I guess it was bound to happen eventually. We are, after all, two years into the pandemic, and after all that time it begins to wear on you. But last night, I had what you could call my first COVID-related panic attack.
I had to go to the emergency department at the hospital. Don’t worry, I’m doing fine. Unfortunately, the sleep lab folks make you go there to pick up the kit used for home sleep studies. As I walked through the sliding doors I saw that the waiting area was absolutely packed. Every chair was full. Standing people lined the walls. The open spaces were dotted with people in wheelchairs. And all I could think about was “Holy (expletive), look at all these sick people–and I have to be in there with them.”
Then I was overcome with the same feeling that I have as I step onto the ladder to get into the water on the snorkeling boat trips that I book on vacation because my wife loves to snorkel–and I most certainly do not. It’s a feeling of sheer panic because I know a person with no natural floatation should not be getting into the open ocean–even if I am wearing a wetsuit, a life preserver around my neck and a floatation belt around my waist–because I know all 220-pounds of me will be fighting against those devices to send me directly to the bottom. (And before you think about sending me an email about how you can take me to the pool at the YMCA and have me floating and swimming in 5-minutes you can drop it–because many have tried and all have gone away saying “Wow, you really can’t float.”) I was even having the feeling of my body fighting the urge to breathe, thinking that I won’t drown–or in the case of last night inhale viruses–if I don’t draw a breath for the next hour or so.
I thought “Maybe the woman at the check-in counter will have the kit, she can hand it to me, and I can get out of here before I get too much exposure”–but alas, I was told to wait until someone from the sleep lab came down and ran me through the procedure of hooking everything up. I half-jokingly asked her if there was somewhere I could wait where there were no sick people and she replied that I would need to stay in the waiting area so I could hear my name called. I wanted to ask if I could give her my cell number and they could text me when it was my turn while I waited in the safety of my Jeep–but I thought better of that.
Now keep in mind, since the pandemic began I have flown in a commercial airliner a couple of times. I have gone to restaurants where no one is masked up. I’ve even been to two concerts–one where proof of vaccination or a negative COVID test was required for admission (and the band ended up cancelling several shows the next week because half the members had COVID) and another where there was no such requirement or mandatory masking. This past weekend I attended a 50th birthday party for a friend at an event center where nobody was masked (and nearly everyone I talked to that night had COVID in the past few months). And in none of those settings was I as “afraid” as I was last night. And the reason is simple: last night I was where the “really sick people are”.
I did manage to find a spot in a corner where I was a reasonable distance away from anyone. But after a few minutes, an employee pushed an elderly man in a wheelchair out and parked him right next to me. Again I wanted to ask “Are you (expletive) kidding me?” This close? Can’t you see I’m fine and don’t need to be exposed?”
In part because of the job I have, I can put emotions aside and focus on remaining calm during even the most stressful situations. You can’t be screaming about a tornado on the ground when people need to know where it is, where it is heading, and what actions to take immediately. But, during an agonizing 18-minute wait, I couldn’t clear my head of the Centers for Disease Control admission that The Incredibles mask I was wearing–while providing a smile to those who see it–was not providing me much protection in that environment. I thought back to the reports I had read about the sizeable percentage of people listed as “COVID patients” in hospitals that did not come there presenting with coronavirus symptoms–they were there because of other health problems or serious injuries and just happened to test positive upon admission–and then had to go into a COVID unit. How many of the “my foot hurts really bad” people next to me were already positive and shedding the virus? I Googled “How long after exposure will a COVID test provide an accurate positive result?”
Even reassuring thoughts didn’t help. “You don’t have any co-morbidities, Jon. Your chances of getting really sick and dying are miniscule”. “You don’t have one of the high-risk blood types”. “The ladies at the desk aren’t in spacesuits, the risk probably isn’t that bad out here.” But nothing could get that knot out of my stomach. And every cough and wheeze from the other folks there just got it all fired up again.
Finally, my name was called and a clinician ran me through the sleep kit basics (still out in the packed waiting area) and I could get out of there. As soon as I stepped out into that cold night air, it felt like a weight had been lifted off my chest and that I could breathe again. I had to take a minute in the Jeep just to recollect my thoughts and not just go peeling out of the parking lot.
While lying in bed last night, with a tube in my nose and a clip attached to one of my fingers, I realized that I had been in that environment for about 25-minutes or so–just think what it has been like for those that have to work there for 8 or 10 or 12 hours a day? Do they ever really lose that sense of dread–that the next person that they talk to might be the one to get them really sick (and I’m not talking about just COVID-19 here)? It certainly makes you appreciate what they have gone through and what they are going to continue to go through for at least another year.
And for those of you wives that chide your husbands for not going to the doctor either for a physical or to get something “checked out”, don’t roll your eyes when we tell you “I’m not going there. That’s where all the sick people are.”
