Hey, hi, hello.
Coming at you later than usual today, but it’s been a busy little Friday. I mean, busy in the sense that my pandemic self feels like more than one errand in an afternoon feels like a crazy, wild day. (My, how things have changed since March 2020.)
And one of the things I did today was get my Covid booster shot.🥳 I’m a member of that unicorn group you always hear being vaguely referred to in the news — the folks who are more at risk for a severe case of Covid, due to a fun health condition that’s listed on the CDC website. That means I’m eligible for the extra boost already… and I will take it! I am so grateful to science (and doctors, nurses and scientists), it’s not even funny.
As I prepared to get my booster shot today, I found myself noticing some of the news stories recently of folks, including near where I live, protesting vaccine mandates and refusing to get the Covid vaccines. I realize this is somehow a political issue now, but in my mind it shouldn’t be; it’s a literal public health issue. Shouldn’t that be neutral? Anyways, I found myself thinking about how nice it must be to seemingly not fear your mortality. To not believe something — like a virus — is strong enough to take you down or change your life and affect your health. How nice it must be to feel so invincible that you can not only turn down a vaccine that has has been proven to literally save lives during a global public health crisis, but also make a fuss about it and put other people’s lives at risk in the process.
I have been aware of my own mortality since I was a child. Health, for me, has never been a given. Good health, that is. It was never a sure thing or something I could ignore and assume would just work out. “Healthy” has been something I’ve had to work for my entire life, something that is a constant work in progress and at the forefront of my brain at all times. It’s something that I consider an absolute gift and privilege; I know that it can be taken away in an instant — that life can change on a dime and every day I get to wake up and take in a breath and see the sunshine is not something to take for granted, nor throw around like a banner of superiority.
My experience growing up with a chronic, pre-existing condition is the reason I see my health and probably the world through a different lens than most people, but it’s also the reason I revere healthcare workers and medicine and respect the hell out of doctors and nurses; I’m only alive because of the discipline and determination of my parents starting when I was diagnosed as an infant, and the expert guidance of medical professionals, and never have I taken any of that lightly. It is a privilege to be alive and well.
And yeah, it’s a privilege to be able to dismiss a life raft when you’re sinking aboard the Titanic, and to so vehemently talk about your freedom and your body and your health as if you exist in a vacuum. On an island. As if your life and your choices don’t impact the lives and outcomes of other people in your community and your world. Or worse — that you know they do, and you just don’t care.
I am at a loss for the way I’ve heard people refer to those with disabilities and health conditions — like me — especially lately. Casually cruel, like our lives mean nothing. Lumping us all into one group, and disregarding our fears and safety like we deserve to forever isolate or else get sick, if we can’t hack it against “some flu.” Survival of the fittest and all that, as if the greater good is a mirage, and anyone with a disability or health disorder isn’t worth an extra thought in our society. Like just send us to the guillotine already, you know? It makes me sick.
I always hesitate to talk about this stuff, especially directly, because I know folks have such strong opinions about this, and I really am not looking for a fight. I suppose I just want people to know that having a disability or a chronic health condition doesn’t make you broken, or unworthy; it doesn’t mean we “have it coming,” and I almost can’t even believe I have to say that out loud. It’s nonsensical to me, this precipice that we’ve arrived at, and it makes me wonder what has happened to the fabric of our society. When did we shove the “all for one and one for all” / American unity mentality so far down into the dumpster? I mean, you can’t even take a vaccine in the middle of a literal pandemic knowing that (even if you personally don’t think you have anyyyything to worry about in terms of your own health) you could save another person’s life who is more in danger of becoming really ill or even die, due to cancer or diabetes or pregnancy or a hundred other things? Are you also driving drunk whenever you feel like it, and coughing in people’s faces when you have the actual flu? Where is the line?
There’s a statement I think about a lot that was attributed to Dr. Fauci at the beginning of the pandemic, that I’d seen floating around Instagram last year:
“I don’t know how to explain to you that you should care about other people.”
That’s it, in a nutshell.
I believe it, at least — that we should care about other people. At least a little bit! At least your neighbor, no?
Anyways, these are just my personal views, based on my experience. I could talk about this for hours and pages, not to mention the hypercriticism that exists in so much of the anti-vax camp’s messaging, but that’s not for today, nor for this newsletter. Onward and upward, and, uh, if you’re reading this and not fully vaccinated against Covid yet, not to mention the flu… please go do that this weekend. Thank you in advance.
On that note, I hope you all have a lovely weekend. 💛 I’m getting ready for a likely cozy day on the couch tomorrow watching mindless TV and chugging Gatorade courtesy of the booster shot (although I feel a-okay so far, so maybe I’ll feel fine tomorrow after all). Thank you for reading, and I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below (plus any TV recs!).
Sending you all the YAYs,
Joelle
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