Worthy

I’ve been in line since early this morning, awaiting the next airbus. Most of us congregate near the outdoor heaters, but once we learn a new shipment is arriving we know we need to move away from that warmth and into the crowd forming at the airfield.  

As we wait, my gaze travels to the electric fence that marks the perimeter of the camp, which is on the edge of town. On the other side of the fence is an isolated strip mall, abandoned now just like the other buildings in this part of the city. I can see what used to be a café, a tobacco shop, and Five Pandas, the Chinese restaurant where my husband proposed to me. The restaurant’s sign is hanging by one large rusty screw and the windows are long gone, probably broken in the summer protests of 2020.  I can barely make out the faded words on the sign: Five Pandas Chinese Cuisine – We Deliver.

***

Sweet and sour chicken and an egg roll – that was my favorite meal at Five Pandas; in fact, that’s what I had ordered on the day of Rob’s proposal. As I bit into the egg roll, Rob started to eat, but then put down his chopsticks; he was pale and a little sweaty. Before I could ask if he was ill, he pulled a small box out of his coat pocket and set it very gently on the red tablecloth between us. He bowed his head for a moment, then looked up, his eyes intense. I paused; any thought of eating – any thought, period – had vanished. He never asked me with words, just with those eyes. I opened the little box and answered ‘yes’ to the question he did not utter. 

Six months later we were married. We bought a house that included an office space I would use to run my virtual assistant business, and we quietly lived our lives for the next eight years. I was so happy; Rob loved me and my zaftig body. I adored and was exasperated by his careful planning and precision – precision in eating, exercising, spending, saving, working, playing. And I loved those eyes.

Each anniversary we returned to the little restaurant, always sitting at the same table and ordering the same meal - our Proposal Menu. When the first whispers of pandemic started drifting over from across the ocean, and then slammed into us like a tidal wave, we stayed home; I cooked our own Chinese food and we ate in bed. As we ate we looked out our large bedroom window at the deer who, made bold by the lack of human presence, wandered through our suburban yard from time to time. When we were told we could go back to the restaurant but with masks, we went back with masks.

Although we certainly paused, life did not stop for the little spiky ball that tore up people’s lungs and damaged their hearts. My VA business thrived in a world newly virtual, even as I lost both parents to the disease. Rob’s job got more intense; as a chemical engineer for PharmaTech he was busier than ever as the vaccine race began. We seldom went out; we couldn’t think of any leisure activity worth the stress of potential illness.

Then the vaccine came.

I still remember the tears of relief and pure gratitude when we learned of this sorely needed light at the end of the tunnel. The plan was to first vaccinate those most vulnerable and essential service workers – nurses and doctors, those eighty or older, care facility residents, front line workers like grocery clerks, teachers, and public safety personnel. It was remarkable that virtually everyone in these demographics was fully protected within ten weeks of the initial announcement.

The next group was everyone over sixty-five, and those under sixty-five with conditions that put them at risk – things like asthma, COPD, hypertension, a compromised immune system, diabetes, heard disease, and obesity. Rob had recently seen his doctor for some troubling symptoms, and learned that he has rheumatoid arthritis. The ensuing treatment suppressed his immune system, which meant he qualified him for the vaccine. He was vaccinated quickly. 

As a woman of generous proportions, I also qualified for immunization in this group. I signed up with several providers – hospitals, pharmacies, local health department. I tried to be patient, recognizing that many people needed the shots; we all knew supplies were now running a bit low as the net was cast more widely now. I kept my phone near me at all times and visited every provider’s website for updates. There were no updates. Still I didn’t panic; news updates confirmed the continued struggle to keep up with demand.

By the end of the year vaccines had been opened up to everyone. Parties resumed; TV shows and sporting events again had live, in-person audiences. Most of the world breathed a sigh of relief, even as we mourned our dead. I did not breathe a sigh of relief, because I had not yet been vaccinated. I still wore my mask.

I had been in a virtual weight loss group for some time, and at our next meeting I asked the others if they’d been vaccinated. Without exception, everyone responded with a head-shake. “Wait,” I said.  “You mean none of you have been vaccinated?” Gabrielle responded, “I keep calling; they keep saying to be patient.” A newer member named Phoebe said, “My doctor told me they are prioritizing people even further within our group, focusing on the immune-compromised.”

