Omicron may not be cause for panic, but it’s certainly cause for despair | Opinion

Well, I’m back to tossing and turning at night — thanks to the new COVID-19 variant, omicron.

There’s so much we still don’t know about this new strain of the coronavirus. Although its string of mutations suggests it could spread more easily or cause severe disease, or even (gulp) evade existing vaccines, we don’t know that yet. This is important to keep in mind. Yes, the World Health Organization has dubbed it a “variant of concern,” and many countries have breathlessly reimposed restrictions on travel. But we don’t know how dangerous this particular variant is.

Still, that hasn’t stopped me from falling into an emotional pit of despair and defeat. Because omicron is a painful reminder that, after nearly two years of sacrifices, any new, vaccine-proof variant could turn back the clock in an instant, extending the time we live under COVID-19′s shadow. What’s worse: We have known since the beginning that this could happen, and we let it happen anyway.

» READ MORE: I got my kid vaccinated on Day 1 — and it was glorious. | Opinion

Last week, before news of the variant hit, I got to spend time with people I love who I hadn’t seen in nearly two years. We hugged, laughed, ate a meal together, and filled each other in on what had happened in our lives. It felt so, so good — like, maybe, life could be like this again, without any shadow darkening our shoulders, warning us that this might not be safe.

Now I’m losing sleep over the prospect of online school, something I was moaning about 10 months ago and had hoped would remain a distant, painful memory. Do we need to cancel holiday plans? I had promised my 7-year-old she could have a sleepover with two friends during winter break, when they will be fully vaccinated; it’s been a glimmer of hope in her eyes for months. Will this be one more thing COVID-19 takes away?

Another late-night thought: Could this be our life now? Brief glimpses of joy in between COVID-19 variants? (I don’t believe that, but despair takes your mind to dark places.)

Throughout COVID-19, we’ve all heard people talk about how hard things are “at this point in the pandemic.” True, each low point — waving to grandparents from the other side of a window, missed graduations and other milestones — has often felt lower than the one before. But in some ways, omicron feels like the lowest; there’s something distinctly painful about getting a taste of joy, only to be reminded that it could be taken away.

“There’s something distinctly painful about getting a taste of joy, only to be reminded that it could be taken away.”

I’m not just feeling despair. I’m mad.

Ever since vaccines became available, part of the battle cry for why we need to vaccinate as many people as possible has been that every infected person is a petri dish for new variants, which could be more dangerous and resistant to vaccines. Any dangerous variant, anywhere, affects everyone: Within days after omicron was first reported by South Africa, more than a dozen countries identified cases. While unvaccinated people talk about “personal choice” and “freedom,” others (including me) have been warning that each person who chooses not to get vaccinated is putting everyone else at risk.

And yet, here we are. Experts have been screaming about why low vaccination rates are a problem for months, and we still let omicron happen. If the variant turns out to be as bad as some fear, it will be the worst kind of “I told you so” moment. No one wants to keep watching people die from COVID-19.

But again: There is a lot we still don’t know. Hopefully, the new variant won’t be that dangerous, and our vaccines will still work; hopefully, we won’t have to turn back the clock.

In the meantime, I’m going to try to get some rest. It looks like I’m going to need it.

Alison McCook is a writer living in Wyncote.