Privilege

Angeline Lovelie Laguerre was born on Christmas day, 2019. She was a blessing who arrived magically, four weeks before her mother, Marie, was due. Four weeks before her father considered his daughter would make her first appearance. As such, while Marie Laguerre delivered a healthy, baby girl at a hospital near their new home on Long Island, Louis Laguerre was stuck waiting on a subway platform in downtown Manhattan.   

Having taken a position at one of the city’s preeminent medical centers only a month prior to provide medical insurance and stability for his growing family, Louis Laguerre waited patiently for the train, silently praying for his wife and daughter. While he prayed, deeply mindful of Marie, three teenagers passed behind Louis, noting his shabby coat, janitorial uniform, and lack of attention to his surroundings. Then, fulfilling his initiation, the youngest of the three, a stout, fifteen-year-old, born to privilege Louis could only dream of, pushed the man forward before escaping with his accomplices. Louis Laguerre’s vision remained focused on Marie and his daughter as he plunged forward onto the tracks.  

Three days post-delivery, Marie Laguerre and her baby were discharged from the hospital. Though uneasy, she accepted an offer from her new neighbor to watch Angeline for a few short hours so she could visit Louis, who had woken up in the ICU of the very hospital where he was employed. As she approached his room, she trembled, considering a life without her husband. A life in which Angeline didn’t have a father. 

A stoic nurse in dark scrubs pulled back the curtain, and there he was, Louis Laguerre, bruised and bandaged, yet awake and begging for a picture of his daughter. Marie cried, carefully maneuvering around the intravenous tubes and monitoring wires to reach her husband. Following a gentle yet passionate embrace, Louis finally got his wish and saw an image of Angeline Lovelie Laguerre for the first time. 

Miraculously, thanks to a Samaritan of the exceptional type, Louis escaped his attack with only a fractured right arm, a few broken ribs and peripheral sprains, and a moderate concussion. Of course, his greatest concern was when he’d be cleared to return to work so he could continue to care for his family. And although he enjoyed the following month and a half at home, recuperating with his newborn daughter, by mid-February, he once again braved the frigid weather and was back out on the platform for the 5AM commuter train to Penn Station. 

While he was home, whispers of the newly recognized COVID-19 infection slowly began to find their way to the United States, however families like the Laguerres tried not to concern themselves with the virus which had only recently spread from Asia to Europe. Marie focused on her husband’s recovery, and Louis’ eyes were directed solely on Angeline. Likewise, when it was time to return to work and a handful of early infections were reported in the city, Louis’ priorities remained stern. 

By the second week in March, with cases of COVID-19 steadily rising, including early fatalities, for the first time, public actions were taken to mitigate transmission. Sporting events and concerts were cancelled. Schools and offices were closed. Not long after, it was recommended that citizens remain sheltered in their homes, safe from a disease of which little was known, except that there were no known treatments. That is, except if you were a worker deemed essential by society. 

It was without say, that doctors, firefighters, nurses, EMTs, and police would be exempt from this protection, however society failed to recognize the burden of placing other citizens in harm’s way... citizens like Louis Laguerre. And while the average American woke up to morning news reports of hospitals overrun with COVID infections, the construction of makeshift hospitals in Central Park and on naval vessels, and the use of freezer trucks to temporarily house the dead, Louis continued to wake up to his four fifteen alarm and caught the 5AM train for Penn Station. 

At first, he was shocked how empty the railroad cars were. Typically, most seats would be occupied long before he reached his destination, even at such an early hour. But no longer. He now found himself spread out with a handful of other unfortunate passengers whose utility to society somehow superseded their own rights to protect themselves and their families.  

For the first few weeks, no one wore a mask or face covering as per the government’s recommendation, yet still, everyday Louis Laguerre rode the Long Island Railroad and the subway to work. Oddly enough, his hours on the trains were the safest his day would provide, for once he entered the hospital, the serenity of his commute was replaced by a scene reminiscent of a war zone.  

When he was originally hired in the maintenance department, Louis’ job description included general repair and basic construction throughout the hospital. However, since the COVID emergency began, like many of his co-workers who hadn’t yet fallen ill, he was largely employed as a janitor and room sanitizer. Protected only with the one degraded N95 mask he was forced to wear day in and day out for weeks, and a torn gown, mended with duct tape which was eventually replaced by a black plastic garbage bag, Louis Laguerre worked twelve-hour days sanitizing the gurneys and beds of transferred, discharged, and dead patients. And though it was not what he’d signed up for, this quickly became his task of preference; far more desirable than his role transporting the deceased to freezer trucks parked on the street behind the hospital. 

When Louis’ shift finally came to an end, he carefully packed up his gown and mask, and stowed them in a drawstring bag, ready for the next day. He then boarded the subway and the Long Island Railroad for his reverse commute, all the time wondering how he could keep his family safe from a virus he feared was tagging along to his doorstep. When he finally arrived home, Marie would anxiously greet him at the door, yet there would be no welcoming embrace for his wife or daughter. Instead, he would strip down and shower, praying this would be enough to protect his family from an enemy he couldn’t see, nor fully comprehend. 

For weeks, the routine remained the same, and while the average American family was adjusting to a new reality of remote education and home grocery deliveries, some even scouting out luxury rental properties to escape the city, Louis worked five to six days each week; sometimes more than seventy hours. And, although he made a concerted effort to avoid the widespread news of death and desperation, sadly, it would often find him. He just hoped that his family would be spared. 

Every morning, while he fit his mask and gowned up, Louis would briefly converse with his peers, often learning how the nurses, doctors, and other essential workers like himself were far from immune from the virus. In only the first three weeks, four of his friends fell ill. Two needed to be hospitalized. One of them, Eddie Thompson, died. 

