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The double lines in the little test window showed up remarkably fast.
Every rapid Covid test Iâd taken previously had involved 15 minutes of uncertainty, watching the test solution gently stain the paper strip rosy pink until it finally coalesced into a single solid magenta line: negative. But this time? BANG: two distinct lines in the space of about 20 seconds. When Iâd told Jeremy I felt like I was coming down with a cold on Friday, he said âmaybe itâs the ârona,â because these days anything could be the ârona: a vague headache, a slightly scratchy throat, a general feeling of malaise. So I said, only half-joking, âYeah, maybe!â
No maybe.
I knew it was just a matter of time. I donât say that in a blasé way, like I wasnât concerned about getting it, or I was so fatalistic that I wasnât being careful anymore. Jeremy and I have still been âcareful,â but careful is relative. We both spend the vast majority of our time at home. We donât often take public transportation or go into shops, but when we do, we wear proper masks (KF94s, for the record, not because theyâre coolâthough ours are black and indeed kind of coolâbut because theyâre comfy and work well with glasses). If we meet friends at all, we meet them outdoors. However, and this is BIG however, we also play in Irish music sessions twice a week in pubs that are usually quite empty, but not always. Weâve ventured out for lunch the past few Fridays, and weâve gone to the pub up the hill for a Sunday roast a few times, too. Weâre not hermits anymore. The pandemic has been a balancing act all along, and recently our balance has tipped slightly more towards âdoing stuffâ than ânot doing stuff,â with all the risk that entails.
And now, predictably, I have the ârona. In a perverse way, itâs almost a reliefâlike, this thing I knew was eventually coming for me is finally here, so the nervous anticipation is over and I can just deal with it. Itâs mostly been like dealing with a really bad cold: congestion, sore throat, tiredness, achiness, and a headache that sort of comes and goes (could be the âOmicron headache,â could also just be my sinuses). I havenât lost my sense of smell or taste, other than in the way you lose it when your nose is all stuffed up. I was slightly feverish on Sunday and I havenât been sleeping particularly well, but my oxygen levels are fine, and Iâm hoping that my recent booster shot (less than two months ago) and my otherwise decent health will keep me from experiencing anything worse than this. I sure donât like to think of how this wouldâve played out if I hadnât been double vaxxed and boosted.
As for poor Jeremy, heâs tested negative so far (phew!), but attempting to stay apart from each other in a tiny two-bed flat is not the most straightforward prospect. Heâs sleeping on the pull-out couch, Iâm sealing myself in our bedroom at night, we keep the windows open even though itâs rather brisk outside, and I wear a mask when Iâm around him and have washed my hands raw. It may all be for nought; I was presumably infectious for at least a day or two before the symptoms showed up, so he had a few days to unwittingly breathe in my COVID miasma (yum), and I might just be reaching peak virus shedding right now. Maybe heâll get lucky and dodge the virus this time. I certainly hope so; I really donât want to be the one to make him sick.
As for who made me sickâwho knows? I did precisely four risky things last week, which is probably the most reasonable window of infection: our Saturday-morning tune-learning workshop, a Sunday lunch, an Irish session on Wednesday, and a driving lesson on Thursday (a story for another time). My money is on either the Wednesday session or, much more likely, the Sunday lunch, both of which took place without masks in pubs, one of which (the lunch) was quite busy. No one Iâve been in close contact with since then has tested positive, which is a relief and also a testament to the power of vaccines. Iâll never know exactly where I picked up Mr. Omicron, but Iâm doing everything I can to make sure Iâm the last link in whatever chain of infection led to me.
So, physically, this whole thing has been manageable. Mentally and emotionally, though? I donât know. A few weeks ago I was scrolling through my Instagram feed in search of a particular picture, and as I swept past all the photos from 2020, of Jeremy and I mostly alone at home, I suddenly felt such a piercing sadness that I started to cry. I canât quite explain why, other than to say that I felt so sorry for the people in those pictures, even though they were doing fine, trying to make the best of a horrible situation and doing a decent job of it. Itâs not like I didnât feel sad and scared and stressed out all through 2020 and beyondâI have a yearâs worth of blog posts to remind me of exactly how I felt every single week. But I also buried a lot of emotions very deep, just to get through the days, and in the past month Iâve started to feel like those emotions are being thrust to the surface of my consciousness through some sort of psychological plate tectonics.
Just a day or two before I started feeling sick, I was thinking idly about our washing machine, and how it broke before the first lockdown in 2020. We were supposed to have a new one delivered on March 26, 2020. On March 24th I was still expecting that to happen. But then March 26th suddenly became the first day of lockdown, so the delivery was canceled, and I immediately started to catastrophize about what might happen if one or the other of us (or both of us) caught Covid. We couldnât do laundry at home, we wouldnât be able to get to a laundromat, and all the laundry collection services were saying that they wouldnât take laundry from anyone with suspected Covid. I went into a proper panic about it at the time, imagining every worst-case scenarioânot just that weâd catch Covid, which was a terrifying enough prospect at the time, but that weâd be trapped at home, ailing, feverish, in piles of dirty bedding. When I thought back on this the other day, it was with a sense of distanced relief; that worst-case scenario never happened, and the thought of getting Covid now (post-vax, post-boost, in the Age of Omicron) was not nearly as panic-inducing for me personally as it was back then (though I know thatâs certainly not the case for everyone). Also, we have a functioning washing machine again.
