I surveyed my masked image in the bathroom mirror of my daughter’s and her wife’s new home, remembering my first visit in May to the tiny Cape they had managed to snag in an impossible housing market. We shared our elation then with unmasked indoor hugs, grateful for the miracle vaccine that gave us the freedom to be together, as we had before COVID upended our lives. My second visit was mostly confined to their shady backyard. Hugs were off-limits and indoors masking was mandatory. As I turned away from the bathroom mirror, I noticed a framed poem hanging near the sink, recognizing my daughter’s careful printing of poet Mary Oliver’s words: “I have many edges called perhaps and almost nothing you can call certainty.” I took a deep breath and headed back outside for a virtual good-bye hug.
The Delta variant has replaced the certainty that came following two late winter jabs in my arm. Risk still existed then, but it was minimal. Dinner guests returned to our dining room table, their unmasked smiles a joy to behold. The warming sunshine melted the fear that held us in its grip, as we packed picnics, planned vacations, and began returning to aspects of our pre-COVID lives.
Several weeks ago, I didn’t give much thought to the Delta variant as I got in my car and headed for a week in the Berkshires. Then came the headlines announcing the wave of breakthrough infections in P-Town, shredding all certainty, leaving in its place the sharp edges of “perhaps.” Perhaps the vaccine won’t protect me. Perhaps I should cancel my October trip to New Orleans. Perhaps I’m spreading the variant asymptomatically. The familiar racing heart, ruminations and insomnia of pre-vaccination days had once again taken up residence in my psyche.
The only certainty was that all was uncertain. I obsessed about potential consequences of every decision that could potentially affect the lives of loved ones and strangers. “Get a grip on yourself,” I thought, as I proceeded to spend the week searching for certainty from reliable sources, including the Kaiser Family Foundation (KFF) study, the CDC, and of course, Dr. Fauci.
The bad news: the viral load for those infected with the Delta variant is 1,000 times greater than the novel coronavirus, meaning that even asymptomatic vaccinated people with breakthrough infections could easily infect others. The good news: Less than 1% of reported infections across the U.S. were the result of breakthrough infections (KFF).
Reassurance, however, was elusive. It seemed that everyone I spoke with knew a vaccinated person infected with the Delta variant, including one report of a vaccinated person, with no preexisting conditions, whose breakthrough infection landed him in the hospital. I tried to reassure myself that anecdotal evidence doesn’t count, but my racing heart betrayed rational thinking.
More concerning news: The emphasis has shifted. Instead of focusing on protecting us from getting infected, we are told the vaccine is doing “exactly what it is supposed to do” — code words for keeping vaccinated folks who get infected alive and out of the hospital. I wasn’t reassured recently when Dr. Fauci said the level of vaccine protection against COVID has gone, “down a bit.” Had one of my former students used that kind of language, he or she would have lost points for vague language.
More bad news: Delta has allies. Vaccine hesitancy has given the variant a free ride across this country and beyond. Trumpian governors are risking children’s lives with policies forbidding school districts to require masking. Texas’ diabolical governor has ruled that schools are not required to inform parents of COVID outbreaks! We are all potential victims of those who politicize this pandemic.
Despite the growing surge, many of us are not in a hurry to spend the last days of summer hiding from the Delta variant. A friend described the crowded lawn at a recent Tanglewood concert I attended as a “superspreader in the making.” My own good sense did not prevail as I chose to join a long line of customers to get my ice cream “fix” at my favorite Berkshire creamery. Today I took my car in for service and noticed only one worker wearing a mask.
My response to COVID’s uncertainty has been to develop a safety plan that “perhaps” may offer protection. I mask indoors (excluding my home), find socially distant places to park myself at outdoor events, keep social engagements outside or on Zoom, and plan to get tested weekly to be sure I haven’t inadvertently breathed in a motherload of virus.
I also promised myself to say “no” to whatever feels risky, even when friends raise their eyebrows. Still, questions remain. Dr. Fauci hasn’t told me if it’s safe for my vaccinated brother to fly from Cleveland to Burlington to join me at Smugglers’ Notch in September. A month ago, he might have said, “Go! Have a good time! You’re vaccinated!”
The growing surge has signaled that it’s time to pivot again. Adapting to uncertainty is challenging, but perhaps it can preserve sanity in the face of COVID’s moving target. Thanks, Mary Oliver.
Sara Weinberger of Easthampton is a professor emerita of social work.