On April 9th, Louis Laguerre awoke to his alarm with a low-grade fever and a dry cough. When the light first found its way to his retina, Marie was staring directly at his face; a foreboding, panicked look in her eyes. Although she knew it was unwise, she couldn’t resist and held her husband. She silently prayed for the love of her life and the father of her daughter. 

The Laguerre’s lived in a small apartment in the suburbs which Louis was proud they were able to afford without assistance. Unfortunately, it provided little opportunity for proper quarantine, and when Louis began to turn the corner, and Marie finally accepted that he would survive, she fell ill with a case far more severe. 

Already on leave due to his own infection, Louis juggled caring for his wife, whose breathing grew more labored by the day, and his four-month-old daughter. Finally, after three days, despite the uncertainty and decreasing likelihood of a roundtrip ticket, Louis feared his wife would succumb in their bed and finally called an ambulance to take her to the hospital. While Marie gasped for each breath, Louis held Angeline tightly in his left arm, clutching his wife’s hand with the right until eventually the EMT gently pulled them apart, and she was gone. 

Although they remained hidden in their own apartments, scared neighbors of the Laguerres called and offered to watch young Angeline so Louis could be with his wife, nevertheless, conversations with his co-workers alerted him to the tragic, lonely deaths which became a regular occurrence thanks to an inflexible moratorium on hospital visitation. So, every day, Louis played and cared for his daughter with one eye and ear constantly on the phone. 

While he was promised daily updates, these were often overlooked by the overburdened hospital staff. The initial calls were coarse and calculated, emphasizing the gravity of Marie’s condition before ending with the only positive news, she was still alive. On multiple occasions, Louis was warned of the potential need to place Marie on a ventilator, a breathing tube he knew only rare patients survived. And despite finding these calls from the doctors, nurses, residents, overwhelming, insufficient, and at times, insensitive, following each one he expressed his gratitude for their care of his beloved. 

Marie Laguerre was hospitalized for more than three weeks before she was finally discharged home. She had lost over twenty pounds and initially had some difficulty walking, but she had survived.  

One week after discharge, Marie gave her husband her blessing to return to work. The following morning, Louis Laguerre woke up minutes prior to his early morning alarm, and despite the torture he had endured, eagerly cherished his opportunity to resume supporting his family. Sadly, the situation on the ground had only worsened during his time away, yet Louis persevered, always with his heart and mind on two miracles who would greet him when he returned home.  

That day he worked tirelessly, sanitizing rooms and wheeling body after body down to the makeshift morgue. He also learned of another co-worker from his department, a kind, religious man of similar age with two young children, who had passed from COVID. Yet, despite the unspeakable, heart wrenching conditions, his purpose remained clear. 

When he finally clocked out after 6PM, Louis Laguerre packed up his personal protective equipment, which now included both a new N95 mask and gown, and was greeted by a pleasant Spring evening. Taking his typical route to the subway station, he found his senses and overall appreciation were heightened. When he was a few blocks from the first of his train rides, Louis turned onto an avenue lined with luxury high-rise apartments. During his first week on the job, which now seemed a lifetime ago, he’d watch the privileged occupants of these very same buildings pass from luxury automobiles to these building and wondered if he’d ever be so lucky. No such thoughts entered his mind as he walked by that day. 

Louis strolled by one such opulent building, when without warning, he was suddenly struck on his left side and fell to the ground. He had failed to identify a ten-year-old boy who darted out of the revolving doorway toward an awaiting white Tesla SUV. After the initial contact, the boy ended up on the ground, right beside Louis. A uniformed doorman rushed over, but only to assist the well-dressed youth who rose to his feet, hovered over the stunned man, and berated, “Watch where you’re going, jerk!”  

Louis opened his eyes long enough to realize that he wasn’t seriously injured, however before he could climb up from the concrete sidewalk, he noticed something on the ground, not far from his position. While he claimed what turned out to be a folded twenty-dollar bill, the young boy’s mother, an attractive woman dressed in fitted, black workout pants and a Peloton hoodie, exited the Tesla and hurried toward her son.      

“Are you ok, Thomas? Come on, we have a long drive to East Hampton,” she encouraged, also failing to acknowledge Louis, who had finally found his legs. She then turned back toward the SUV, only to find her son was not following. Instead, the young boy had noted Louis Laguerre’s lucky find which was only made possible by his traumatic fall.  

The boy protested, “But mommy, it’s not fair! Look what that man found... I want that money. It should be mine!” 

The boy’s mother returned and grabbed her son’s right arm, scolding, “I said we have to go! Your father will give you a twenty in the car.” 

But the boy persisted with his tantrum, pleading, “But I want that one!” 

The boy’s father peered out the open passenger side door, curious of the scene which continued to evolve. His wife was at a loss and threw her hands up in disgust.  

“Young man, you get in the car this instant!” 

But the boy wouldn’t budge. 

At that moment, Louis looked at the twenty-dollar bill in his hand and then at the petulant boy and his mother. He picked up his drawstring bag from the ground which contained his PPE, metro card, Long Island Railroad ticket, and exactly seven dollars and fifty-seven cents, and walked five paces toward the commotion. With little regard for the indifference with which he was treated, Louis placed the money in the boy’s hand. The tantrum suddenly ceased. 

Without allowing any opportunity for gratitude which was unlikely to follow, Louis Laguerre told the mother, “It appears he needs it more than I do,” and then continued his long commute home to his wife and baby girl.  

Today was a good day.