On November 20, a gentleman I’ve known for many years who works as an attendant at a parking lot in which I frequently park announced he thought COVID was a hoax. I asked him, “So you think the 373 cases in Monroe County yesterday is a hoax?”

“Well, I don’t know any of them.”

“Fortunately, neither do I. But I know friends of friends who have gotten it and died.”

“How do you know it wasn’t cancer or a heart attack?”

Sometimes, you have to know when to walk away.

That was just over four weeks ago. Now I personally know far too many people who have contracted it. Because of the contagious nature of the disease, it doesn’t stop with the person getting it, it brings everyone in the family to their knees…literally. One of my closest friends reports barely being able to crawl up the stairs to bed at night, and then sitting on the bed gasping for breath for ten minutes. Gatorade has been their go-to “food” because her family hasn’t been able to eat anything of substance in ten days. I offered to drop Christmas dinner off at their house, but as of yesterday, they didn’t think they’d be able to eat anything beyond oatmeal.

The zombie-like sleep that overtakes them practically caused their daughter in Boston to call the police or fire department when she couldn’t roust either of her parents or her brother for an entire day.

They’re pretty sure my friend contracted it at the senior facility in which she works part-time. Although the facility has been recognized as having the “gold standard” of care during this time, the disease still snuck in. As of the last count, before she got the results (after having to wait three days to learn she was positive), ten residents had contracted it and three had passed away. The management at the facility attributes the likelihood of the spread to staff having lunch together in the same room.

Her brother-in-law, who is a physician in Connecticut, called the department of health here in Monroe County to find out what services are available. He was surprised to find there is no coordinated service for people who are ill with COVID-19. There in Connecticut, they’ve put an ambulatory service in place that drives around checking on those who have contracted the disease.

Fortunately, she and her family have friends who are happy to make grocery runs for the staples of this disease — Gatorade, juice, toilet paper and Robitussin. But what of those who are alone or relatively isolated?

Reports came out late last week of a new, and apparently more highly-contagious strain that was identified in Britain as early as late September. This week, many countries closed their borders to visitors, flights, and even trucks from the U.K. My bet is they’ve closed the gate after the horse escaped the corral. If the strain was there in September, it has probably traveled the world by now, like an undetected fly on a plane.

This week, it’s reported that three million passengers will travel over a three-day period for the Christmas holidays. I understand the desire to see family – I haven’t seen mine in more than a year now – but what I don’t get is the willingness to risk the health or possible death of even one single family member for a single holiday that happens every single year.

I know this disease only from the perspective of the onlooker worried and anxious for the health and safety of friends. I can’t even imagine the frustration and horror of looking at this disease from behind the PPE of a healthcare worker who sees the freight train — the pandemic express — barreling at him or her and who is powerless to step out of its way. My heart goes out to them.

So, much as I appreciate the kind intent and generosity of my employer in doing an indoor, socially distanced holiday luncheon this year, I will be foregoing it. I hope they understand.