I wish I could tell you we’re done with the coronavirus two-step. If you’re following along, surely you’re tired of the saga by now and ready to hear the rude guest has left the building.
If you’ve read all five days prior to today’s update, oh my god, I love you. This is a long post, but I promise tomorrow’s will be brief.
It’s. Not. Over. The party goes on until sunset on a day when the last sick person in this house seems past the worst of it.
OHMYGosh! It’s dark! I forgot to shoot the sunset!
If the customary sunset photo at the end is the only reason you are here, don’t fret. I found an alternate in my photo stash. It’s not sunset, but if you’re not impressed, then I’ll give up my secret photography fantasies.
Disclaimer (I wouldn’t want anyone to sue me for going slack on protocols – just ask my therapy clients, they know the drill. DISCLAIMER: THERAPY CLIENTS who read this DON’T ANSWER if someone actually asks): If you are here for medical drama or to lurk in on tragedy, you will be bored. I won’t apologize for disappointing you. If you are here for a laugh, I can’t guarantee that either, but occasionally I crack myself up. The rude guest in our house isn’t funny. I haven’t laughed writing this today.
So far, all the covid this and covid that in my head from the past two years is worse than the actual symptoms we are experiencing. Still, there is the psychological … . And disruption of normal life activities, like kids going to school.
If you must have a timeline (because you’d like to put this behind you, too), I can give you this:
- Sick Kid #1 is on Day 6 – The McKeegan COVID Chronicles are counted from his first day of symptoms and the positive home Ag test that day. SK1 still has low grade fever, the big D (he seems to have resigned himself to reporting his personal bathroom experience to the world thru his nosy mother), congestion – which is code for sinus stuff-n-snot, and the occasional gunky cough.
- Sick Kid #2 is on Day 3 – He seems to have on and off low grade fever, sore throat, and an occasional gunkiness. He hasn’t been as sick as SK1, his twin brother.
- Sick Mama – I don’t know what day I’m on. It crept up on me slowly mascarading (it’s a party in honor of an interloper, so, of course) as “allergy-like.” Then yesterday morning I woke up to the truth. I am sick. I feel like CRAP with sore tickly throat, fatigue and weakness – like there’s a virus running up and down my arms, congestion, mild nausea (which hasn’t affected my appetite whatsoever and you gotta know is disappointing because I want the 5lb weight loss consolation prize), watery eyes, and on and off runny nose. And then there’s the plugged left ear and the tinnitis which has kicked up into party-mode. Still no fever which, for one irrational reason (maybe then I’d get the positive red line?), I am begging for. No fever atall even though my body feels feverish-achy. Sorry, slangy Britishy hint there might be cuz I’ve been binging Downton Abbey instead of sleeping. Or maybe I’ve conjoured a distant cousin.
- Husband not sick.
We are in the middle of it, whatever the timeline turns out to be.
I’ll tell ya what’s harder on the body than what we are going through right now. Try Whooping Cough. Pertussis. I was sick with it in March 2020 when the shit hit the fan around the globe and everyone was worried they’d have to use butcher paper instead of daisy soft toilet paper to wipe their fannies. Nobody talks about whooping cough though. If you think it’s just for kids or doesn’t exist anymore, think again. If you don’t believe me, read what I wrote about it back then. I was five minutes from going to ER, but they didn’t want me unless I was actually about to die. Because of the pandemic, I wasn’t properly diagnosed for a month. A long sick month by which time the window for treatment to make the symptoms tolerable was long gone. I still gag on my phlegm after I brush my teeth, and live in terror of bronchitis.
At this point, and I reserve the right to change my mind, I’d do Omicron (my scientific analysis has determined this is the variant we are partyin’ with) any day instead of whooping cough. The only reason I can say that is because my family is not deathly ill.
Let’s talk about Husband
As we’ve determined, three out of four of us are sick. Husband is well. Husband is a land surveyor. He works outside. He’s had the least amount of exposure to the rude guest. His covid two-step is yet to begin, but he is the one I am most worried about. He has sleep apnea to the degree that I threw him out of our bedroom long ago. Freight trains disturb the beauty sleep my grandpa told me I needed. You’ll be glad to know he (Husband, not grandpa dear departed from us by lung cancer – don’t smoke, people) has a CPAP now and apparently is a quieter sleeper than I am.
