The Unbearable Sadness of Boris Johnson’s Worsening Illness

Thousands of people have died of COVID19. Thousands, perhaps millions, more will die. For many of those who don’t die, they will suffer lifelong impacts from mechanical ventilation.

Many stories have been covered in the press of victims. The first I remember seeing were the doomed passengers of the Diamond Princess. These are all real people, a lot of them much healthier than me, some even younger.

Yet seeing The Guardian announce Boris Johnson’s admission to ICU has been more than I can bear. Why? I have no real ties to the UK. I have only a few acquaintances there, and no friends or family.

Johnson is just a citizen, the rational side of me says. He’s not even a good politician! He represents a hyper-crapitalistic oligarchy! The UK would probably be better off without him!

But yet I weep for Boris. I weep for the Queen. I weep for the Health Secretary, who has even recovered! Boris' demise is my demise. If this man, so full of bluster, so full of bravado, and with the best medical care in the world, can need hospitalization, and have his very survival in doubt, what hope do I have?

If Boris Johnson dies, I’ll have survivor’s guilt. I’ll also feel like any moment, I could be next.

Selfish? Of course. Everyone’s health is now being compared to everyone else’s to figure out who will live and who will die. Bleak statistics for obese men, much less those in wheelchairs, are one thing, but Boris Johnson being in ICU are another. I can’t overcome psychology; I relate better to someone like Boris who I feel I know than numbers.

Almost all of us in the USA are about to know someone who has died of COVID19. If I can’t even stand hearing about Boris Johnson, how will I take that news, as almost everyone I know is healthier than me?

Please, Boris, pull through. My psyche needs you.