800 Days

800.

Eight-freaking-hundred.

(CW pandemic, death, loss of a parent)

…..

We’ve been struggling with this nightmare of a disease for so long that I’ve been taking significant precautions for 800 days.

Aside from two dining events, in the two weeks after we were considered fully vaccinated, and one dr’s appointment, we’ve been avoiding events and wearing N95 masks indoors with other people all this time.

Allll this time.

Because I’m one of those people. One of those people with pre-existing conditions. One of those people vulnerable to the worst kinds of long covid.

But no one, besides the folks who share conditions like mine, actually cares. Not even family, really. They’re tired of it, and I don’t blame them at all.

I could have had two kids & be ready to pop another in the time I’ve been unable to do much w/o the risk of death and dramatic disability.

I could have been seeing family over winter holidays.

I could have been taking trains to visit friends, or taking them to museums when they showed up in my neighborhood.

I could have seen certain people well before they left us.

I could have seen my father before he was intubated and unable to talk to me. (He didn’t even have Covid, ffs, he aspirated bile during a routine procedure & it killed him.)

I could have gone to theater events, concerts, you name it.

I could be in LA *right now,* hugging several dear friends.

At the same time?

I’m grateful I have the option to stay home. That both Jon and I can work from here. That we have that privilege. B/c so many ppl don’t, and so many people still don’t care that they’re in danger.

…if this was a story I was writing, I’d be told the lack of appropriate response was unrealistic.

If only.