To read Day 1 the introduction to the McKeegan COVID Chronicles go here: Ladies and Gentlemen, and Everyone in Between, COVID19 is in the House!
To read Day 2 go here: McKeegan COVID Chronicles Day 2
McKeegan COVID Chronicles Day 3 – Sunday
Like yesterday, each of us started today with a temperature check. It was like the old days (prevaccination a year ago) except these days we are doing it because we know the virus intruder is already in the house. Sick Kid is still sick.
Sick Kid Symptom Report:
- congestion – continual snuffling snot
- occasional gunky cough
- sneezing – those germs are still doing arial cartwheels
He felt somewhat better today because he didn’t have a headache or body aches. No squishy poop either. I think he’s over the shock of his mother reporting publically on his BMs. Thanks for understanding, Kid.
So far no one else has a fever or other symptoms. I check my temp every time I have a hot flash, so, you know, the thermometer is going to need new batteries soon.
I still have the mom-tireds and a general worn-out feeling that I don’t remember living without. These things just seem to be me. Did I feel this way before March 2020? Who the hell remembers. I only remember wondering if this crazy virus thing that was happening would ruin my Happy Therapy Office Queendom. Y’all know how that worked out.
My mild “allergy” congestion continues. Is this actually the intruder? Is the virus lurking underneath there? When I look out at all the smoke in the air from burn piles in our neighborhood, ’tis no wonder it feels something like spring or autumn. Heck, I was out there for two hours yesterday tending our burn pile. Probably did it to myself.
You see, if we had more than four home rapid antigen tests, I’d test myself right this minute. I’d stick that little swabby stick up there and swirl it all around and clench my teeth doin’ it. I might even do it every other hot flash or so. But does it matter?
I feel compelled to conserve until I feel worse. Or a stack of tests magically appears in our bathroom.
Speaking of burn piles. I read late last night that a local burn pile “escaped” and burned three acres before it was contained. Really? Three acres? So … I stand corrected from my previous post. We are already in fire season in our neck-o-the-woods. F*** It’s January.
With a dry wind, that’s enough to get 3,000 acres burning lickety-split. Thankfully the big wind from Friday night had died down! I feel sorry for everyone whose power got knocked out again so soon after living through the Great Power Outage by Snowmaggedan.
Back to living with COVID in the house.
It seems strange to think of a year ago as the “old days.” We let go of our daily temperature check routine (except Husband who reports it on workdays to his employer) in the months after getting vaccinated. It wasn’t exactly a conscious spoken agreement, hey woohoo let’s party, we’re done with that. It happened gradually as we relaxed a bit and came to trust the vaccine would at least keep us from becoming deathly ill or dying.
Our vigilance waning was a sign of feeling less threatened by the thought of COVID19 harming us. It was not complacency by any means.
Daily Temperature Checks are back in fashion. Lucky us.
I also started my day with the routine exuberant greeting from Roxy the Rocket. She’s our old-girl Mini-Australian Shepard. We can always count on her to lighten things up. She has one blue eye and one brown eye and expresses her joy for living and love of her humans with a tail nub-waggin, nose-kissin,’ wiggle-butt energy that would force a smile on a grumpy gorilla.
Her happiness can be downright dangerous if you get in her way. She runs from my bedroom nearly to the other end of our house at rocket speed. “Go Roxy Go!” we shout, and off she goes with the moment’s favorite chew toy between her teeth.
Roxy also gets very concerned when I laugh. I try to tell her Seinfeld is not poison and laughing is medicine but she acts kinda like the cat when we cry. She climbs up on me and tries to lick my face.
An amazing thing happened today. After sharing my blog posts with friends and family by text, we received so many warm encouraging messages for Sick Kid’s speedy recovery. Thank you!
I also heard their virus stories.
A cousin who lives far away told me she has COVID right now. She took care of her family members who were all sick, including her grandbaby, then she got sick. It is their second go-’round. Everyone’s doing okay.
A local friend who happens to be a caregiver for frail elderly is sick with the virus. She said the first three days were the worst. She seems to be on the mend.
One of my best friends from high school told me her story of getting the virus in March 2021. She still can’t smell anything in her left nostril. What the heck? That’s gotta be weird. How do you smell half a hotdog?
It’s a fucking wildfire. A big fucking firestorm driven by relentless dry winds. There’s nowhere to evacuate to but many people will be okay.
Then. Tonight I heard from a friend who just last week finished five months of chemotherapy. She was doing the Happy Dance last week and feeling good. Tonight she’s in the hospital with a fever and too weak to text. God. Please keep her safe.
The rude guest in our house is nothing more than an impertinent bastard causing temporary disruption and discomfort.
If it enters my friend’s body, she could die.
Sunset as promised. Pretty boring again. The most notable aspect was the hazy smoke. The view you are looking at between the trees used to be filled with a big Live Oak with a squirrel’s nest at the top. I used to watch it from my bedroom window. Yesterday a squirrel screamed at me from halfway up the only thing left of the tree after the 50-year snowstorm: a broken-off trunk 20′ tall. No branches left. At all.
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