machado: between relentless covid, a broken health-care system and lettuce that costs $15, it's hard not to feel under attack

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if you're feeling as if danger is all around you, that you are vulnerable and powerless, you may have developed a little 'siege mentality,' and you're not alone.

by lisa machado

published nov 21, 2022

last updated feb 21, 2025

8 minute read

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8 minute read

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telling stories is one way to take back control

under siege: the unrelenting feeling that you are under attack, in constant danger, powerless and vulnerable. getty

“i’m feeling like i am under siege.”

this from a woman that i met a few years ago in a store that sold socks, nylons and leggings. i had spotted her through the window from across the street — she had been locking the door of the store from the inside, turning a key with one hand and pulling a brown woollen poncho over her head with the other.

i was on my way to a fancy event about new cancer treatments — they had called it a “gala.” there were so many reasons i wanted to go — my brother’s cancer doctors were going to be there and i thought maybe i could steal some unofficial time with them to talk about a clinical trial i had heard about. there was also someone from a pharma company who had arranged for a seat at a table with him and his boss — i wanted to make a pitch for a patient education platform. and finally, a woman i knew who had lung cancer was going to speak and i had joked that i would be there to lead a standing ovation.

my freelance writing income was a far cry from the price of the new dress i had bought for the evening — at the time, hudson’s bay had what my workmates and i called the “bougie section” that featured all the fancy designers and sometimes there were sales. this particular little black dress was without a red sticker, but something about its shiny expensive black fabric and the tiny sequins that ran along the hem and down the seams of the arms made this absolutely regular-priced dress impossible to put back on the hanger.

of course, what i paid for the dress i had to make up with other things, so i cheaped-out on the shoes — they were also black and sequined and on sale at a small store that sold dusty shoes and gum on yonge street. where its name should have been was brown water-stained paper peeling away from the old sign underneath: “hot chicken” is what it said. and “magnificent!” was what the thin grey-haired man who worked there said when the shiny shoes were on my feet. he had insisted on kneeling in front of me, gingerly taking the shoes out of the box that he had brought upstairs from the basement — the lower ledge, he had called it — pulling out the crinkled paper stuffed in the toe part of the shoes, and slipping them on my feet.

they didn’t look too shabby in the large hand mirror he held up to my ankle, at just the right angle so i could see the reflection as i looked down. admittedly, the heels were a bit shaky and if i looked close, i could see the dried white glue that held each sequin in place — but i just needed them to last for a few hours and i figured it would be dark so no one would notice.

the night of the gala was a beautiful fall evening — the leaves had just begun to drop in the breeze. the traffic on toronto’s bloor street was slow, so feeling all fancy, i asked the cab driver to pull over, i would walk the rest of the way.

as i walked my shoes felt like they were stretching and soon my heels were coming out of the shoes, which by then were hitting the bottom of my feet like flip-flops. not only were they making a loud slapping noise, i found myself sliding my feet in the shoes along the ground instead of lifting them up in order to keep them from falling off. i was bent over slightly, with arms out as if i were cross-country skiing.

i might have been able to move along this way, head held high, ignoring stares from passersby, all the way to the hotel where the gala was being held had it not been for the sewer grate that i fell into. the heel of one shoe got wedged between the grates, and looking down, i could see the neat line of sequins that had been scraped off, hanging off the side of the heel. not only that, my other foot had come out of the shoe and landed on something sharp, ripping my nylons and exposing a bare heel and my baby toe.

that’s when i saw the woman in the leggings store.

shoes in hand, i sprinted across bloor street with one bare heel, getting to the store just as she turned off the lights. she looked up and saw me, clearly annoyed as she continued to gather her purse and water bottle. i knocked loudly, holding my dirty foot up to show her my torn nylons and the ruined shoe. it didn’t seem like she cared that much — and by that time, i was actually caring a little less myself. i turned and walked away, the nylon on one foot had completely come apart by this time and rolled up to the middle of my shin.

“miss?” i turned around and she was standing at the open door waving.

words tumbled out of me as she handed me a few different packages of black nylons — control top, shiny, matte, fishnet. i told her about the shoes, and the cancer doctors and my ovation idea. she had a large scar that ran sideways across the bottom of her neck, just above her collarbone. it was still a shiny red colour.

we sat together for a bit on a ledge in the front window, along with a large naked mannequin standing with one leg bent: ready for action. someone had drawn a small happy face in red pen on one of the nicely-rounded butt cheeks. the woman mentioned that she had just had surgery for thyroid cancer, but she wasn’t sure if they got all of it.

