The Bitter Barn

I once sent my sister a litany of complaints about something and she responded, “Hello, Bitter Barn, my old friend” to remind me how crabby I sounded. I now think of that phrase every time I start complaining or feeling sorry for myself, and last week I was there. Back in the Bitter Barn, my dear old friend.

My kids were finished with school and were home, and instead of being with them, I was working longer days than I wanted to, riding the omicron tsunami that was hitting Houston just in time for Christmas. In late October and November, work felt more normal with “regular” kid illnesses: croup, hand foot and mouth disease, ear infections, even influenza for the first time since Spring of 2020. 

But starting a few weeks ago, I could feel COVID trickling back into my workdays, and by last week, it was the tsunami, and I was the Grinch, ruining holiday after holiday. Yes, “detected” means you have COVID. Yes, a positive home test is positive. Yes, you should cancel your trip. No, you shouldn’t meet with the grandparent you were finally going to get to visit. Not yet.

As we changed our own holiday plans to be safer, I was even more bitter. Families who have been careful for the entire pandemic, who have done all the right things, still are affected by omicron, and it’s downright discouraging. COVID fatigue has set in, and to see another wave coming feels, frankly, insurmountable.

I was finally off on Christmas Eve, and I went to run all the errands I hadn’t been able to do. As I stepped outside of myself and into the world again, I was able to at least look out the window of the Bitter Barn to see other people working just as hard as I was, being just as careful as I was, looking just as exhausted as I was. 

I stopped by the grocery store and there was someone to marinate my meat for Christmas Day. When a customer walked in complaining that a delivery truck was blocking her car and that “everyone who works here is a moron,” another employee smiled at me and said, “Happy Holidays!” with a smirk as he went to get the manager.

I stopped by the gas station to get lottery tickets for the stockings, and someone was working there behind the counter. Perhaps she would be there late on Christmas Eve. Perhaps she also wished she were home with her family. 

I stopped by Walgreens to get a Pac-Man game for my son. I heard someone berating an employee that they didn’t have any rapid COVID tests. “I could put a thousand tests out and they’d be gone in an hour,” he replied, clearly as sick of COVID as I am. When I was checking out, there was a young man with a Santa hat and tired eyes, working to print out another customer’s holiday photos.

I stopped by Chick-fil-A and the employees were there on Christmas Eve, too, making my diet coke with extra ice and telling me it was “their pleasure” to serve me. Another man was there sternly asking when his nugget tray would be ready, and I could see the weariness on the employee’s face as he explained how busy they were. 

At Urban Outfitters, where I took my son to buy a shirt for his sister, one of the cashiers had on a full gas mask to protect herself. When my son asked what she was wearing, I reminded him that she might be immunosuppressed, or live with an elderly relative, or have another reason to be extra careful, working in retail around the general public, in the Houston Galleria, on Christmas Eve.

And at the bakery down the street, where I stopped for orange rolls to go with our Christmas morning sausage and egg casserole, there’s no telling what time the bakers got to work on Christmas Eve, baking delicious treats for me and everyone else to enjoy. “Everything in this case is half off ‘til we close” came from a voice that was as fatigued as I felt.

We didn’t go to Christmas Eve services this year, but I know our church and others were full of clergy who have been working very hard during the Advent season, who are also touched by COVID. I know their families sacrifice time with them so they can be there during the busy season, and I know they’re exhausted, too.

All of these encounters occurred as I was trying to pull myself out of the Bitter Barn, my old friend. But two more things happened to pull me out. First, when I signed on to check lab results on Christmas Eve morning before my errands, I had a message from a sweet patient that brought tears to my eyes and simply said “Thank you. We appreciate you.” And second, when I checked my mailbox, there was a homemade construction paper Christmas tree from our five-year-old neighbor, with a gorilla sticker on the tree and a rainbow at the top made of beads. 

Because of these two things, and because of the wonderful families I talked to all week who wearily smiled despite their holidays and trips being ruined, I was able to get out of the Bitter Barn and quit feeling sorry for myself. And because of the note I got from a patient, I was able to say to every single worker I encountered on Christmas Eve, “Thank you for being here.” Thank you for being at work on Christmas Eve. Thank you for showing up to do your job, and for smiling through your weariness.

It turns out we are all weary and exhausted, and life sometimes isn’t fair. When I find myself pouting in the Bitter Barn, I have to find a window. Looking outward instead of inward helps me to count my blessings and to see we really are all in this together, omicron tsunami or not. I hope to be less like the “everyone who works here is a moron” lady and more like the “thank you for being here” lady. I may not be on a snowy vacation, but I’m also not picking up the remains of my tornado-ravaged house in Kentucky. This week I am off, and I plan to spend time counting my blessings for the new year. 

The advice and opinions herein are by no means meant to be a substitute for professional medical advice. Please contact your personal physician, mental health provider or health care professional for medical advice. Opinions are my own.

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