Well, I had it again, that most dreaded plague, COVID-19.
I can’t believe this!!!
I was exposed to someone who was Covid positive Tuesday, Aug 30th. She didn’t know she had it then, and because she has an autoimmune issue, she wears a N-95 mask when outside her house the whole time. However, it turns out her housemate also had it and was not wearing a mask.
I tested negative 4 times, even though I knew I had it (I am beginning to recognize how it feels when it is coming on), and one of those was a test at my Doctor’s office that they sent out to the lab with a 24 hour results turn around (PCR Test, I believe). The other three negative tests were 2 different brands of home testing kits.
I was starting to feel better Monday and so did not test then. It wasn’t until Tuesday, Sept. 6th, in the evening that I started to feel worse again, with a persistent dry, yet chesty, cough. Finally, at 3 AM Wed morning, I tested again, as I couldn’t sleep because of the cough.
Sure enough: Positive.
It wasn’t even a “maybe this might be two lines.” No, it was glaringly positive.
Thinking I might be positive, when I started coughing Tuesday evening, I sequestered myself in our guest room/office/my yarn room where we still have my mom’s extremely comfy mattress on top of the furniture store’s adjustable bed frame. Add one of my wedge pillows, and I can sit up perfectly straight to knit, or easily lean back for a nap in comfort.
Yes, I am getting this good at making sure I do not unnecessarily expose my family members, and making sure that I am comfortable 24/7, alone with a TV and streaming stick, my current knitting project, my journals, and my MacBook, all with chargers and cords, sequestered away, near the bathroom and kitchen, to make sure I do not pass on the plague to my hubby and son. (So far, so good. Both tested negative, and neither got any symptoms.)
You’d think that the break of being away from everybody would be welcome, especially when I was sick, but I don’t roll like that. No matter how sick I am or what I have going on, I crave human comfort and touch. Really, really need it. But I couldn’t risk getting a hug from my hubby, and it nearly drove me crazy.
When it was finally safe, about one week after I had tested positive, I collapsed into my hubby’s arms, crying with relief. Finally I could touch and be touched in return. I never realized how integral touch is to my mental well-being until I could not touch or be touched in return. It was awful!
Now, a month later, there is the intensifying concern of Long Covid. Every time I wind up Covid positive, the exhaustion is more intense than before, the recovery time to feeling functional again gets longer, and my breathing and asthma suffers for it. My fibromyalgia symptoms flare up more easily. My fatigue and brain fog symptoms intensify with no end in sight. It just plain sucks!
I’m done! Stop the Long Covid roller coaster; I want to get off!
What wonderful nugget of wisdom did I gain by having contracted Covid again, you may ask? None. Nothing. Zip. Nada.
There is no rhyme or reason to Covid. There is nothing to gain from having contracted Covid three times. Do I have more sympathy toward those that have had it just because I’ve also had it? Maybe a bit, but I was already an empathetic person who could put myself in another’s shoes and gain a bit of their perspective. It comes with being a sensitive and caring individual. So, did I really gain anything that was more than I’d lost to Covid? Definitely not. Covid is so far indebted to me, at this point, it’s not even remotely funny. But it keeps rearing its ugly head regardless.
Do I have to be alright with this virus’s invasion of my body? Certainly not. Do I have a right to be upset that the virus invaded my body again? Certainly yes. Do I have the right to be upset at those friends who unknowingly brought the virus into my life once again? No. The virus is everywhere these days, in its more mild, yet more virulent form, still ruining the lives of those it touches, through no fault of its own.
It’s a virus. It does what it does. Period. End of story.
The Painful Pagan 