Yeah. After lockdown and all the required vaccinations as well as booster shots, wearing a mask in public for what seemed like—forever, traveling both domestically and overseas on flights as long as 8 ½ hours, jammed packed at customs—and close enough to others to become impregnated (if I was that young and productive), staying home and becoming more of a misanthropic individual than I ever was.
I tested positive for Covid.
Thank goodness the “T” line is not as dark as it was a few days ago!
There are definitely mixed feelings about this and I’ll address it as I go further into this post.
On Christmas, I had a cold. Nothing to the chest, just a head cold of sorts and feeling a bit tired. Nevertheless, I took it easy. Since The Frenchman’s granddaughter is in a community presentation of the play “Mary Poppins”, they decided to forego Christmas dinner with us as they didn’t want his 12-year-old granddaughter exposed to germs. And I get that.
Basically, this is what I’ve been going through.
And so, Christmas, as you read in my previous blog post was restful and quiet. Just me. Roman. The Frenchman. Roman went home the Tuesday after Christmas. I had a few days off with the return to the office last Thursday.
And my return to work was quiet but very productive. Nobody was in the office and I had the opportunity to catch up on mail, tidying up the facilities and wait for a delivery that never arrived. Yet, I thought this “cold” was lingering. Something felt “off” and yet it didn’t.
Yessssssss! I was happy to be back at work–even if for one day! I honestly enjoy my new job!
So that evening I took a Covid test at home. We ordered quite a few free tests and had a plethora of them in our main bathroom.
We have quite the number of these tests. I fact, my obsessive personality has me taking these tests more than I should.
I carefully followed the directions on the test. Opening the swab gingerly, making sure my hands were clean (as if it really mattered), and, went to town showing the swab up my nose to ensure that I was collecting whatever traces of disease were lining the wideness of my nostrils.
With the focus of a scientist, I placed my dirty swab into a little plastic container and swirled it around 15 times with the liquid that was securely ensconced into said container.
Yes. I take my obsession with these Covid tests very seriously.
And then, I placed my three drops of my snotty residue into a small oval opening that would lead to the area which would tell me whether or not I was infected.
It came as quite a surprise when I discovered a positive result. In fact, I’m such a Doubting Thomasina that I repeated the test. Three times. Positive.
I’m obsessed and triggered at the same time.
You have no idea what went through my head. I was thinking about heading to the emergency room. After all, I had heard more than my share of Covid horror stories since my previous job was dealing in healthcare. Thank God in Heaven I am no longer working at a triggering job.
But I thought the worst. I envisioned myself under an oxygen tent, gasping for a molecule of air. I saw my temperature rise 1000 degrees. I wondered if I needed to be placed into an iron lung. I started to cry. Not little tears but sobbing, ugly tears. To the point my husband thought I needed to be placed in the ER for my mental health as opposed to the physical.
Well, yeah. I was also crying because I was hungry. I’ll admit it.
Here’s the thing that bothered me though—and please, please, please my friends, please correct me if I’m wrong—because I could be….wrong, that is.
What really bothered me is that, after almost three years, the vaccines, the boosters, the mask-wearing, and the fact my blood type is O Negative, I was under the impression that I wouldn’t get Covid. At all. My competitive nature makes me feel as though I lost the sport of avoiding this annoying condition.
It’s true. I couldn’t win at the game of keeping Covid at bay and it pisses me off.
Granted, the media did a fantastic job into showcasing the horror of not getting vaccinated—and I appreciate that. The media also did a stellar job of managing to showcase how politicians could have saved millions of lives—but I’m not going to touch upon that right now.
I only wish the media had showcased a more realistic picture of what can happen after you comply—after you get your vaccinations and boosters and follow the rules.
Fact is, I don’t feel bad. I’ve had colds where I was a lot worse. Where I couldn’t speak (which everyone I’ve lived with was thankful) for a week, where my chest was like a rattling old trunk, where my only meals were the daily amounts of mucus that flowed down my throat into my belly.
Believe me, I’ve had colds far worse than I’m feeling with this Covid.
There’s none of that. No sweats. No fever. No chest cough. Just sneezing and what appears to be a congested head. I swear to you even the stuff that comes out of my nose into a tissue is clear! Albeit, there’s a lot of that clear stuff running into the tissues…and dripping on my pajama tops.
Quite honestly, the worst part about Covid was sneezing made my hemorrhoids worse.
I think hemorrhoids should be a symptom of Covid. From one end to the other!
Yesterday, we were able to take down all the Christmas decorations. I cursed at the lights that were difficult to unravel because I should have unraveled them when the tree fell on top of me but I was too lazy. I, along with The Frenchman, lugged tubs up and down flights of stairs, lifted the tree out of the tree stand so my husband could put the tree outside, wrote a blog post—overall I was very productive.
When it warms up a bit I’ll transplant the Poinsettias into a large pot.
From the family room on the lower level..
To the foyer..
..and
..the..
..living room. All traces of Christmas are gone. Back to beige..well…
…the Catholic in me is leaving the fake tree in the sunroom up until Epiphany. Then it’s being dismantled.
And so, today I’m home. And just as our Christmas tree slightly overstayed it’s welcome—as the branches started to droop and dry out; I’m feeling like I’ve overstayed my welcome at home. I had a nice time being home for the holidays but I want to get back to work. I enjoy working.
The good tree waits patiently to be picked up.
That process of waking up when the alarm rings at 6:00 AM, gives me joy—because it’s another day that I woke up. I love brushing away that morning feeling with a dab of toothpaste squeezed upon that brush that’ll enter my mouth. The feel of the splash of cool water hitting my face rejuvenates me. And the feeling of moisturizer over my face makes me well-aware that I’m keeping my skin soft.
When that alarm rings–I’m up. No snooze button for me!
When my husband brings me my coffee as I’m “putting my face” on makes me happy. And deciding what outfit to wear is one decision I’m never indecisive about. My morning commute through Valley Forge Park relaxes me as I listen to my music.
And then when I arrive at work, I’m ready to handle any tasks that come my way.
What I don’t enjoy is being stuck at home when I would rather be at the office. It’s weird. At 10:25 AM I finished a nice cup of tea.
I know. I know. My tea mug is naughty but today, that’s how I feel. I just want to get back to work!!!!!!!!!!
I applied nail strengthener to my nails and I’m hungry. But since I’m making yet the 1,000,000th attempt at losing weight, I’m drinking water instead. And I’m still hungry. I could actually go for a burger topped with melted Swiss cheese, sauteed onions and cooked mushrooms along with a large chocolate shake. Yeah. My taste buds are longing!
My taste buds are in working order–as is my nose!
Actually, I’ll go into the living room, plop my butt on one of the sofas, turn the TV and peruse through Netflix to find something to watch!
Honestly, have you had a mild case of Covid? I’m pretty sure it’s safe to assume you’ve all been vaccinated and boostered. So please if you did have Covid anyway, I would love you to share your experiences.
I’ll be back to wearing a mask on my own accord!
Welcome to 2023!