When the coronavirus outbreak ravaged northern Italy, I read a story about it online where someone noted that at its beginning, you knew someone who knew someone who was sick, and by the time the spike in cases was over, everyone knew someone who died from it.
I have been thinking about that oncoming dread as soon as the novel coronavirus hit these shores. This country by no means has done jack shit in controlling this epidemic, but even if it had, I would be worried about how close it would get to me, because unlike, say, the 1918 flu or SARS, it seemed clear early on that this was a different beast that would have its way with much of American society no matter how careful we were.
Beyond obeying science and being careful (wearing a mask, distancing from others as much as possible, washing your hands, etc.), COVID-19 has, thank Buddha and God, truly been something that is beyond my reach, even though I clearly am not "reaching" for it. I mean, I have felt as though the virus is literally in the air, just hanging there, and that paranoid fear has been borne out, but I have yet to be personally touched by its evil fingers. And, so far, I know of people getting the virus and the disease second hand -- I have a friend whose father has it; another friend had a subcontractor who died from it; Facebook buddies had relatives or friends who are either fighting it or have succumbed to it.
Well, tonight brought the bad but inevitable news: I know someone in my life who got it. It's my friend through the alumni club. I was cycling through my e-mail while on an alumni club-related Zoom (my microphone and webcam don't work, so I was able to hear them while they couldn't hear or see me, so I could listen to the United come-from-behind victory and look through my e-mails!) when I came upon a reply to a mass e-mail I sent to all my former members of the now-killed off alumni club. He's my buddy from the club, one of the most loyal alumni we have, and a guy who has been to most of my game-watching parties since the beginning. I love the guy; he always was cheerful and patient, and he always a good word for me. And at the end of every game, win or lose, we would hug. He has been a very active member too, doing the events beyond the game-watching parties. He is what I and the ex-club needed.
Well, he was able to e-mail me. He just got out of the hospital this week after a month-long stay. He was in the ICU, and for a while he was put on a ventilator. And the goddamn COVID-19 isn't done with him yet. He is suffering a series of maladies, each of them terrifying alone, but taken together, this is one of those horror stories you hear about people who were able to leave the hospital but are still dealing with the after-effects of the virus.
And now I'm scared. Now this fucking virus is touching me -- maybe only flicking the bottoms of my ears, like a bully in junior high, but it's touching me. I also liken the coronavirus to a noose, and that goddamn noose has just gotten tighter around me.
I don't have it, at least not yet, and I already know I want no fucking part of this.
I have been thinking about that oncoming dread as soon as the novel coronavirus hit these shores. This country by no means has done jack shit in controlling this epidemic, but even if it had, I would be worried about how close it would get to me, because unlike, say, the 1918 flu or SARS, it seemed clear early on that this was a different beast that would have its way with much of American society no matter how careful we were.
Beyond obeying science and being careful (wearing a mask, distancing from others as much as possible, washing your hands, etc.), COVID-19 has, thank Buddha and God, truly been something that is beyond my reach, even though I clearly am not "reaching" for it. I mean, I have felt as though the virus is literally in the air, just hanging there, and that paranoid fear has been borne out, but I have yet to be personally touched by its evil fingers. And, so far, I know of people getting the virus and the disease second hand -- I have a friend whose father has it; another friend had a subcontractor who died from it; Facebook buddies had relatives or friends who are either fighting it or have succumbed to it.
Well, tonight brought the bad but inevitable news: I know someone in my life who got it. It's my friend through the alumni club. I was cycling through my e-mail while on an alumni club-related Zoom (my microphone and webcam don't work, so I was able to hear them while they couldn't hear or see me, so I could listen to the United come-from-behind victory and look through my e-mails!) when I came upon a reply to a mass e-mail I sent to all my former members of the now-killed off alumni club. He's my buddy from the club, one of the most loyal alumni we have, and a guy who has been to most of my game-watching parties since the beginning. I love the guy; he always was cheerful and patient, and he always a good word for me. And at the end of every game, win or lose, we would hug. He has been a very active member too, doing the events beyond the game-watching parties. He is what I and the ex-club needed.
Well, he was able to e-mail me. He just got out of the hospital this week after a month-long stay. He was in the ICU, and for a while he was put on a ventilator. And the goddamn COVID-19 isn't done with him yet. He is suffering a series of maladies, each of them terrifying alone, but taken together, this is one of those horror stories you hear about people who were able to leave the hospital but are still dealing with the after-effects of the virus.
And now I'm scared. Now this fucking virus is touching me -- maybe only flicking the bottoms of my ears, like a bully in junior high, but it's touching me. I also liken the coronavirus to a noose, and that goddamn noose has just gotten tighter around me.
I don't have it, at least not yet, and I already know I want no fucking part of this.
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