During the beginning of Covid lock-down period in 2020 I started getting allergy shots. In retrospect it seems like a strange decision, at a time when we were wary of putting family members in hospital even when they needed to be there. But the small allergist’s office took all the precautions and I went- first twice a week, then once, and later once every two weeks, turning into a maintenance schedule of every three weeks.

So during that period of isolation, engaging only with our small “pods”, my sole outside in-person interactions were with the front-desk staff and nurses at this office.

I would stand outside the door, six feet from other patients, until I heard the call “temp check” ring out and a nurse would come to place the thermometer against my forehead and let me in. I would greet the young lady at the desk and she always recognized me, in fact could recognize all her regular patients in spite of face masks, hats and hoods. In the waiting room the interior rows of seats were blocked and only five people allowed at a time, so I would find my favorite corner chair and wait for my name to be called. After the shot I had to wait for 30 minutes to see if there was an adverse reaction (there never was) and then would meander back to get a nurse to look at my arm and declare me free to go.

Those 30 minute waits in that room were an oasis of comfort. The TV would be on silent, usually showing a cooking competition show with closed captioning scrolling words across the bottom of the screen. I would glance up at it occasionally while playing word games on my phone. A few times I put in earphones and listened to a work meeting, but almost always this was my time to relax in passive companionship.

I loved listening to the voices of the ladies at the front desk, as they helped patients coming to their plexiglass-barricaded counter, and the patients on the phone. Most of all I loved listening to them chat together; about child care, a tricky insurance question, favorite foods, whatever. Never a sharp tone and quick to chuckle, giggle and tease in easy companionship.

Remember what a tense, disturbed, uncertain time that was? Wiping down groceries and leaving mail to sit for days before touching it, sewing masks and wearing disposable gloves? Plywood sheets covered store windows and the outdoor escalator to this office stopped working, broken glass in it’s toothed steps. It seemed as if the world we knew was fracturing around us. I was dealing with a family emergency at home and navigating virtual teaching at work.

But during those visits I soaked in the kindness and humor and calm capability of the ladies at the counter. I mostly just said “hello” and “goodbye, have a good one” but what I really want to say is “you deserve a love letter and this is it.”