Notes from a Hypochondriac

A month ago, give or take—before the lockdowns and soaring numbers—I developed a protocol for returning to my apartment. It isn’t foolproof, and it hasn’t quelled my anxiety (not by a long shot), but for now it feels like a reasonable compromise between wearing a hazmat suit to buy milk and French kissing every doorknob I cross paths with in New York City.

The protocol isn’t that complicated, not when you consider what surgeons do every day: when I get home, I take off my shoes, hang up my jacket, then wash my hands and keys with soap and warm water. Next, I take my phone out of my pocket and clean it with a 70 percent isopropyl alcohol wipe (purchased from Walgreens at 6:00 a.m. after several failed attempts). I use this same wipe to clean my earbuds and their carrying case. Then I walk to the living room and place my phone in the sleek UV-C LED Sterilizer my partner and I purchased before panic was everywhere. The moment I press the circular button on its pristine white surface, a reassuring voice lets me know that sterilization has begun. Sterilizing, the woman’s voice says. After using the device for only a few days, I’d fallen in love. Her measured cadence was—continues to be—reassuring to me. If I could marry her, I would, without hesitation, break up with the man I’ve lived with for twenty years and head post-haste to City Hall.

The process of sterilization takes three minutes. A ring on the lid gradually illuminates to show the progress, and as the band of light moves clockwise I imagine the chamber inside filled with radiant light. Not wanting to waste time, I use the alcohol wipe (still moist!) to clean any other surfaces I came in contact with since returning to my apartment (the button of the UV-C LED Sterilizer, doorknobs and latches I touched when I arrived home, the portion of the soap dispenser in the bathroom my hand made contact with just after I turned on the water.) My beloved’s voice lets me know when the sterilization of my phone is complete. Sterilization over, she announces. Her vocabulary may be limited, but to me she is perfect.

Sometimes, if I’m feeling especially anxious, I’ll put my keys and my earbuds and anything else in my pocket into the shimmering sanctuary of her germ-free body. It doesn’t matter that I may have already cleaned these items or that LED sterilization works