Isolation and the Absence of Touch

I take a drought-defying shower. Long, hot and luxurious. The jet of water is powerful. Once I’ve finished washing myself, I stay there. I turn slowly and feel the water massage my muscles. The heat opens the pores, dilates the capillaries. I let the stream hammer my face, my scalp. I lean forward to feel the water move like fingers down my back.

I miss touch. I realise it now.

I see people. Nurses come to take my temperature. I miss their smiles behind the masks. My crewmates are my neighbours but we are forbidden to move beyond our doorframes. No-one touches me. Not even by accident. On the boat there was touch. Accidental touch and deliberate. The touch of a steadying hand on a shoulder as someone returned to the cockpit from the foredeck. Hands on shoulders as someone moved past in the tight confines of the saloon. These unnoticed touches of daily, unconscious interaction are gone. I notice them now.

I once read that single men, particularly the elderly and widowed, suffer most from the lack of touch. Living alone, with only the occasional male interaction, they live in a desert of physical contact. And they suffer for it. Because touch is good for our health.

Women are more comfortable with touch. They hug and kiss, they touch easily and unselfconsciously. Touch is ‘normal’. For men though, touch from other men is awkward. It’s even ridiculed. The new trend of men doing the chest-bump handshake thing should be a sign of loosening the taboo of male touch. Instead, I’ve heard people making fun of it. We’ve a way to go.

I hadn’t realised how much I missed touch until this morning. It took me a while to work out what was so good about the overlong shower. I’m normally in and out. Finish the essentials and get on with the day. But not today. Today it was a touch substitute.

How many more people out there are suffering from the lack of touch? Old people who live alone, who are visited, touched, only occasionally, are they now completely deprived by the ‘lockdown’? Those of us separated from lovers, partners, parents, children by quarantine. Touch deprivation forced on us by social distancing and isolation.

I think about coming out of quarantine. Going home. Our greeting will be a hug. A kiss. We will, once again, lounge together, touching absently in front of the television. Her hand running along my back as she passes me in the kitchen. Feeling our limbs touching as we fall asleep at night. I’ll hug Mum and Dad, I’ll stroke the dog. And then, I’ll do it all over again.