The starkness and suddenness of the pandemic has forced many of us to stop and reconsider our lifestyles. In this episode, our storytellers will share tales of how their priorities and values have come into focus since lockdown began.
Our first story is from award-winning standup comedian and Story Collider senior producer Gastor Almonte. In his story, Gastor is forced to confront his health issues when he almost dies from undiagnosed diabetes at the start of the pandemic.
After Gastor’s story, our host speaks with Mati Hlatshwayo Davis, who told a story in our Decisions episode. As you may remember, Mati is an infectious disease doctor who researches the impact of COVID-19 on marginalized communities. In this interview, Mati discusses the ways the pandemic has brought clarity to conversations about structural racism in medicine.
Stay tuned for Part 2 of this episode on Monday!
Story Transcript
It was already awkward before we got to the oatmeal. Everybody was sitting down in the living room. We just got home from the hospital and nobody knew what to say. My parents, they were mad at me because they thought it was my fault, because it's always your fault when you're the oldest kid in the family.
Gastor Almonte has appeared on Comedy Central’s This is Not Happening, PBS and Vice. His debut special, Immigrant Made, can be seen on Amazon Prime, and his comedy album of the same name debuted at #1 on iTunes, Google Play and Amazon.
My pop still thinks it's my fault that Obama's not president just because I was the only person crazy enough to try to explain to him why he can't run a third time.
My kids, they were just happy to see me because I just spent six days in the hospital. And even though it turns out I didn't have COVID, so many people were showing up with this that they were overwhelmed. So they weren't letting anybody have guests just to minimize the risk.
And my wife, she was just trying to be optimistic. She felt the tension in the room. She was trying to lift everybody's spirits, so she was like, “Gastor, we're going to make some changes. Everybody's going to eat healthy. I'm so excited. I found this great recipe for oatmeal. We're going to put cinnamon and blueberries in it. Gastor, you're going to love it.”
Nobody loves oatmeal. Nobody even likes oatmeal and you can't love something if you don't like it at one time. You can't convince me that somebody loves oatmeal. I challenge you. Find that Zagat review. “Oh, yeah, you got to go to Morton's. Great steak, but have the chef's oatmeal. To die for!” It doesn't exist. Nobody talks like that about oatmeal.
I'll even go this far. I don't love oatmeal but I love what it does for you. I love that it keeps my grandma regular. But love oatmeal itself? Impossible.
And it's nonsense like that that's why I don't trust doctors. I don't trust anybody who wears a long coat the whole time they're at work. You know what I mean? Frankenstein, Carmen San Diego, Guy Fieri. Chef coats, lab coats, medical coats, trench coats, all the same thing.
But I got to say, they had some valid concerns. I got to the hospital and they said that I almost died. They told me that, for a guy, your blood sugar is supposed to be from 100 to 140, and when I showed up at the hospital it was at 660. I couldn't even remember. I couldn't remember what that felt like. I only know what happened because Gabby told me, but that whole trip to the hospital, that whole morning is so vague and gray in my memory. I don't know what that experience was.
So while I understand my family's concern, I didn't feel it. I just know that I enjoy what food does. I enjoy coming together and having something that is almost like an art when it's done at its best and enjoying it with my crew and talking about it. Nobody does that with oatmeal. Oatmeal is such a lonely food. Nobody is like, “Yo, oatmeal sundaes!” Nobody gets together for oatmeal with the posse. Nobody's like, “Y'all want the squad oatmeal in my crib? Yo, we got to come over. My man got extra oatmeal.” It doesn't happen. There's no gatherings over oatmeal.
So the more that she described it, the less I wanted it. She was like, “Yeah, I got chai seeds and blueberries on, plus vanilla Greek yogurt on it. Gas, it’s going to be great.”
And I was just getting frustrated listening to this. Finally, I just stood up. I was like, “Gabby, I'm not doing that shit.” And I walked out of the apartment.
I called up Caterina. It’s my favorite pizzeria. I placed what can only be described as the most aggressive order ever. Like I'm sure Caterina's had customers call them up cursing before if something's gone wrong with the order. I'm pretty sure this was the first time somebody cursed while placing the order.
I was like, “Y’all listen. I don't want cheese. I want extra fucking cheese. I didn't want pepperoni. I want pepperoni all over that shit. Get it here soon,” hung up the phone.
Went back inside and I could feel the tension in the room. Nobody was talking. Everyone was just staring at me as I walked back to my seat.
Finally, my son Aiden looks at me and he's like, “So Dad, does this mean you're going to get needles?”
“Needles? How did I forget about the needles? Yes, I'm going to get needles, little man. Thanks for asking. How many? I'm glad to let you know I'm going to get four needles every day, Aiden. I got to take one shot for base level insulin and I got to take three shots, one with every meal for fast‑acting insulin just in case something goes wrong. So, yes, Aiden, I'm going to be taking shots every day. That means I'm going to be taking needles every day.”
He looks at me and he stands up and he goes over to the fridge and rolls up his shirt. He's like, “All right. So let's take our shots.”
I'm like, “What are you talking about, little man?”
And he's like, “Well, mom said that we're going to eat differently because if we eat better you'll eat better and that means you'll be around longer. So whatever you eat, we're going to eat. So if you get needles, we get needles. So let's take the shots.”
And me and my dad, we just started laughing. I got up and I hugged my son and I was like, “Nah, little man. You don't got to worry about that. That's just something I got to do, but that's not for everybody.”
He said, “Okay.” He's like, “Well, you know, we could still eat the oatmeal.”
And I was like, “Nah, man. You just got to eat better. You don't got to eat oatmeal just because I'm eating oatmeal.”
And he's like, “Oh, thank God, because that would have been so much worse than the needles.”
I was like, “Yeah, man. I agree. I wouldn't put you through that brown sludge unless I had to, man.”
We sit down and we just all hang out and we talk. We have some games, playing in the background, watching reruns. We spent time as a family until the bell rang about 15 minutes later, and it was Caterina’s. The fastest delivery they've ever done. I don't know if they sensed any tension during my call. Either way, I got my pizza.
I get inside and the kids are excited because they love pizza and I love pizza too. So I get the plates. I serve up a slice. I give it to my daughter. I serve up a second slice, I give it to my son. I'm serving the third slice and I look over to the living room and I see my wife and I see my parents. I could see the disappointment in their eyes. I felt tension. I felt anger. I felt concern.
Then I looked over at the kids’ table and I saw them laughing, smiling and I just wanted more of that, so much more of that.
And I know that oatmeal doesn't do that, but pizza doesn't do this much. They were laughing way too much. So finally I'm like, “Kids, what are y'all laughing at?”
I walk over to them and they point to the pizza box. I look at the box and it says in marker, “Pepperoni pizza all over that shit with extra effing cheese. Smiley face.”
I appreciated Vito's attention to detail. And I looked over at my wife and I actually come over and I said, “Hey, baby. I got you a slice. But before you eat, would you mind helping me with my shots so I could have some oatmeal?”
She hugged me and I looked over at my parents. I tried to picture what it must have been like to feel like you're going to lose someone during the pandemic, to know that you can't see them because of what was going on. I thought about what that week was like in the hospital, not understanding why everyone was so worried and why I wasn't being allowed to see people and how lonely it felt spending six days where the only time I was allowed to talk to them was through texts.
And I compared that to this room and I saw how awesome it was to be hugging Gabby and spending time with my parents and just hearing my kids laugh.
I can't say that I'll ever love oatmeal, but if oatmeal makes it possible for me to have this more often then I got to say I love what oatmeal can do for me.