I've just gotten on the elevator, and I have a problem. The buttons are staring at me, all dark, waiting to be pushed. I look at the 5, knowing that's where I need to go, but I hesitate. Who knows how many germy fingers have touched it this morning? After staring at the panel for a few seconds, I poke the 5 with my elbow, happy nobody else is around to see my awkward, swine-flu-avoiding move. I have not always been a neurotic germaphobe. Even after I learned I was pregnant with my second child, I would share bottles of water with friends, gladly open doors and shake strangers' hands without a care. I thought it was healthy for my toddler to get a few colds to help boost her immune system. But since the swine flu outbreak, I've gone a bit off the rails. I now push doors open with my hip, scurry into restaurants on other patrons' heels so they have to hold the door for me, and always -- always -- have hand sanitizer within reach. My germ fixation began when I started reading reports about children and pregnant women being disproportionately at risk of dying or becoming horribly ill from the H1N1 virus. About 10,000 Americans have died from it, including 1,140 children, since April. A lot of those people were healthy before they got it -- and that's the key difference between the swine flu and the flu from seasons past. We've been told that pregnant women are 10 times as likely as other flu victims to be hospitalized if we get H1N1. Doctors now recommend the antiviral drug Tamiflu for us at the first signs of flu, even though it has not been tested on fetuses. I was terrified. I feared that pregnancy hormones might have put me in mommy overdrive, so I consulted my obstetrician, asking her how important it was for me to get the swine flu and seasonal flu shots. She told me a patient of hers years back died from the seasonal flu, and her husband's grandparents died in Spain from the 1918 flu, a strain similar to the one now circulating. That was all I needed to hear. But neither my obstetrician, my primary-care physician nor my daughter's pediatrician carried the H1N1 vaccine. I researched and strategized, and finally plotted a way to get my kid and me the shots without waiting in line for too long in a mob of fretting, potentially toxic parents. Victory! Once we got the shots, even my husband -- who had been just as freaked as me -- said there wasn't much of a threat anymore. But for me, fear lingered: The shot protects only 90 percent of pregnant women. And though it looks like we dodged the first wave of swine flu, I'm bracing for the expected winter round, and reports of a Tamiflu-resistant strain in the Washington area aren't helping. All this is to explain why if someone coughs within earshot of me, I shoot them a dirty look. I keep my daughter away from kiddie museums and other places I deem possible flu incubators. I sacrifice trees, wasting paper towels in public bathrooms to cover faucets as I turn them on and off. I feel ridiculous doing these strange dances. But I am terrified my daughter or I will get sick and end up in the hospital, or worse. I used to make fun of my germaphobe friends. Now I e-mail them every day so we can talk swine flu developments and the latest newspaper article about the most recent death toll. I don't blame the media for my Code Orange panic. I think the reporting has been responsible and informative. A good friend of mine wrote a column in The Washington Post telling everyone to chill. The message was lost on me. That same friend threw a Halloween party where 5 year olds bobbed for apples as their parents held their hair out of the water -- something she jokingly called 'swine stew.' I was aghast -- though I have to say, I don't think any of those kids got sick. Still, I'm not taking chances. I'd rather live in this anxiety-ridden world I've created for myself for a few more months than risk getting that dreaded flu. So if you see me doing strange rituals, please understand it's only temporary. Oh, and could you hold that door? 