You are the girlfriend of a young man who died at work today or the brother of a woman who fell sick on the bus and didn’t make it to her bus stop because a middle aged man with a deadly -- and very much contagious -- disease was not given medical leave or held quarantine at the local hospital despite his severe state. Instead he was released by the doctors and encouraged by his wife and his boss to sleep it off, take some Advil, and get back to work as soon as possible, as if pretending it didn’t exist was enough to resolve it.
His friend advises him to try not being sick, and he does despite the pain and weakness that continued, permeating every step he managed to shuffle.
The fire that inflamed his throat with each breath.
The unrelenting pounding of his pulse against his forehead.
The trembling of his hands despite the overwhelming heat that seemed to suffocate him.
The fatigue and other symptoms that made it difficult to get out of bed much less leave the house.
He does, though, because what else could he do when his mortgage payment was due and his two children were in an expensive private school, and he had student loans to pay?
He takes the bus because he cannot drive -- he’s so dizzy he can hardly walk the steps into the bus -- and his airborne illness spreads to the other passengers of the transit, including your sister, and he manages to get through the work day despite his misery. He was unable to complete any of his tasks but does manage to infect many of his coworkers, especially those working in close proximity to him, including your boyfriend, and even to a couple of unsuspecting customers or clients who were exposed to the contagion through their interactions with him or the coworkers who have already contracted virus. And you are angry, as you should be, and hurt. You are angry and hurt because your sister or boyfriend or next-door-neighbor or niece’s preschool teacher was the victim of a deadly disease to which he or she never should have been exposed in the first place, guilty only of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
However, you aren’t mad at the sick man who initially spread the illness, who was forced to work despite his condition, who was denied the care and treatment he needed. Why would you be? He did not choose to have this illness. No. You blame the society that tolerated this act, the society that neglected the seriousness of his condition, the society that ignored a man’s need and not only allowed, but encouraged, him to come into contact with others despite the inherent consequences. The society that disregarded his illness in order to emphasize the importance of responsibility, commitment, and autonomy. You are disgusted that such prehistoric and ignorant sentiments and actions could even exist in today’s society, completely sickened by it.
But they do. They do exist and they do occur and we allow them to persist because we are blinded by the same ignorance about which we are enraged.
And now, now you are the girlfriend of a young man who died at school or the brother of a woman who was killed on the bus and didn’t make it to her bus stop because a college student with a deadly disease was not given medical leave or admitted to the local hospital despite his severe state. Instead he was released by the doctors and encourage by his parents and his friends and his teachers and his boss to sleep it off, take some Xanax, and get back to work as soon as possible, as if pretending the problem did not exist was enough to cure it. As if he could simply will his illness away.
He did despite the pain and weakness that permeated every step he managed to shuffle.
The heavy pressure that tightened around his throat with each labored breath.
The unrelenting pounding of his pulse against his forehead.
The trembling of his hands despite the overwhelming heat that seemed to suffocate him.
The thoughts that raced through his mind making it impossible to think straight or concentrate.
The cold, acidic pang in his stomach.
The anxious panic that surged through his veins.
The numbness that threatened to spread until he could not even feel his feet to even stand up.
The fatigue and other symptoms that made it difficult to get out of bed much less leave the house.
Despite it all, he did because what else could he do when his final exams are coming up and his future relies on his success and he is paying for college on his own so he can’t afford to miss a day of work.
He takes the bus because he cannot drive -- he’s so distracted by the thoughts infecting his mind that he nearly misses the bus because he doesn’t notice it pull up or those around him filing onto it. His airborne illness isn’t a virus, but a bullet that spreads to the other passengers of the transit including your sister, and he manages to get through his classes despite his misery. He was unable to pay attention or remember anything he was taught, but does manage to inflict many of his classmates, especially those that provoked his illness and contributed to his symptoms. This includes your boyfriend who always made snide comments to him about his poor social skills, and even to a couple of unsuspecting professors or faculty members who were exposed to the epidemic through their interactions with him or their attempts to prevent him from affecting anyone else.
You are angry, as you should be, and hurt. You are angry and hurt because your sister or boyfriend or next-door-neighbor or niece’s English professor was the victim of a deadly encounter to which he or she never should have been exposed in the first place. They are guilty only of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. However, you aren’t mad at the society that allowed this act, the society that neglected the seriousness of his condition, the society that ignored a man’s need and not only allowed, but encouraged, him to come into contact with others despite the imminent consequences, the society that disregarded his illness in order to emphasize the importance of mental stability, strength, and independence. The society that told him countless times that he was weak and insufficient because he could not manage his stress, the society that told him that what he felt and thought and experienced wasn’t a virus plaguing his mind, but a statement and reflection of his character, a personality flaw. Why would you be?
No. You find fault in the troubled student who should have been able to deal with his own mental and psychological turmoil, who should have known how to address this issue and was encouraged to do so on his own, who wasn’t compliant to societal norms and unable to work through his condition. The person who was receiving some treatment but was so weak that even this was not enough. He was so hurt and broken and angry and sad and lonely and confused, and he should’ve had his life together. You are angry and hurt because he chose to do this when he could have chosen to be happy. You are disgusted that such revolting and evil people could even exist in today’s society, completely sickened by it.
Who is the victim? Who is to blame?
We view these illnesses differently.
But they’re exactly the same.