The nation – and the world - started to pick up the pieces of its crumbling economy. There was lots of public debate on how to rebuild; as had been the case for a long while, proponents of full reopening squared off against those who advised caution. Meanwhile the vaccine pipeline, which by now should have been easily capable of meeting the remaining demand, seemed to be slowing even more, to a mere trickle.  Everyone in my weight loss group (for that was what my social circle had become) remained non-vaccinated and eventually stopped asking. We were uneasy; even we knew that the unvaccinated posed a threat to each other and to the rest of the population, since no one knew how long the vaccine’s immunity lasted. There was a rumor that vaccine shipments were being diverted (read: hijacked).

One morning, I heard a knock at the front door. I looked out my window and saw a black SUV. Well. This was weird; were Mulder and Scully at my front door right now? I opened the door but kept the screen door locked.

Two young, powerfully built women greeted me courteously by name, then told me they were from the CDC. “Our records show that you have not yet been vaccinated. We’ve been able to circumvent vaccine hijacking by bringing all vaccines to a central location rather than sending them to clinics. We’d like you to come with use please; we can get you vaccinated right now.” 

It was not an invitation. These women, in black polos and dark pants, were wearing badges.

So I got in the SUV. On the way to the vaccination site I was asked to fill out some paperwork – the usual medical stuff including medications, height, weight, recent illnesses, etc. Finally we reached an open area at the edge of town and I was escorted to a makeshift waiting area much like a doctor’s waiting room. One of the women handed me a sealed envelope and told me to take a seat; someone would be out shortly to assist. “While you wait, please open the envelope. It contains instructions on the vaccine.”

They locked the door behind them when they left. From the outside. I was locked in. I opened the envelope. It contained one page, covered with a scrawled, sloppy version of Rob’s usually precise handwriting:

“Sweetheart,

I have to write this quickly; there isn’t much time.

You know that vaccines were prioritized to address the elderly, frontline workers, healthcare workers – and then immune-compromised and those with other health issues including obesity. What you don’t know, and what I just learned, is that the obese were prioritized last in this group.

This directive was handed down from the CDC as soon as the vaccine was approved. The premise is that those who did not have a hand in their own compromised status should be given priority over those who were perceived as personally responsible for their condition.

The result is that now, only those who have a BMI over 30 remain unvaccinated in this country, and since we don’t know how long immunity lasts for the vaccinated, the unvaccinated are the biggest threat to public health and economic recovery. Of course, the intent was always to immunize everyone, but that’s not likely to happen soon due to vaccine scarcity.  

I’m confident you will eventually be vaccinated, but until then, in order to allow the economy to rebound, the government is re-housing everyone with a BMI over 30, to isolate the unvaccinated. I was given the option to re-house you or keep you home and out of site, but I was told that if I didn’t fix the problem of having an unvaccinated wife, I would be fired. We would be ruined; I would never work again in my field.

We’ll be together again. I love you. I’m sorry.

-Rob”

Have you ever actually felt your blood run cold? I experienced that sensation when I finished reading. My hands became nerveless and the letter fell to the floor; if I hadn’t been sitting down, my knees would have buckled. My mouth was so dry I couldn’t swallow.

I welcomed the rage that followed; my heart, which had been racing with fear, now pounded with anger; I could feel my heartbeat pulsing behind my eyes. I couldn’t stay seated, and rose to pace the small waiting area.

***

That letter is dated two years ago, and for the first few months my rage carried me through. It was my strength. Rage soon burns out without fuel though, and mine has been replaced with something akin to gratitude. Our keepers are kind.   We live in the open air to reduce the chance of an outbreak, so we always have an unobstructed view of the sky. There are heaters located throughout the compound to keep us comfortable during the cooler months (it never gets that cold in this part of the country), and we sleep in private screened and curtained rooms. The food isn’t bad, and our pastimes are wholesome – basketball, volleyball, dancing of all kinds (line, square, ballroom and more). We are lucky here; the re-homing camps up north face brutal winters. I don’t know how they survive.

Every time the airbus shows up with a supply drop, we all flock to the airfield to see what new items have arrived, but today is different.

Today is one of the promised quarterly vaccine drops. There have been seven of them before, and I have never been offered a vaccine. I watched wistfully as others who had reached an acceptable BMI were weighed and escorted into another area. We never saw them again, but after they left the camp proper a black van was seen driving away. The rumor is that they got the vaccine and are now returning to their families – their parents, their children, their spouses.

Today, thanks to two years of physical exercise and portion-controlled meals, I have dropped to a BMI of 25, which is considered “normal.”

I wait in line, hoping that today is my turn.

Praying that I’m worthy.