Covid Outlier No More

I am always late for the party. If the cool kids do something, eventually I catch up. Usually when most people have moved on to the Next Big Thing.

This time that meant I got Covid in March of 2023. I feel a little like Paul in All Quiet on the Western Front.

I mean isn’t Covid over?

I didn’t even feel terrible. Other than one day when I only got out of bed to feed the horses and dogs, and never changed out of my pjs, it wasn’t that bad.

The dogs LOVED sleeping on the bed with me for nearly 24 hours straight. So there’s that. (Let me bust one myth: Covid did not interfere with my sense of smell. At all. That would have been a plus, since I was sharing close space with three extremely farty Great Danes.)

As for me, I was just tired. I also had leg cramps from being squashed by the giant immobile dogs, but that is a whole other story.

I felt like I had a bad cold. You know, stuffy head, an occasional cough, sneezing and a runny nose. So very sexy, I know.

Because I was pretty good about wearing masks in public, I hadn’t even had a cold since before Covid started. Which was why all of the test kits that the government sent out in 2021 were sitting untouched in my medicine cabinet. I used one. It lit up like a Christmas Tree.

Naturally, I didn’t believe it.

I had a COLD damn it! Anyway the tests had expired. Normally I don’t believe anything goes bad on the expiration date, but since I was grasping at straws, I checked online and sure enough, the internet said that expired tests often give false positives. 

The internet is always correct, right?

Still, the next day when I ran out to pick up a few essentials at the store, I wore a fresh new mask. And bought a thermometer.  (Side note: I have THREE horse thermometers, but none for humans. Horse people understand.) And a new test kit.  Just in case.

I had a lot to do that day so after I shopped, I cleaned the barn, spent a few hours mowing the grass, and a few other equally necessary tasks before it was scheduled to rain again.

I was tired, but it’s a push mower. (Don’t judge me: it was cheap. And so am I.) Finally I sat down and took the test.

I set a timer and then my sister-in-law called. I assured her that I didn’t have Covid, but I was being cautious. We talked for a few minutes, hung up and the timer went off.

Two dark lines. 

NOOOOOO!

I was so incredibly pissed.

For one thing, I had been so careful. Not only was I still the Queen of the Masks (in stores and other crowded places) but even more important, except for going to the barn, which is outside, I rarely did anything involving other people.  (Anti-social? Or just careful?  You decide.)

I do know exactly when I got Covid. I had to fly back East for the funeral of my beloved uncle. When my sister-in-law met me at the airport I told her that I was the only one wearing a mask and someone a few rows behind me hacked up a lung the entire way across country.

At the time it seemed funny. Now, so much.

It’s well-known that I’m not a hugger, but funerals are an exception.  So I hugged everyone.

This meant that my positive test had greater implications than for just me.  I had visions of being Patient Zero at the funeral. This was not a pleasant thought.

Thankfully, neither my 92-year-old Mom, nor my Aunt, who looks and acts like she is in her 40s, but is almost twice that age, seemed to have picked it up. Nor have any of the other attendees, geezers or whipper-snappers.

One day post-positive, I spent an hour trying to connect on a video call with my doctor to see if, in the words of the slogan, “Paxlovid was right for me.”  After the technology failed numerous times we ended up connecting on the phone.

I was already getting better and had no pre-existing conditions, so apparently Paxlovid was not right for me.

But I was giving instructions to quarantine for a few more days, drink liquids and rest.

At least the dogs were happy.