Syracuse, NY – Onondaga County CEO Ryan McMahon is unable to drive.
He can not email. The 40-year-old can’t even shovel his driveway.
McMahon, who has been a constant, calm voice of pandemic reaction in Central New York for nearly a year, began to see double when he woke up on February 6th.
A night in the hospital, a series of tests and several follow-up visits to specialists ruled out the narrowest possibilities, including a stroke or brain tumor.
The leading candidate at this stage: pandemic tension.
“I’m more of the conclusion that it’s related to pandemics,” McMahon said. ‘When we see what this pandemic has done to the public and the community … the human side of things … it’s hard to vote. To eliminate it. To be honest with you, I can not turn it off. ”
Nearly a year into Covid-19, the county administration has been given the front seat for others’ loss, fear and frustration, he said.
McMahon revealed to Syracuse.com that the situation, even while joking, is serious. The nerve in his left eye was damaged and so far teams of doctors have not been able to locate a cause. There is currently no treatment plan.
He thought for a moment about keeping the crisis private, he said. But how could he? People would see him closing his eyes in meetings. They would see him squint and stumble, he said. They would hear that he was not driving himself. Of course they would wonder. They would come to their own conclusions.
McMahon was a voice of reason, a delivery system for common despair when deaths soared and for hope when the vaccine came online. He promised to be transparent about the pandemic response. He also needed to be transparent about the downfall in his life, he said.
“We were a big family in this and families share this kind of information,” McMahon said.
Onondaga County CEO Ryan McMahon presents the latest statistics on coronavirus infection rates and vaccinations on February 22, 2021. Dennis Nett | [email protected]
At his briefings, he still reminds people that he is still struggling. I see two Ann Rooneys, he pointed out at a recent briefing, referring to a top assistant. He made a joke and moved on.
Looking back, McMahon sees where it all started to go bad, he said. For him, the explosion of vaccines was just as stressful as the initial shutdown at the start of the pandemic, he said.
McMahon has no control over supply and little control over distribution. And he knows thousands of more people want the vaccine than they can get. They call him and leave messages.
Every time new slots open, his office is flooded with calls from people who have not reached it. There are thousands of them. People who are desperate for shots. Some are angry, others are worried. Some are just frustrated. McMahon is powerless to help them.
‘As rewarding as the vaccination process was, it was the most stressful. You have so many people who want it, and there is no way to get it for everyone. And it’s causing a reaction from the public or extreme frustration and despair, ‘McMahon said. “We feel it. We are the face of this. ”
Near the start of the vaccine explosion, McMahon started getting back spasms. He could not sleep. Usually he sleeps five hours; it has become much less, he said.
When he was at home at night, he regularly worked telephones with state and federal authorities and tried to gain access to vaccines.
He did not feel well when he went to work on February 5th.
It was one of the last times he drove. The sun was shining from the snow and he suddenly peeked as he drove down South Salina Street. His vision was funny after that, he said. He thought he just could not shake the glare.
He told himself he was just driven off. He thought he would go to sleep and his eyes would be normal when he woke up. He did not tell anyone how he felt.
But when he wakes up, he not only sees that awkward gleam. He saw double. He knew his brother, Tommy, had migraines. Maybe that was it, McMahon thought. He called him. The brothers waited a bit to see if it would become a headache or if his vision would clear up. Neither of the two happened.
McMahon told his wife, Caitlin, when she returned orders from Saturday morning. She took him to speak to his sister-in-law, who is a nurse.
She takes his blood pressure, which clocks in at 160 over 120.
McMahon had never seen his blood pressure so high. He has never had serious health problems, he said.
McMahon immediately called his doctor who told him to go to Crouse Hospital. The doctor was worried he might have a stroke.
Once there, McMahon lives his own version of the story he has heard so many times. He was alone in the hospital. He was ill. And he was terrified.
He had CT scans, an MRI and a spinal tap.
‘I’m scared to death of needles. And I was a pillow for a weekend, ‘McMahon said laughing.
The tests revealed that there is a nerve damage in his left eye, which makes it difficult and sometimes impossible to move his eye. However, there was no indication of what caused it, and therefore doctors consider stress as the reason.
McMahon wears glasses that help put everything in focus, but it gives him headaches when he wears them for a long time. Sometimes he reads with just one eye. His phone is easier to see than other screens, so he could do a few things on it.
But mostly he has to depend on others to do the things he can’t. Justin Sayles, his communications director, became his driver. McMahon usually answered most of the emails that came to the province’s mailbox because he wanted to do so. Now his staff does the same.
He intended to clean up his state of the nation address now, but it has to be postponed.
His vision got a little better. He went for a walk in his street and did OK, he said. But he can not manage the forests to which he walked to find some peace. The ground is too uneven for the way he sees it now.
McMahon was forced to work at a slower pace. If he tries to read too much, he should lie down until the headache disappears.
He got more time to play with Andrew, who is 4. And more time to sit on the couch and play a show or two with his older kids, Maddie and Jack.
But the thing that calms him down, that reminds him that it’s worth it, is the vaccination clinics in the Oncenter.
If he has a few minutes in those days, someone walks with him. Then he looked. He reminds himself this is what it’s about.
Streams of people who have been living in fear and isolation for months, stand as if waiting for a concert.
Nurses who have spent months on the pathways of Covid-19 infections are instead issuing a solution.
Both smile, McMahon said.
For now, he sees it twice.
Marnie Eisenstadt writes about people, public affairs and the Syracuse City School District. Contact her anytime email | Twitter| cell 315-470-2246.