I’m not one for being fashionably late to parties.
My German genes abhor being late. I’m the person who shows up five minutes before the party is supposed to start. I’m the person who awkwardly helps you set up while waiting for the other guests to arrive. Strained small talk while staging chips and dip? Check. Labored laughter while laying out napkins? Check. Uncomfortable chuckles while chasing olives on the charcuterie board? Check.
But this isn’t a tale about my social skills or lack thereof. It’s a story about COVID.
I remember when the pandemic first started. I felt a sense of unease. I felt powerless. I felt fear. And I felt helpless. Our public health officials weren’t easing my tension, offering conflicting guidance every day. Wear a mask. Masks are useless. Social distance. Small groups are fine. Shelter in place. Don’t shelter in place. About the only message that remained constant was wash your hands.
And did I ever. I washed my hands raw the first months of the pandemic. Mind you, this was in the warm months, so my normally apt-to-crack hands shouldn’t have looked like they were experiencing the coldest and driest of Decembers. But they were. Cracked, chapped and dry, I wore my clean hands as a badge of honor. I was doing my part to stem the pandemic.
Soon, sense was made of masks and the protection they offered. Several people chose to resist sound medical advice. I chose to wear a mask. I wore a mask everywhere. Shopping. At work. Dropping of my daughter at school. At my parent’s house (once the sheltering in place eased). My daughter wore a mask, too. If we left the house in the mornings and I’d forgotten our masks, I would go back home immediately and get them. Masks weren’t optional for me. They made me feel safe, knowing I was doing my part to keep others safe from my germs.
The months wore on. Finally, a glimmer of hope in the dark cave that is COVID. Vaccines! I counted down the days until I could get mine. Fortunately, my job afforded me the opportunity to get the vaccine as soon as possible. I took it. And felt miserable. But happy. Happy because I was on the way to being safer from COVID. Happy that our nation, our society, our world was a step closer to being safer from COVID. I got my second shot. Felt less miserable even though conventional wisdom said the second one should have affected me more. But I was still happy. Happy because we had a path to make the pandemic an endemic.
Or so I thought.
Turns out, lots of people didn’t want to be vaccinated. Debates raged, in some cases stressing families. I was lucky; my immediate family--mom, dad, sister, brother-in-law--all got vaccinated. I also counted down the days until my daughter could get vaccinated. I’d eagerly listen to the NPR headlines every morning, waiting for the emergency authorization for her age group. It came, and that very day she got her first shot. Tears were spilled, but they were worth keeping her safe.
So my family was all in for the vaccines. My girlfriend’s family? Not so much. I remember talking to her every night about how her daughter, her son and his wife, and her father all were not going to get vaccinated. My girlfriend was all for the vaccine, especially because she works the front line of the pandemic as a respiratory therapist. Even all the stories she told of what she saw at work weren’t enough to convince her family to get the stick. They balked, except for her younger son. He got vaccinated.
When the boosters were needed, I rolled up my sleeve again. So did my family. We wanted to stay safe. Maybe we could win this fight. Maybe COVID would slowly vanish.
For a while, it seemed like COVID did vanish. We’d reached a point where those vaccinated and those infected had attained a quasi-herd immunity. Masks vanished. Social distancing disappeared. Crowds gathered. People started shaking hands again (honestly, I wish the handshake would have stayed away; there’s something to be said for a nice, quick fist bump). We’d won! Or had we?
Regardless of the fact that COVID numbers began to climb, I was lulled into a false sense of security. I’d been boosted. I was safe. I stopped wearing a mask. Life was normal.
Normalcy permeated my job, too. I had an upcoming work trip. I was going to fly to the National Capital Region to evaluate an emergency response exercise. Yes, I knew COVID was heating up again. Yes, I knew the NCR was a COVID hotbed (one of my coworkers was in the area for training and caught COVID). I figured if I wore a mask on the plane and in areas where I felt the risk was greater, I’d be okay. So I did. I wore a mask on the flight out. But I didn’t wear my mask when I went to do a snack run at several local stores. I figured social distancing would keep me safe. I didn’t wear my mask around my teammates because I figured that with us all being vaccinated, we’d be safe. I did wear a mask the day of the exercise because of the number of people in the small room. And I did wear a mask on the flight home. But it was the day of my flight home that the cough started.
It was a slight cough. I figured it was a cold. I didn’t feel feverish, and I wasn’t achy. Plus, my Starbucks iced latte still tasted like a Starbucks iced latte. I did make a point of wearing my mask more, though, especially near people. But I wasn’t too concerned. I told myself I would test myself for COVID when I got home, just to be sure.
I got home late in the evening. I unpacked, took a shower, and then pulled out my at-home tests. I followed the instructions, came back 20 minutes later, and was relieved to see it was negative.
The next morning my head was throbbing and I felt awful. I decided I’d test myself again later that day. I tested. This time the pink line didn’t just show up next to the control. I was positive.
More than two years into the pandemic, I caught COVID. A few weeks before, I’d shared a meme with my two coworkers that introverts weren’t catching COVID. That snarky sentiment bit me in the butt. Yes, I was late to the party, but here I was. I felt guilty; I should have worn my mask more. I felt scared; what if it gets worse. I felt bemused; this is a mild case!? Good thing I’m vaccinated!
My point though, is this. Maybe it’s time we stop being so complacent about COVID. I was complacent, and I caught it. Yes, it’s tiring to social distance. It’s tiring to wear a mask. It’s tiring to get a booster shot. But it’s a better tired than being tired from catching it. We seem to do a good job of ramping up and just as quickly ramping down as soon as there’s a slight glimmer of the pandemic being done. These ups and downs are exhausting. Maybe it’s time that we finally accept that COVID is still here. That we can do so much more than what we’re doing now. That we can get boosters, wear masks, keep a little distance between us, and maybe turn the pandemic into an endemic. And while some of us might be a little late to that party, what a party that would be.
| Date Taken: | 06.23.2022 |
| Date Posted: | 12.16.2022 09:40 |
| Story ID: | 435339 |
| Location: | FORT STEWART, GEORGIA, US |
| Web Views: | 47 |
| Downloads: | 0 |
This work, Commentary: COVID complacency and being late to the "party", by Kevin Larson, identified by DVIDS, must comply with the restrictions shown on https://www.dvidshub.net/about/copyright.
