COVID. ME TOO.

It seems ridiculous to even report the "stats" for Covid in the U.S. at this point, but just because it's instructive to do so compared to when I started writing about this over two years ago, here we are:  89.3 million cases of Covid confirmed (far, far more in actuality) resulting in 1.02 million deaths.  This has not been good.

Where to begin?  How to recap?  I simply can't.  Suffice to say my rage and despair over this pandemic only occasionally abates.  I no longer live in fear and dread with heart-thumping anxiety, rather more with unrelenting awareness of being cautious, assessing every encounter outside my home for safety, analyzing my "Covid Risk Budget" to see what I can "spend"on any particular day without going over.  Only one coffee/lunch date a week max.  Rarely see friends so I can "spend" my risk on family.  No need to go to a restaurant unless I can sit outside.  Mask, mask, mask in every store or other indoor venue.  It's a lethal game of Price is Right.

From what I observe, Hub and I are in the vast minority of folks even trying anymore.  Masks are again rare; bars and restaurants and concert and sports venues are full.  Everyone is just "back to normal" except for the fact that the current Omicron Variant ba.5 is the most contagious yet, evading vaccinations and boosters and prior-Covid immunities.  It's running like wildfire through the population with hospitalizations ticking up (especially amongst the ridiculously unvaccinated).  But oh well.  I guess.  No one seems to care.

What I do know is that even when one is on a strict budget, there is a risk of overspending.  We had Son One and his family here for dinner last Saturday.  Monday I got a call that my son had Covid.  By Tuesday evening I did too.  I take responsibility.  I have decided not to mask at family gatherings, which are rare enough that I thought I'd play the odds.  I lost.

Hub had left town Tuesday morning for a long-anticipated solo camping trip to the ocean where there is little to no cell reception.  So he was oblivious to my status, enjoying the pleasures of his vacation while I fought chills, fever, cough, sore throat, runny nose -- all the common symptoms -- home alone.

I knew to get on the phone with the Clinic and ask for the antiviral Paxlovid so at 7:00 a.m. on Wednesday I made the call.  I had to jump through the tele-health hoop of an interview with some doc I never met before, but he approved the prescription and by 10 a.m. I grabbed the meds at the drive-thru pharmacy and I had my first dose on board.  It is early days of that drug, still rather unknown except for the fact that it's 92% effective in keeping people out of the hospital. 

I can't believe it's only been 4 days since my diagnosis.  It feels like 4 weeks.  My whole world got thrown off kilter.  Time seems fluid.  I just lie on the sofa, exhausted and feeling generally unwell, while reading, napping, and compulsively checking my temperature which has bounced between 99-102, although it's been normal for 24 hours now.  I'm grateful not to have been too sick to take care of myself.  I'm doing OK alone.  Lonely.  But OK.  

Given my medical anxiety I would have thought terror would be my primary symptom, but that hasn't been the case.  I have a strange and rare response to all of this of the "que sera sera" variety.  I'm doing all I can do.  I'll either be OK or I won't.  But it's not fun to feel sick.  Not fun at all.

Hub finally was able to retrieve my text from Tuesday as he found cell service a couple days later while kayaking on a lake. We've even managed a couple of phone calls.  He reports he's having a great trip, but worries about me.  He plans to stay there a few extra days to avoid exposure.

By tomorrow evening my 5 days of Paxlovid therapy will be completed.  I'll re-test.  Fingers crossed.

At least, that's the view from here...©