On December 31, 2019 I felt a little dread. I knew deep down that there was no way 2020 was going to be good, comparatively. See, 2019 was the absolute best year of my memorable life. I experienced things, learned things, and felt things I thought were too much of a dream to ever come true. But they did, mostly contained within the 12 months of 2019 (okay, some fell somewhat outside the bounds and actually happened in 2018, but who's counting?), and something was nagging at me as I watched the crowds gather in Times Square and seeing all the hopeful faces looking forward to this magical thought of the 2020 year of our Lord.
When I was young, 10, 20, 30 years in the past, there seemed to be something mesmerizing about the very rounded-sounding 2020 that not just I sensed. One of my best friends growing up, who had a much more aggressive form of muscular dystrophy than I, felt an even stronger draw as he looked to the future. He told me, the grandiose dreamer that he was, that he was going to run for president this year. Unfortunately, he died long before that even became a remote possibility for him, but kudos to him for thinking big.
This year was nuts, there really isn't any other way to describe it. I'm one of the vulnerable ones for whom this disease, COVID-19, presents a particularly challenging journey for. I've been through some bad flus which nearly did me in, so in some ways I know even if it grabbed hold of me pretty hard I would have a fighting chance to come out the other side, but this was not particularly the battle I wanted to have at this point in my life. Thankfully, I have avoided it thus far but oh the crazy way we got to where we are now. The details are not important save this one thought which I can't stop thinking about.
As a collective whole, the human race, when they were financially and physically able to do so, decided to slow down everything for pretty much the entire year. This was done in order to attempt to minimize the carnage and death that would befall the "vulnerable" populations of the world had we just went about our business and let the chips fall where they may. Being one of the "vulnerable" I was very gracious and appreciative of the sacrifice the rest of society was making for me. As I slowly watched the coronavirus make its way to the US in January and February, I started to venture out less and less and I started to take precautions around the house to prepare for an extended quarantine. I even contemplated reducing the number of people I rely on to take care of me on a daily basis in order to minimize my risk and potential exposure. It was early in the 2nd week of March when I feared that we were about to be hit really really hard and I was planning an escape with one of my aides to try to ride it out just with him somewhere in the deep South so I could have more options to not be indoors so much.
Then, the world took an entire left turn I did not expect was possible. For an illness that did not target babies, and was seemingly easy going on teenagers and anyone under 50 without comorbidities, I honestly did not expect America to take steps anywhere close to what was going on in Italy and Spain. But, we actually tried, sort of half-assed if you ask any Italian who lived through their quarantine, and for about 4 straight weeks even our federal government was 100% committed to this goal. So, I stayed put, hunkered down, and did like everyone else, I stayed home. And I've been home pretty much since then.
But what I can't get out of my mind is the sacrifice that I still feel is being shared amongst the populace in order to still try to protect me. When states started to buckle, and our president was publicly working against the actual written and discussed goal of his administration (tweeting "Liberate Michigan", as you may recall), I understood the anger and angst of those who just want to run their business and/or spend the night out at the bar with all of their friends. I selfishly was worried that we would quickly open everything up and I would be back to the starting point of where I was in early March.
Was that wrong of me? Haven't these people done enough in order to try to save me? Could I possibly ask even more of them? Do I deserve it? Should perhaps this be the disease to thin out the herd and reduce the population of those who are a financial drain on the system? Is that my self-loathing and poor self image of myself being an individual with disabilities who doesn't contribute as much, seemingly, to society as some of my peers, or am I just being honest with the way the world has worked for eons and how most pandemics do just that. We, in this late stage of organized society and evolved thinking where humans feel that we can overcome anything if we just set our minds to it, have tried with all of the strength we've been able to muster to try to control, mitigate, and invent our way out of this, with varying success and lots of visible failures. But, I get it, people are done, and even though I would like to see us locked down for another 4 months I know it's not realistic. I feel guilty for even wanting us to do it.
So, to all of human society I say `thank you for trying this hard for me, I greatly appreciate it. I'm still here on December 31, 2020, so your efforts have succeeded so far.'
Perhaps if we can get our heads out of our asses we can get the vaccinations much faster into the arms of those who desperately need them, and I for one am looking forward to the day when I can get mine.
So, am I more hopeful sitting here on December 31, 2020 than I was 366 days ago? ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY!
