National Attention and COVID Makes The City Sweat

Last week while I was at home, supposedly having MLK week off like I do every year, and working on my own exhaustion and burn out, the cops killed one of the Stop Cop City protestors. I had heard there were to be actions downtown Friday in response to the protester’s death, but then it turned out that COVID had come for our house at last, starting with the teens. I had about two and a half days where I was still operational, running to CVS, getting the tests done, making everyone eat home made chicken soup before it hit me. Our house was not alone in our respiratory infection - NyQuil and the generic equivalents were out at two drugstores and the Ponce Kroger at the end of last week. If someone coughs in Atlanta right now, assume it’s the flu or COVID.

Saturday night while the streets around my workplace were full of furious young people determined to make the death of their friend more news, I was inside, knowing we were all COVID positive. Sunday someone tried to call me from Inmate Phone Services, but I missed the call because I was burning up with a fever. Monday I found an urgent care that would take our insurance wholly with no co-pay, and went to get the only packet of anti-virals our house would need. The kids both bounced back after about forty-eight hours of sickness with nothing more than over the counter meds, but I laid in bed on Monday feeling like my bones were glass and my face was made of cement.

By the time I looked at my phone on Tuesday, I had missed two calls from Inmate Phone Services. Prisoners can’t leave messages because someone has to accept the call. There’s no way to know who was calling me, or exactly from where. I checked on my closest friends via text, because COVID took my voice. I have no idea who was calling for help.

I did manage to stay awake all day Tuesday, and I might do that again today, my phone close at hand in case someone reached out again. I want to know who called me, and I want them to know I didn’t pick up the phone because I was sick and asleep when they called both times. I’m really sorry, and I hope you got the help you needed, or will call again. The city is burning up with respiratory infections, which wouldn’t be so bad if people weren’t forced to go to work sick. The city is burning up with protests, which we wouldn’t have so bad if the city council would just listen to the people who live here. Cop City has been a very unpopular idea from the beginning, and insisting it has to happen just like making people go back to work when they’re sick. Big corporations can push those ideas through, but everything will just get worse, and all you’ve done is make everyone angrier and more tired.

I’m lucky enough to have sick days and insurance, and kids who have recovered quickly. I’m on day three of anti-viral medications that I almost didn’t go get because I was worried about the cost. I still feel really bad, but I have hope that I’ll get better.

I don’t know who called me from Inmate Phone Services, but I suspect it was someone swept up by the cops last week who needs help. Keep calling, if you read this. I don’t have much of a voice this week, but I’m keeping the phone close so I don’t miss your call again. I’m too sick to do much, but I am paying attention. The virus took my voice, but I’ll be as much help as I can be, as soon as I get back on my feet.