View from Mr. L’s Room by Elizabeth Kameo

There he was again looking through his window. This has become an all familiar scene to me since mid-March, about the time the Lockdown started in France. The only change, being in his expression. 4:30Pm and it is the end of my shift. I do as always, I approach Mr. L’s window, and making sure I respect the 1 metre rule. I smile and go ahead with pleasantries. Only this time round, it is not the same bubbly, smiling, eager to talk Mr. L. He has a mask on, I think he is taking the right measures and I tell him so after saying hello. For a 83-year old, Mr. L was in great shape before the war against Covid-19, but the lockdown has taken his toll on him. If this goes on I fear he will be eaten up by loneliness and depression, like any other residents. I had not seen Mr. L for a week, I was away from work, seven days annual leave. A very much needed break from the hospital. Being around so much death and sadness has a way of playing with your physical and mental state. I found Mr. L to have rather thinned in so short a time, he also looked sadder, hardly smiled. He let me in on the why after my hello. Mr. L was infected. He had tested positive for the Corona virus during the week I was o, leave. “I feel better now, last week was different, and I know I am sick but what I do not understand is how I got infected. We have been staying indoors, we do not see anyone. We talk to no one. I have been told not to leave my room. I go out into the corridor when the other residents are in their rooms, but it is not the same as being outdoors,” he told me. The view from Mr. L’s room is as the French say, “pas le luxe”. I have been in and out his room since the start of the lockdown and it much smaller than my living room. He is one of the seven residents who live on the basement floor. His room looks right at the back of the kitchen, there is not much green around it, mostly tarmac. He and four other residents have a few flowers by their window. They do add some beauty to the whole picture frame but then again, that is all, untouchable beauty. They are far from going out and “smelling the flowers”. So they mostly look about and up. When there is any sort of action, it is brought on by the delivery and garbage trucks or by the kitchen and restaurant

By Elizabeth Kameo

staff, my colleagues and I as we walk to work or leave after work. But he still looks through that window with content. Since residents at the hospital started getting infected with Covid-19 and dying, we did not only get to see our work uniforms change but so did the schedules, the roles, the way of life. Dining rooms were and are still thus closed, living rooms put off limits to residents, society games were put away, and chit-chat between residents is a thing of the past. Corridors are plenty most of the day, sometimes I walk through and I swear I can hear my own feet echo. Residents make do with the four walls of their rooms. Mr. L like many others residents may recover from the virus, but will they recover from being locked into their rooms? Will the views from their rooms be enough to help them stay sane and keep the faith. As I walked away, wishing Mr. L a good evening, I remembered his words a few weeks ago, “c’est plus pire que le temps de l’occupation” (this is far worse than the time when Franca was under German occupation).