Since coronavirus first came into the public consciousness, we’ve heard the term “at-risk” a lot. We all know that those who are most at-risk — the elderly and people with chronic diseases — will suffer the most if they contract the virus. But there’s the prevailing idea that if you’re young and healthy, you could get something akin to the flu, but you’ll be just fine.

Despite having become an enthusiastic convert to the Church of Social Distancing, I have, over the last week, overheard many disturbing conversations built upon this idea. To most young people, the term “at-risk” seems to conjure images of decrepit old fogies with their skin falling off, wheezing as they get out of bed to plop themselves on the couch and watch PBS with the volume cranked all day. Or, they imagine pale, emaciated invalids like the characters in 19th century novels, who suffered from things like the vapors and were kept hidden from society in the depths of scary castle basements.

I get it. I watched The Secret Garden; Colin freaked me out, too. The thing is, that’s not the full story. Yes, the person near you most at risk for COVID-19 might be the old man next door, the one who looks like Keith Richards’ granddad. But it might also be the 27-year-old woman jogging through your neighborhood, doing her damnedest to stay as far away as possible from all other sentient beings. The same woman you might roll your eyes at when you see she’s wearing latex gloves, or when she darts into the middle of the street to get away from you.

I have a genetic disease called cystic fibrosis, which causes the body to produce very thick mucus. This results in a whole slew of problems affecting many organs, the respiratory system in particular. But I don’t look sick. In fact, I’d venture to say I look pretty healthy. Being an invisible sick person is a strange predicament, because I’m privy to opinions people probably wouldn’t express around me if they knew my situation.

For example, that protecting those COVID-vulnerable folks is a commendable form of altruism. At-risk people are often spoken of as though we’re already on death’s door. Sure, it’s noble for young people to do what they can to protect the weak… but everyone kind of knows their time is almost up anyway, right?

When I hear this implication, it awakens a deep-seated feeling I wish I could shake: that if nature had her way, unhampered by the modern medical technology I’ve been so lucky to benefit from, I wouldn’t be here. And maybe, on some level, that means I shouldn’t be. I don’t want to think of myself as an endangered species, surviving only on the kindness of strangers. But the last couple of weeks have shown me that, deep down, many Americans see me that way.

Moreover, what we as a country can’t seem to understand is that it isn’t just the elderly or those with underlying conditions who are at risk in the fallout from coronavirus. Once the number of COVID-19 patients becomes so high that hospitals start to reach capacity, anyone who needs medical care — for a routine illness, a broken wrist, a car accident — will have that care compromised. This widens the “at-risk” category to include anyone who might need any medical help in the next month or two (or three, or four, or five). That could be you.

In Italy, a lack of sufficient ventilators in packed hospitals means doctors are routinely having to choose between one patient and another based on who they think is more likely to recover. That is, they are being forced to decide whose life has more value. What keeps me up at night is not the thought of what would happen if I got the virus right now, when I would have access to my regular CF doctors and the stringent protective measures they take anytime I’m admitted to the hospital. Instead, it’s the thought of what would happen if I should get sick in several weeks, when the virus is running even more rampant, and when overworked hospital employees might accidentally expose me to someone with another lung infection that might be even more detrimental than COVID-19. And it’s the thought that, if it came to it, my cystic fibrosis might be the fatal mark against me, were I in competition for a ventilator with someone relatively young and otherwise healthy.

That’s an extreme, worst-case scenario. But it’s by no means impossible. And so I urge you to try to think about this pandemic differently. To consider that when you avoid social distancing guidelines — when you invite a large group of friends over because you’re all young and healthy, when you crowd people at the grocery store, when you take the subway to anything other than a job you absolutely can’t work from home — you aren’t just avoiding a lofty social responsibility to protect the weak. You are actively putting a huge swath of people in danger. And not the ones you’re imagining.

I know we’ve all been done a disservice with the amount of misinformation about this virus. Hell, a couple of weeks ago, even I was embarrassingly cavalier about it all. But I hope folks will begin to see that the point of social distancing isn’t just to protect you, it’s to protect the entire community. And though it might not sound like it, I actually have a huge deal of Pollyannaish faith in people. I’ve been so touched by the kindness my friends and family have shown me this last week, and I believe most people have the same instinct — that my neighbors, the ones I know and the ones I don’t, would never purposefully act in a way they thought might hurt me. Please prove I’m right.

Oh, and stop hoarding toilet paper. Cystic fibrosis affects the digestive system as well as the respiratory system, so I really need my toilet paper. Just saying.