We're fucking stuck here

When we first arrived in Port Alberni, following my dad’s initial attempt, he was still receiving care in the hospital. As it was early in the pandemic, I was unable to enter the hospital to visit him. I had no idea how long he was going to be there. Finding myself in Port Alberni—a town that I have always struggled to enjoy—during this difficult time, furthered my feelings of anxiety. The last thing I wanted was to spend any more time than I needed to in Port Alberni. We were at my dad’s house, helping Peggy however we could, whether it be walking the dogs or buying groceries—we wanted to support her. I’ve come to learn that I often default to tending to others’ needs in difficult times, which can be detrimental to myself. I was very aware of my increasing anxiety and the toll that my newfound caregiving role was having on me, so I opted to go back to Scott’s parents' house—where Scott and I were temporarily living leading up to our move to Halifax—until the hospital indicated that my dad was on his way home, but unfortunately…

We were met with a flat tire…

On a 35 year old van with rare, weirdly small tires…

In a small nowhere town…

At the start of a long weekend.

So, we were fucking stuck there.  

I have never felt more imprisoned in my life. There was nothing that could be done. My dad’s house didn’t have WIFI at the time, and since I was in the throes of moving across the country, planning a wedding, and now grappling with a family crisis, I was out of cell data. Normally, I would read a book, maybe go explore the town, but all I wanted to do was get my mind off the hell I found myself in by scrolling mindlessly through Instagram or watching reruns of RuPaul's Drag Race. Even these small things were impossible. So instead, we walked the dogs more. We bought more groceries. And what made this harder was a continued lack of reciprocal care from Peggy during a time when all I needed was for her to ask me if I was okay.