Living immune-compromised in a world that ignores personal space

After ordering my double-double coffee, I wait patiently in the second line for my order to be called. (If you’ve been to Canada, you know my double-double reference could only mean I’m at Tim Hortons.) Two patrons later, a woman places her order. I expect her to join the end of the second line, just as I did, but she doesn’t. Instead, she takes a few steps backward and stands less than a foot from me. She’s so close I could whisper over her shoulder into her ear.

I wait for her to notice me, which she does after turning her head to the left, but she decides to stay put. I quietly fume and contemplate my choices.

I could politely say, “Excuse me, could you give me some personal space, please?” That’s the most Canadian reaction I could muster, but considering she knows she’s close, it could lead to a confrontation I’m not in the mood to have.

I could also take a few steps back. But holding my ground, especially since she knows she’s stepped into my orbit, feels important.

I could swing my purse around and “accidentally” hit her, an option I seriously consider. But I remind myself it’s just a coffee line.

Thankfully, my order is called, and I shuffle past her with a polite “Excuse me” — a nicety I begrudgingly give her, my manners more of a habit than she deserves.

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March 8, 2023 Columns by Jennifer V.

How I guard against the flu as an immunocompromised patient

It happens all the time. In an elevator when the other person could stand on the other side but instead decides to jam themselves in front of me. In the grocery store when it makes more sense to line up as cart, person, cart, but someone decides to stand before their cart and thus directly beside me. In the empty waiting room with many open seats, but the person chooses to sit directly across from me.

Living with neuromyelitis optica spectrum disorder (NMOSD) means I’ve become a germophobe, but I’m also hyperaware that personal space is necessary for my safety.

When you’re permanently immune-compromised, a person sneezing close to you is enough to trigger anxiety. That’s because a common cold isn’t “common” for me. It’s lasted months on more than one occasion, even landing me in the emergency room. What others brush off as “just a bug” can derail my life.

Respecting personal space

One of the few positives to come out of the pandemic was a greater awareness of personal space. I loved the 6-foot gap that experts recommended when the world slowly opened up again. Even now, I still see people wearing masks on public transit, and no one thinks I’m odd if I’m wearing one.

Lately, though, I’ve noticed that people are slipping back into old habits — crowding, coughing into the air, or skipping the simple courtesy of hand sanitizer. I cringe every time I watch someone turn a doorknob, then use that same hand to handle their food, with no soap or sanitizer in sight.

When it’s a friend or relative, I can politely offer up my own sanitizer. With strangers, though, I’m left cringing in silent horror.

Sometimes I daydream about wearing a giant hoop around my body, a personal force field that silently communicates, “This is my zone; please don’t enter it.” It’d be the perfect reminder for people to keep their distance and keep their germs to themselves. Well, what I’d really love is to not have NMOSD at all. But here we are. My hoop dream feels only slightly less realistic than living in a literal bubble every time I leave my home.

Still, I can’t help but think how wonderful it’d be if we could hold on to the lessons of the pandemic, the ones that taught us how small actions — washing our hands, wearing a mask, giving someone space — can protect not only ourselves but the people around us. For me, those aren’t just good habits. They’re the difference between staying healthy and spending weeks recovering from an illness many people wouldn’t even remember.

So if you see me in line at Tim Hortons, in the grocery store, or on the subway, don’t be surprised if I step back or angle away. It’s not you; it’s germs. Until then, I’ll keep imagining my hoop, quietly grateful for the people who notice and give me room without needing to be asked. Those small courtesies make the world feel a little less crowded and a lot kinder.

Note: Neuromyelitis News is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health providers with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Neuromyelitis News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to neuromyelitis optica spectrum disorder.