I joked recently that my website was drifting toward becoming a COVID-19 blog. So, here we go again.
As best as I can decipher, I was first exposed to coronavirus on April 2, 2020. An infected coworker performed maintenance on my production line while I was present.
By the next Monday, seventeen people had been listed as exposed. All of us were eventually told to stay at home. They tried calling to say "please call us" or some generic corporate busytalk. I found out a few months ago that one supervisor tried to use Facebook to get in touch with me. No matter what the case may have been, I got exposed.
As soon as I arrived for work that Monday evening (April 6, 2020), the team lead approached the passenger side of my vehicle to tell me what was going on. Those who were allowed to work, weren't allowed in until they could be checked for fevers and given face masks.
That night, I went home, spending three hours calling my family and every friend I could speak to. I wanted them to hear from me, not from some obscure social media post. Only one of those friends had to be told via text. I spoke to everyone else.
Now I know that was a year ago. A year I've spent holding back waves of dread, fears about my survival and the survival of others.
I've learned hard lessons on what was important to me. I've learned that, to some, my life is worth less than a plastic bag. I've learned such opinions have no power over me, no matter how much those people see me as paranoid or alarmist.
I don't answer to anyone who devalues my life and the lives of others. I left that job with my head held high. In that time, I've found more value in myself and in many others.
All that started a year ago, when the viral boogeyman became a present danger to my life. Tomorrow (April 6, 2021), is the direct anniversary of when I learned I was exposed. It's also the day when I get my second Pfizer vaccine shot.
When that shot comes, I'll be able to say I survived.