We’ve talked a lot over the years(!) about masking. Heck, we’ve journeyed through a global pandemic together without seeing each other’s smile or frown. I observed something interesting recently at the clinic (perhaps odd to normal people, but interesting to me) that I’m going to try to articulate. Oftentimes, associations make sense in my drug-addled, chemo-fogged mind that don’t easily translate - but let’s give it a shot (pun intended).
In the past year, wearing masks has gone from ubiquitous to nearly non-existent. For me, it remains the norm - an easy and advisable practice for a person such as myself with an auto-immune disease, when interacting with large crowds and/or confined public places (eg: commuter bus). But at the clinic, masking is required and compliance is 100% (as would be expected).
I’m not bothered at all by stares or occasional glares when masking in public, but I admit that I do feel an odd sense of kinship and acceptance when among a group of folks who are all also exercising an abundance of caution. True, it is mandated at the clinic for obvious health reasons, but it still feels important and meaningful - from both a medical and humane perspective (I warned you that this was one of my odd-versations). Wearing a mask is about me protecting myself, but it can also reflect a person with the flu or a common cold protecting (respecting) everyone else by their covering up (though they should be staying home and getting better; not out and about spreading their germs).
Look, there is nothing comfortable about covering your nose and mouth and trying to breathe (or deal with fogging glasses), but at least when at the clinic with my peeps, rocking my mask, I’m comfortably just one of the gang.
