For me, the masks induce a previously unknown level of anxiety. I’ve had panic attacks before, but the ‘mask’ attacks bring actual physical shaking. It’s all I can do to not scream. I cannot describe it.
I feel like they’re stealing my face. Symbolically silencing me. Erasing me.
For the last two years, I wear a version of these masks1 when I’m forced. With one exception (more on this later), no one has ever challenged me. I’m just mocking them if they make me wear a ‘thing’ over my face. It helps the anxiety some, but not as much as you’d think.
I am in the Free State of Florida and pretty much no one requires a mask except medical facilities. How braindead is this policy? The very people who are supposed to know better are the only ones asking me to pretend along with them that the masks do anything.
One of our hospitals is a Catholic hospital and they have the patron saint’s statue masked! Yes, and the baby Jesus has a mask on. WTAF? Is that making anyone feel better? Safer? The level of crazy is off the charts.
Maybe a little background here helps. My husband has lung cancer (not jabbed) and we’ve been on the whirlwind tour of doctors, surgeons, etc. Every. Single. Medical. Facility. Requires. Masks. I wear my sparkly useless mask and they say nothing. Do you see the problem?
I’m trusting my very heart, my love, my husband’s life to them and they are clearly not following the science. It scares the heck out of me! Are you playacting anything else, doc?
No one has asked him if he’s vaccinated; no one wants a test to see if he has the virus. They did test for MRSA. That’s it. But hoo boy, ya better wear a mAsK! Can you see my eyes rolling yet?
The Trader Joe’s Story
I nearly got into a fist fight with the ‘mask bouncer’ at Trader Joe’s in 2020 because she tells me that my mask had holes in it. I reply that hers does, too. It was a homemade fabric mask to match her outfit.
‘But it’s not a mask.’
‘Sure it is. It covers my face.’
Back and forth a bit more. Mom is getting embarrassed, but she knows why I’m doing it (thanks Mom!).
When she realizes that I’m not going to back down, she switches tactics and tries to tell me I have to use ‘this cart’. Now ‘this cart’ has an eight foot pole attached, with a red steel flag at the top. Can you say stigmatize? Mom’s not liking this one bit now.
‘My Mom already has a cart. I’m good.’
‘No, really. You need to use this cart.’
‘You want to mark me? Are you really saying that?’
Slowly, a large man walks up behind her to see why the line has stopped, what the ruckus is. I figured he was a backup bouncer.
‘You can’t go in the store without a mask!’
She’s mad. I’m mad. The other people in line are mad. I don’t care. It’s fucking Trader Joe’s.
The large man puts his hand on her shoulder and when she turns around to see who it is, Mom and I just scoot into the store.
I bought nothing. It was the first, and only, time I ever went to a Trader Joe’s. Not sorry.
Back to Today
Surgery is Monday morning. I really do have confidence in the surgeon and I know that stage 1 lung cancer is very curable by segmentation.
I’ve asked if they will honor a ‘mask exemption’ from my doctor. They will not. They did say that if I am in my husband’s hospital room, I could probably take my mask off, but in the hallways and elsewhere, I had to wear it. They can quite plainly see that the sparkly useless ‘mask’ on my face filters nothing, but the play goes on.
Out of respect for my husband, I will not scream. I will not question the mask requirement. I will tremble inside and pray and hold his hand.
Prayers are welcome.
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