When COVID Brain Meets Mrs. Maisel: Binge-Watching Through Isolation
After four years of avoiding the plague like the plague, I contracted COVID...right after the start of the new year, right when it's time to get one's ducks in a row, fill in the planner(s,) and finesse everything into tip-top shape. People react differently to the virus, and in my self-imposed physical isolation, I endured an inordinate emotional isolation as well--alleviated only by binge-watching the entire 5 seasons of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel in 10 days.
Even though my partner brought me food in the daytime, and would wave from the doorway occasionally, oddly sweet all masked-up and tentative, I could not stop my after-dark spirals. In the midst of lying still, feeling too ill to read or even sleep, a panic would overtake me—the kind that begins deep in the body, the heart-thumping, adrenal-driven snake-brain terror, the one that tells you that you are dying and no one will help you, no one will find you, no one will care. Your well-crafted philosophy about death and dying as a natural process disappear. Your skills in tackling normal anxiety fly out the window. To hell with breathing exercises and meditation—they just catalyze COVID BRAIN hysteria.
My COVID brain sounds something like this: “No one exists on the whole planet. I’ve made them up in my mind—wait, does my mind even exist? I will die alone. … Why is my cat staring at me? My cat probably senses my death—what if she really does sense my death? She’s named after a goddess after all. Oh, this cat is HUNGRY in the middle of the night. I cannot leave my room to feed the cat. Am I going to accidentally give her COVID? I think maybe she gave ME COVID and is now waiting for me to die so she can eat me. Maybe the world of Marvelous Mrs. Maisel is the real world and I am the network special that someone shelved when COVID hit, so I will be stuck here always cleaning up behind myself with Lysol wipes and wondering if I am infecting myself somehow—just a walking pile of contamination. Why does this illness leave you to take care of yourself? Oh yea, no one else exists….My body temp is off…[I need ventilation so my set-up consists of one fan turned slightly crooked toward the window in winter weather; the ceiling fan whooshing on high; the heat is set to 68, I drag on a heated blanket; weighted blanket;] Too hot. Too cold. Chocolate stops a cough. Nothing stops this weird back pain. My voice has disappeared, except to say, you’re dying all alone here.”
So…it’s back to Amazon Prime to watch Midge and Joel and Suzie and the others fumble their way through parenthood, romantic love, friendship, and determining how to achieve success. When the questions come flying—What is the true nature of the artist/of success? Must they forego a family, love, or a relationship for their craft? What happens when you get what you want? What happens when you don’t? What happens when you stop trying? When those questions arose, I could focus and escape my aching core, my fiery nerves, my unknown viral responses; I crept back into my mind and out of the body, but I also began to question all of the actions I had taken in the past year—and, honestly, since the origins of my memories.
At the end of the series, Midge settles into her comfortable spot on the couch, connected to her oldest friend, and my brain fog began to lift. Even though the ending messed with my brain somewhat (that’s for another blog post with spoilers!), I realized that my VERY MILD journey through COVID (I was lucky) took me on a roller coaster ride of trying to make sense of the unknowable. Like the characters in Mrs. Maisel, I faced uncertainty about my physical state; I questioned the true nature of success in a career path and in a relationship; and I wrestled with vulnerability and mortality. In those moments when humor seemed lost, I found a world where laughter ran abundant, albeit laced, as comedy always seems to be, with loss and tragedy. The lessons learned from Mrs. Maisel and her cohorts became a source of strength, a reminder that even in the darkest times, finding humor in the absurdity of life provides the greatest tool of resilience.
Emerging from my COVID cocoon, I felt lighter than just virus-free. The relentless snake-brain chatter quieted, replaced by a newfound appreciation for the present. Even though the world outside still felt like a surreal punchline, I re-learned the joy of savoring a book, showering without being too tired to wash my hair AND my body, and eating dinner with my partner in the same room. The many absurdities of life, once triggering anxiety, now felt like potential jokes—or at least potential writing prompts!
So, here's to the healing power of laughter, the fictional friends who held my hand—or kicked my ass— through the darkness, and the resilience that emerges when we embrace the absurdity of it all!