First real day of the coronavirus in Italy

"Worldometers" takes on a whole new meaning when it's talking about your world.  Wikipedia defines it as "Live world statistics on population, government and economics, society and media, environment, food, water, energy and health." Is it a viable source of information?  Seeing that I'm living under a rock in northern Italy, I don't really know.  It looks official to me. 

So as I began my morning walk on the island, I checked the live statistics of the coronavirus in Italy.  At 10am on Saturday, the 22nd of February there were 22 cases.  At the same time the day before, there had been only 4. I kept walking. 

Weeks earlier with news of the virus in China I always felt thankful for my island.  I thought that if it ever really made it to Italy, I'd just live on the island until it passed.  My house in the country gives me the same peace of mind, but I prefer island life.  It's the same after acts of terrorism in large European cities. I feel the panic and pain and anxiety of the people living in those cities.....so many that I've seen myself, but I live far off the beaten path and  don't worry much about terrorism (unless I have guests who require the obligatory tour of Venice).

During my walk I couldn't help but continue to check the worldometer and was shocked to see that the number was rising.  At that time, the US had 35 cases and Italy was still below that.  But as I approached home after a one-hour walk, we had hit 39.  More cases in tiny little Italy than all of the United States. 

It's impossible to take a walk on the island without lots of little chats with islanders like 88-year old Vincenzo on his third walk of the morning and the two ladies that met out on the lagoon wall so one could show the other her new fuscia permanent.  It was nice to be distracted for a few minutes. 

When I arrived at my street I saw the ambulance boat parked at the dock.  All of my neighbors were out by the lagoon whispering and looking down my calle (that's what you call a street in Venice).  I stopped, a little wobbly, to sit on the wall alone.  I'm not one for ambulances---even if they're boats.  A neighbor came over and explained what was happening. The family that lived next door to me was being tested for the coronavirus. 

I waited with the others.  When I saw them leaving my calle I looked away.  But not before seeing the medical team in their lime green suits with gloves and glasses and masks carrying a plastic garbage can back to their boat.  I really didn't even look, but the quick glimpse is an image that won't fade.

My house is attached to theirs.  The walls are thin.  It was impossible not to hear a fear tears next door as I hung the laundry from my second floor window.  By the end of the day I'd had all of the news.  My neighbor's brother was in the hospital for the virus.  He doesn't live on the island.  But this family had had contact with the patient's family.  And that was enough to require the mandatory test.  They were put under home quarantine until the test results come back.

I stayed in the house for the rest of the day.  I'd bought tickets to a party for Carnevale on the island that night. I didn't go. I never looked at Worldometers again. There was no need to check the charts to see how much my anxiety level was rising.