EW, PEOPLE.

My day began just like the one before. And the one before that.  And yup the one before that. Hermetically sealed, insulated, safeguarded – that’s me! Being tucked away, all those viral spritzings are unable to reach me. I feel impenetrable.

However, unlike the day before and the days before that AND the WEEKS before that, AND THE MONTHS BEFORE THAT… (get a grip Karen) …this day is noted on my calendar as the annual meet-and-greet with my endocrinologist. And as a direct consequence…  I would be exposed to the elements. I’m talking PEOPLE. OTHER people.

Needing to venture out amongst humankind spewing viral droplets I was, shall we say, a bit concerned – had a few trepidations – was slightly uneasy – okay, OKAY… I panicked. After all, my going forth meant putting on a brave face while carefully considering the much debated single, double or triple layered covering (of said face) in order to test out my masking skills. And since most of my face would be undercover I crossed my fingers in hopes that my eyeball smizing had been adequately perfected.

Summoning up the courage, I assured myself that I was in safe hands… my very own 20 seconds worth of soapy scrubbing metacarpi!

Then it dawned on me. My face was ready but then…CLOTHING… those non-pajama items I used to place upon my body, all within my closet and secured by hangers, folded within drawers and placed upon shelves. It was time, time to choose among the monochromatic offerings what could be pulled up, slipped into or thrown on.

Running short on time… I HAD TO GET DRESSED. AND I WAS TOTALLY TRAUMATIZED.

And that’s with a CAPITAL T.

The ease with which I clothed my body prior to last year had become a distant memory… so where do I begin and how do I choose? Do I stick with what’s familiar? Stretchy, baggy, comfy. Or do I rip the band aide and go for zippered ready-to-wear?

The clock was ticking and if I was going to succeed in arriving at that 15 minutes prior to appointed start time strongly suggested I was going to have to make it snappy. That being so, I grabbed something stretchy for my bottom half, threw on the sweat shirt laying in a ball on the floor (that I first thought was my cat) and got cracking with few minutes to spare.

Arriving at the parking lot, I grabbed the ‘please take your ticket with you and pay before exiting’, but realizing I had pressed the button spitting out that ‘please take your ticket with you’ with my finger I made a quick stop to sanitize. Working my way up and up while snaking round and round the filled to the brim lot it dawned on me… all these cars meant lots and lots of visitors,

employees,

patients,

mortals.

Gaggles of people. INSIDE. Where I was heading.

Nine floors up revealed an empty spot. I slid on in, donned my mask and headed for the elevator. The elevator; a potential incubator of infectiousness. With much unease I waited for the doors to part, fwoosh, and YAY it was empty. Empty until it stopped at the sixth floor where a set of two entered my space. I held my breath. Then on level four, when five people attempted to join our little trio, I made it damn clear we were at capacity. With furrowed brows and if looks could kill, I cried out, “Stand back from the closing (in your face) doors”. Officially uninvited.

We made the rest of the way down uninterrupted and then it was time to exit. Oh boy, there they were. Jam-packed, throngs, pandemonium. All the people. All the people I would be sidestepping, steering clear of, and keeping at arm’s (six feet please) length. Maneuvering my way across the pedestrian bridge, weaving through the masses in the first pavilion, making it across the next bridge connecting me to my intended destination… and another elevator. Fwoosh the doors parted and I began my mantra, “please don’t stop, please don’t stop, DON’T STOP…. and mercifully it was alone-time for the entire twenty-two floors.

Bursting into my physicians reception area I was immediately ushered into the exam room. There I did some in-my-head yoga in order to calm down while the nurse took my blood pressure. All was good. I regained my composure.

And then I considered what needed to happen next. Frick.

In reverse order: twenty-two floors down, “please don’t stop”, across, weave, maneuver, side step, “six feet please”, 

people,

people,

PEOPLE,

elevator, car, off with the mask, sanitize, insert ticket, exit.  

And finally…

… I spy my garage. I am in my hermetically sealed, insulated, safeguarded home. I scrub my hands for the umpteenth time. I am just me, myself and I (and kitties).

YES IT WAS TRAUMATIC.

BUT I MADE IT!!! And I’m here to say YOU CAN DO IT TOO!

Take a DEEP BREATH and say a heartened hello to my old friend, potato chips – the family size Ruffles Have Ridges.

~image via TEEPUBLIC