But when I saw those double lines appear on the lateral flow test on Friday, the past two years briefly collapsed into nothing and I was plunged back into the fear of early 2020. I tried to explain it to Jeremy, disjointedly recounting my memory of the broken washing machine, but I was upset and couldnât make it make sense. âYou were afraid we wouldnât have clean towels?â he asked, gently perplexed. But of course that wasnât it. Back in March 2020, when we didnât have a washing machine and no one had any protection against this unfamiliar virus that was killing so many people in such an awful way, I was afraid that Jeremy would catch Covid and he would be lying there gasping for breath in sweat-soaked sheets and I wouldnât be able to help him, not even by washing the damn sheets. The seemingly trivial inability to do laundry was symbolic of the more general feeling of helplessness that overwhelmed me at the time. That fear of helplessness is one of the things I thought had evaporated in the intervening months, but in fact it was just another thing that got buried, only to resurface when I realized I had finally caught the virus Iâd been dreading for so long.
Of course, weâre not totally helpless now. A friend of mine has been publishing a Calm Covid newsletter (âLow-key compilations of data, advice, and interpretation as omicron takes overâ), and just a few weeks ago she posted a piece on what to do if youâve got Covid. I bookmarked it at the time, figuring we might need it sooner or later, not realizing the emphasis would be on sooner. After I saw my positive result, and Jeremy tested negative, and I had a little freak-out, and Jeremy calmed me down, we tried to come up with a plan. Since it was bedtime, the first part of the plan involved getting Jeremy set up on the sofa bed. I kept my distance from him while he fixed up the pull-out couch, and then we waved goodnight to each other, and he closed the living room door, and I went to my office and had a little cry. I knew that I was probably going to be just fine, if a bit miserable for a few days, and I knew that it wasnât inevitable that Jeremy would catch Covid from me, but I felt scared and sad and alone nonetheless.
And then I opened up Erinâs newsletter and felt a little less alone. I followed the link to the Vox article she recommended and was heartened by its closing paragraphs: âEven if youâve told yourself youâll likely get Covid-19 eventually and itâs probably not a big deal, itâs still totally reasonable to feel overwhelmed and upset by a positive test. [â¦] âItâs okay to be concerned, itâs okay to have those types of feelings. [â¦] No one wants to experience illness of any kind, whether weâre talking about Covid-19 or any type of a virus â no one wants to get sick.ââ I did feel overwhelmed and upset, even knowing that I probably didnât need to be, but that was okay. The fears of two long years arenât easily shed.
I always feel better when I feel like Iâm doing something about something, so before going to bed I quickly brushed up on the latest Covid guidance I could find, I dug out the thermometer and pulse oximeter I bought back in April 2020, I checked our medication situation, and I ordered a bunch of fresh Covid tests: a new pack of lateral flows, figuring weâd be testing quite a bit over the following week, and (after slightly hemming and hawing because the guidance on this isnât so clear anymore) two PCR tests as well, just for extra confirmation. Iâve said it before and Iâll say it again: the availability of free tests delivered straight to your door is a godsend I will never take for granted. I didnât even know you could get free PCR tests deliveredâand picked up by courier if needed!âif youâve tested positive with an LFD at home. And if we hadnât had a pack of LFDs sitting here, I might have gone around for several more days thinking I just had a cold and not Covid, possibly making someone elseânot least my own husbandâvery, very sick. Jeremy has also been able to test every day to make sure heâs still negative, even though heâs essentially isolating too (though technically he doesnât have to, even if heâs not testing regularly, which seemsâ¦weird to me?). If nothing else, the tests are acting as little waypoints, giving us some sort of indicator as to where we are on this Covid journey.
Iâm hoping this particular journey is coming to an end. Iâm on day six now and feeling much better, though Iâm still a bit congested and tired. Our PCR tests showed that I do indeed have the virus and Jeremy does not, and the lateral flow test I took this morning was still annoyingly positive (though maaaaybe that second line was a bit fainter than it has been?), so Iâm still locking myself down. I was really hoping for a negative test today as some sort of quantifiable marker that Iâm getting over this thing, but I guess Iâll have to make do with improved energy levels and the feeling of frustrated boredom that has replaced the frightened uncertainty of Friday and the achy exhaustion of the days that followed. If Iâm getting back to my usual grumpy, impatient, vaguely dissatisfied self, I must be doing alright.
I seem to have left pieces of myself scattered around the internet. This is my attempt to pull some of those pieces together.