“i lie in bed and i am sure i can feel the cancer spreading, like i am itching on the inside,” she said, absent-mindedly twisting her right ear as she added that she is always scared. “i feel like i am under siege.”

i too remembered that awful feeling in the days after finding out i had cancer. as if i was under attack, but i had no weapons — no way to fight back. things were happening to me that were so beyond my control and my only role was as a spectator, waiting anxiously to see how it all ended. for me, the feeling was tingly and hot, and i imagined it like waves of something dark and sinister moving through my body, silently stealing from me and taking over. she laughed sadly as i described it. i told her how a doctor once guffawed loudly when i asked if it was possible to “feel” cancer cells multiplying.

siege mentality is a common challenge for humans

it would be another year until i learned from a psychologist at princess margaret cancer centre that this was a common challenge, not only for people living with cancer, but humans in general. there was a name for it even: siege mentality.

clinically, it’s the unrelenting feeling that you are under attack, in constant danger, powerless and vulnerable. you may feel risk all around you and find it difficult to trust that others have your best interests at heart. of course, during covid, we have seen the worst of siege mentality with anti-vaxxers, for example, who don’t believe that government attempts at public safety are legitimate, that the media reports of risk and death are lies and that vaccine manufacturers are out to get them.

i would also learn about the importance of stories as a way to take back control — sharing with others what you believe is the threat and then having someone else (usually an expert like a counsellor or doctor, but it could also be a friend, or a stranger in a leggings shop) reframe your perceptions into what’s accurate. it can sometimes help to clarify what’s rational to worry about and what’s anxiety, depression or fear.

on that night though, i had nothing for the worried woman helping me choose nylons, other than commiserating and making her laugh as i used scotch tape to reattach the sequins hanging from the heel of one shoe.

she said she had other worries, like getting h1n1 — the health crisis at the time. her store manager had also mentioned closing up shop to move to mexico and the guy who owned her condo was getting into airbnb. and of course, she felt alone.

i often wonder what she is thinking today, as the world collectively bears down against a virus that is so much bigger than h1n1 ever was. add in the flu, other respiratory illnesses, burnt-out health-care systems, life-saving medications too expensive for anyone to be able to afford and lettuce that costs $15, and “under siege” once again seems like a very appropriate descriptor for the life we’re living.

perhaps one small difference is that while the woman with the scar might have felt like she was alone in her cancer and worries about her job and keeping her apartment, these days we’re keenly aware that we’re all feeling some brand of “siege” in terms of the big things like covid, financial insecurity and a broken health-care system. and yet each of us is very alone in the ways our individual lives are being impacted.

before i left the store wearing my new nylons — “control top if you plan on eating,” the woman had advised — she tore some paper off of the roll inside the cash register, and stuffed the toes of my shoes until my feet fit tightly, and wished me luck with “everything.” she said she felt better than she had in a long time, as if she was “going to get through it all.”

i too wished her luck and showered her with thanks for letting me in, for the chat and for the nylons that she refused to let me pay for.

i did get to the gala finally — there was a no to the clinical trial, a yes to the patient platform and a huge overwhelming ovation for my friend who beamed with strength and perseverance.

the next day i sent a note to the manager of the leggings store to let him know how much the woman had helped me, and how much she deserved a role in another store if he decided to close. not even a week later, there was a “for lease” sign hanging around the neck of the naked mannequin, and no trace of the woman.

maybe she is somewhere in the city, still feeling worried and scared. or perhaps she is sitting in a warm coffee shop, telling this story like i am, hopefully having a few laughs, and remembering that there can be moments of peace and strength and hope when you feel alone and “under siege” in just sharing your story.

lisa machado is the executive producer of healthing.ca.

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lisa machado

lisa machado began her journalism career as a financial reporter with investor's digest and then rogers media. after a few years editing and writing for a financial magazine, she tried her hand at custom publishing and then left to launch a canadian women's magazine with a colleague. after being diagnosed with a rare blood cancer, lisa founded the canadian cml network and shifted her focus to healthcare advocacy and education.