The thing is, I’ve gotten used to having an acre of bed real estate and sleeping at 4am when Husband gets up for work, so he is only invited for penthouse visits. My bedroom is upstairs. I know what you are thinking. You are wrong. His room is downstairs. It’s the bachelor pad. It’s better ;-).
If this was Delta or the original novel coronavirus that started this global tragedy, I’d probably be so tense worrying about Husband that I could carry 100lbs of concrete balanced by a Chinese carrying pole on my shoulders. That’s how stiff and unyielding my body would be. I take that back. Actually, I would have demanded he go to Siberia, that way everyone would be spared my insanity worrying. He would have gone. I can be very persuasive.
Monday night I made Chicken Noodle Soup from Scratch. Just thought I’d tell you so everyone can feel comfortable knowing great minds think alike. I used turkey bone broth from the Thanksgiving batch.
The cat is yeowling to be let in. Hang on.
Because I work from home and there is a warm bed nearby, those are the exact words I am forced to tell my telehealth clients on a regular basis. He’s like a therapy cat who visits session but is really only there for himself. Kinda demanding.
I suppose now’s the time for a feline story, but I feel like shit so I’ve decided just to share a few photos. Photos are more fun than my yakkity-yak anyway.
This is Big Kitty.
I’ve been holding back on sharing this photo since 2018. It needs a caption so I can make it into a meaningful meme that’ll go viral and make me famous, but for the life of me I cannot come up with the words. Please help. No, you can’t borrow the photo.
Imagine if he had a middle finger.
He’s actually a snuggly lovey cat. Unless you are the cat next door. The crusty on his ear seems to be healing. A detective’s good eyes would notice the dings in his ears. He’s had a few things to say to neighborhood interlopers.
When we had chickens, he liked to help us hunt for the woodrats that invaded our Backyard Chicken Hennyplex.
That was a nice break from the boring story, right?
I have more to say!
I’ve given my obsession with the home Ag test Red Line more thought. No, I have not tested today. It was only yesterday that we came so close to nada tests then got manna from school. We finally have a Short Stack. I’m going to relax with that for another day. Maybe tomorrow I’ll get a fever!
Nor have I even thought to ask Sick Kid 2 to retest. I bet if YOU asked him you’d get a polite reply. If you want to know why refer back to Day 4. It’s too soon to impose my mother’s prerogative on him, again. Besides, he’s 17 and taller than me now. He just walks away and locks me out of his room.
Here’s what I’ve been thinking. Normal people are praying the test is negative. Why do I want to see that positive line so badly that I am torturing whoever has made it this far in my story? Here’s what I’ve come up with:
- Scientific validation for the experience we are having.
- Validation for the cost of the validation for the experience we are having. $25 per box.
- Proof. So I can just share a picture to help those who think maybe some of us in this house have something other than covid19 (still not capitalizing the rude guest’s name).
- Watching the test strip the other day was like waiting for the pink line on all those pregnancy tests years ago when we were on the double-infertility rollercoaster. I still want the almight positive test result.
There’s some food for psychological analysis. No license required.
You’ll be relieved to know that my positive home test pursuit has become more analytical then emotional (right this second with no promises it’ll stay that way). I am thinking of it as a research project. Research to help others is more noble than the desire to get my money out of the damn thing and definitely more important than my need for validation.
Some of us are finding out that these tests are not the almighty answer to the questions: Has the intruder invaded my body? Am I contagious? Can I go to our family reunion safely?
Since I feel like shite and talked too much as always, let’s stop there.
Tomorrow I’ll share my new scientific theory about my lack of fever. And who knows whatelse. TATA4NOW.
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I flew to Vegas in December. It was a life changing experience. One of these days I’ll tell you about it. In the meantime, the flights were divine. This is facing west near the end of the day on our return trip. That is fog over the Sacramento Valley.