Like so many others in the chronic illness community, I've been super anxious about going anywhere in public. Especially as everything is opening & mask mandates are dropped (prematurely, if you ask me), there's the legitimate fear that the unmasked all around us may be unvaccinated, exposed, even carriers of the coronavirus, and we the immunocompromised are at even greater risk.
At the same time, there's the hope & the longing to get back out into the world. We don't want to live like this, as hermits, going nowhere but to our medical appointments. We want to see our loved ones, our friends, our families. We want to go out, to socialize, to run errands, to just … be.
And we don't want our loved ones to keep missing out in order to protect us. We know that they take extra precautions for us. They run extra errands because we can’t (not to mention all the extra they’ve done since we got sick or disabled, long before this virus even existed). They avoid gatherings that might be safe for them, because they wouldn’t be safe for us. They don’t plan vacations, because it is not safe enough for us to travel. They don’t make plans with other couples, because even that feels too peopley for us. We know they don’t mind; they feel we are worth the sacrifice. Whether they admit it or not, we know that it really is a sacrifice … and though we often feel guilty for that, we are also incredibly grateful.
But the world is scary right now, and I think we're all trying to find our place in it.
So I took a step today. Hubby & I went out to eat - at a restaurant with an outdoor seating area, one I know has taken precautions to keep its staff and guests safe during this time. I still had my face shield and mask (a simple one, but still matching my tank top, sweater, and cane scarf, of course … and though it’s all faded now, there was a time when my hair matched this ensemble, too 😘). It was more crowded than I had hoped, but still mostly socially distanced.
It’s such a weird space right now. For just a fraction of a second, part of me automatically falls back to the comfort I’ve had in this type of environment for the first 45 years of my life. But then I catch myself, and panic.
I can’t get comfortable, it’s just not safe. Look at all these people, laughing, talking, breathing their germs all around … and did that breeze just send their germy breath over here from its original six feet away?
But I catch myself again; I’ve got to rein this in. It would be so easy to let my head spin out and get consumed by these thoughts. Instead, I put my mask back on after we’ve finished the guacamole, while we’re waiting for the plantains. It’s the one thing I can control in that moment. And I look around again, reminding myself that everyone else really is several feet away. If hubby can barely hear me talking just from the other side of the table, then perhaps the breath of people 2-3 times as far away won’t really be coming for me - at least that’s how I’m trying to rationalize.
I’m not going to pretend that the rest of the day became as easy and carefree as pre-pandemic, but there were some moments I really got to enjoy. A toast with my husband, to taking this step, knowing there are more steps to come. A delicious meal, and the look on hubby’s face as each item arrived (especially the “secret” lobster taco). And best of all, the smile on his face when he looks at me, filling me with love, gratitude, and hope. It’s that hope that will get us to the next step, and every step after that.
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