I am not a germaphobe or hypochondriac. For the first time since doctors removed my spleen after it burst, I am experiencing waves of fright of catching a communicable illness.

In May 2005, doctors removed my spleen after it burst due to the impact of a thirty-foot fall. Now that I am spleen-less, my immune system is compromised. The situation was never too much of a concern because I maintain a healthy lifestyle — I’m in the gym six days per week, take vitamins, and do not often drink alcohol.

The current pandemic is, at times, causing me to grip hard. These emotions arrive in waves. I am feeling positive during one set and remind myself, even if I contract COVID-19, it’s not a certain death sentence. I surf a wave as I momentarily reflect upon my life. I am happy and accept the inevitability of the end of my life.

Then, the next set of waves roll through, and I am slammed by a wave of terror, which forces me deep underwater. I struggle to hold my breath as I think, ”I’m not yet ready to die.” During these moments, I struggle to find the surface as I am of the mindset that, for me, contracting coronavirus is a matter of when not if.

It’s a gnarly cycle of emotions. I try to keep my mind distracted with work, reading, etc. to not allow the waves to render me lost in the sea of my mind.