Staying at home is hard. It’s boring. Plus, the weather is so nice — it kind of makes you want to lose the mask, throw a massive Memorial Day pool party, and invite all your young, healthy friends, right? Wrong. In case CDC recommendations and common sense haven’t made it clear yet: the novel coronavirus is not over, and neither is the need for safety and social distancing protocols. Not even for the young and (seemingly) healthy.
There are plenty of reasons why now is not the time to ease up on precautionary measures. Take, for instance, personal safety. Over 100,000 lives have been lost to COVID-19 in the United States alone — lives that ranged in length from five years to 105 years. If you’re not particularly concerned for your own wellbeing, consider public safety. Every individual plays a part in slowing (or speeding) the spread of the novel coronavirus.
CDC estimates and more studies are now suggesting asymptomatic cases could be making up a larger percentage of confirmed COVID-19 cases than first thought. This means you may not feel or appear sick but can spread COVID-19 to those you come into contact with — relatives, grocery clerks, UberEats delivery drivers, everyone — who may go on to spread the novel virus to those they come in contact with, ad infinitum. Elderly and immunocompromised communities are especially at risk for this type of transmission. Ahead, model Camerone Parker, 54, tells Allure what it’s like to live as an immunocompromised individual in the time of the novel coronavirus and why she’s asking you to please stay home.
As told to Jessica Defino.
What it means to be immunocompromised
I have been so blessed to have a modeling career that spanned several decades. I was fortunate enough to walk in Fashion Weeks all over the world, including the big four [New York City, London, Milan, and Paris]. My career actually gained more strength as a “classic” model, which is an older model, 40 and up. I am very, very proud of that fact.
I am immunocompromised. My doctors — my cardiologist, my internists, and my hematologists — have all said that if I contract [COVID-19], there is a strong likelihood I will not make it.
When I was 32, I was hospitalized for meningitis and was in the hospital for several weeks. The neurologist assigned to my case was like, “I want to run some more tests, there are some things I want to take a good look at, I want to make sure the meningitis has left your body.” I went through this litany of tests. He called me one day and said, “I just need you to come into my office. I need to talk to you. It’s really important and you need to come now.” I drove to his office, walked in, and sat down across the desk from him. He asked me questions, marked everything down. He looked at me and said, “I’m really sorry to tell you this, but you have multiple sclerosis.” Multiple sclerosis itself is a two-part disease. It is an autoimmune disease and it is a neurological disease.
I’ll never forget that feeling. I was silent. I just took it in and finally said, “Alright, how long will I have it? What do I have to do? Like, chop chop, I gotta go.”
He said, “No, Camerone, you will have this the rest of your life. You’re very lucky in being diagnosed now, because we have disease-modifying drugs (DMDs), and we can maintain it.” The drug that I was being assigned to was $65,000 a year. I was an independent contractor, I had no medical insurance. I thought, “How am I going to do this?” I became the hardest working model in the industry and people didn’t realize that I was working to stay alive.
When I was first diagnosed, there were three DMDs, or disease-modifying therapies (DMTs), which are crafted to slow the progression of the disease. Now there are [multiple] DMDs, but we still don’t have a cure — and I need a cure. I can no longer take a disease-modifying drug because of the massive heart attack I had last fall at age 54.
What it’s like to live in extreme isolation
I remember first hearing about the novel coronavirus in December. I remember hearing that it was just contained to China. It was probably the beginning or middle of February that I realized this was very serious — all of my doctors had been keeping an eye on things and were concerned. March 4 is when I went into self-quarantine completely.
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I am in really hardcore isolation, due to being immunocompromised. My husband is an eye surgeon, and on March 30, he stopped seeing patients for fear of infecting me. My doctors monitor me — I have a 24/7 monitor on me at all times. I have my groceries delivered and when they are delivered, my husband gloves up, masks up, and washes everything before it comes inside the house. I don’t eat anything out of a container or a can, it has to go in a glass. I see my doctors via telemedicine. I wear two masks for extra protection.
I have to live my life as if everybody is sick. I can’t hug my parents. I can’t even see my parents. My husband has grown children and grandchildren, we can’t see them. It affects me on so many levels personally, and when someone isn’t careful, or disregards the warnings, or decides to cough on somebody, I’m like, “Really, dude? Really?” What I wish people would realize is that if you are out and about, you may kill somebody, and you may not know it. Doctors and nurses are putting themselves at risk for the lives of others, and when people don't heed the warnings, it’s like… when the fire department tells you there’s a fire and you need to get out, you get out.
Still, you’ll never meet someone happier to be alive. Here in Sedona, I am surrounded by the red rocks and the rushing water of the creek, and [I feel] safe. I take in things differently now. I’m watching the trees bloom and the flowers bloom. I never miss a chance to tell my parents how much I love them, tell my stepkids and my grandkids how much I love them, or tell my husband, Robert, that he’s incredible.
I always say to myself, it can’t rain every day. It may be rainy, but pretty soon those clouds will break and a beam of sunlight will come through. You just have to keep moving forward and never give up.
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