just so I can drink my tea in peace).
So cancerheads have a teeny bit of smugness about them now, watching everyone else freaking out if they hear a stray cough on the bus or pulling their sleeves over their hands to open a door. We've been at this craic for ages now lads. We are pros at the germ-avoidance. 

We are also pretty nifty on the whirlwind-of-emotions front. We have been doing the Homer-Kubler-Ross thing for a long time, oscillating wildly from near and certain doom to a serene, hands-in-the-air acceptance. There is a limit to how long your brain can cope with imminent death, and sooner or later it reverts to trying to decide between Netflix and NowTV. 

I have no tips or advice that I haven't previously shared, but repetition is the hallmark of the lazy blogger, so here goes:

• It will all be okay. Even if it's not okay, it will be okay.
• Now that we are all cooped up together, your immediate family probably already have whatever germs you have, so hug them. (Briefly).
• Check in for information twice a day from a reputable source like the HSE or DoH, but do not go to Facebook seeking reassurance. IT WILL NOT BE THERE.
• Listen back to previous episodes of John Creedon's show. Not only will the music be soothing, it will be interspersed with news bulletins from days ago, which will probably be much better news than today's. 
• Walk in the fresh air and relish any socially awkward tendencies you may have - we now have a great excuse for nodding and smiling and moving swiftly along. 
• Start making Patrick's Day floats for the virtual parade in your back garden (we are particularly excited about this one - no crowds, hot tea, front-row views).
• Take delight in the fact that you'll finally get to eat the mung beans/liquid glucose/nori sheets that you bought after watching the 2016 season of Masterchef. 
• Watch the To-Be-Read book pile getting smaller and smaller. 

And remember:

WASH

YOUR 

HANDS!

(AGAIN)