Work in Progress
Every Monday through Friday I wake up, get ready for work, and then take the long commute…up my staircase, to the room that was formerly storage and is now my ersatz office. (And still storage!) I’ve been incredibly lucky to be able to work remotely throughout the pandemic. Yet I know this won’t last forever. In fact, each time COVID cases have dipped and the country thought it was “emerging,” there were murmurs from my company that we would be returning to the office.
I’m sure just as many of my coworkers were as concerned as I was that it was too soon. And in retrospect, it was too soon. Meanwhile, I’ve been tucked away with my only coworker -- a vibrant aloe plant named Frank -- while my company has continued to delay their official opening date. (Thankfully, my employers have acted cautiously and been vocal advocates for their employees’ safety.)
Unlike many of my coworkers, though, I have a lot of experience weighing risks to my health and safety. Even with a great medical team, medication regimen, and family support, it’s impossible not to feel vulnerable when you have a chronic illness that can rear its head with little warning. Post-CVID diagnosis, I slowly learned to balance that vulnerability with my gratitude and zest for being alive.
COVID threw that balance for a loop. Suddenly the entire world was feeling vulnerable, and I wasn’t alone. Everyone was wiping down mail (remember those days?), sanitizing groceries, and preaching about staying home to save lives. We were all in this together. I had never felt more seen and understood. Yes, I was terrified, but I wasn’t alone. What a miracle!
That feeling was relatively short-lived. Vaccinations and treatments rolled out, and those of us who continue to be vulnerable are being left behind as people return to their office, visit family and friends, and travel worldwide.
Just this week, it was revealed that 700 people out of New Jersey Transit’s 12,000 employees have tested positive. That’s a not-insignificant 5% of the workforce for the trains I took to Manhattan every weekday for decades pre-pandemic. While many of my fellow commuters have been happy to hop aboard again, that’s 700 more people than I would feel comfortable or safe interacting with on a train twice a day, close to an hour each way. And that doesn’t even account for potentially contagious passengers.
If I do return to the office, will the 6 feet of distance between desks be adequate for someone not fully protected by the vaccine? How will I eat my lunch in an unventilated building? Will I be notified when coworkers are sick, or will my company opt to follow the new, less cautious CDC guidelines? When can we reliably expect our immunoglobulin replacement therapy to have a protective-enough effect?
I have many questions that will need to be answered before I feel safe.
I will eventually have to decide if I take that train, keep my job and not rock the boat. Or if I get my medical team involved and make noise, asking for the accommodations I’m entitled to under the ADA. I’ll have to cross that bridge when the time comes, although that time seems to be drawing ever closer. So far, I haven’t had to choose between my job and my safety. But that may not be too far in the distance. Employers will do their cost-benefit analysis and reopen offices. Employees like me, who remain vulnerable, will have to plead their cases.
For the first time in my chronic illness life, I am going to have to stand up and be counted. From home, with Frank, the aloe plant by my side, cheering me on.
* * *
How are you handling the return to the office? We would love to hear from you and share your story on the blog!