McKeegan COVID Chronicles Days 9 – 10

I missed writing to you yesterday; like missing a Thai restaurant lunch date with an old friend because I needed a nap.

I thought it would be a few more days before I’d write to announce my PCR results. But, here we are. I have the results less than 48 hours after the swab. If you wish, you can skip my long-winded storyteller version and scroll down to the second photo you see (Cue my mother: “Bonnie, you talk too much!”). There will be your answer.

If you are new here and want the whole story at some point (you know you do cuz coming late to a party where you know no one is no fun), you can visit my blog home page where you can scroll down to January 22nd, 2022, the first day of our party with the interloper: Ladies and Gentlemen, and Everyone in Between, COVID19 is in the House! .

Don’t say I didn’t warn you. There are eight posts to read to bring you to today and life will force breaks. I wish I’d written a best selling, on-the-edge-of-your-seat page turner you can’t put down, but I’m not that writer. If you are prone to incontinence, you might need a pee pad.

Let’s briefly recap for those who are new here (and those with short-term memory loss) so you can keep reading this page before you leave to get the backstory in those other posts.

Then, like good friends catching up, I’ll tell you what you’ve missed since my last post.


From the beginning of Pandemic in Wonderland I did not want to get covid19 in any way, variant, or form. Neither did my family.

My husband has freight-train style sleep apnea and is dependent on a CPAP. The thought of a lung virus infecting him was just too much.

My dad was 78 years old at the beginning of it all and lives next door. Need I say more?

My twin boys were in 9th grade and loving high school when everything went sideways and California shut down.

I had a private psychotherapy practice where the majority of my clients were older or high-risk for medical reasons.

At the beginning of the shutdown in March 2020, I had a nasty case of late-diagnosed whooping cough that my kids, husband, and dad were sick with, too. That brutal bacteria did a number on me. It kept me coughing and gagging regularly for more than the expected 100 days. I still gag on phlegm daily nearly two years later. Eeewww, thank you for that image, dear writer. Thankfully, the rest of my family fared much better than I did. Still, I definitely didn’t want any pesky bugs in anybody’s lungs.

On Friday, January 21st, 2022, one of my 17 year old kids, Sick Kid #1, woke up with flu-like symptoms and a fever. The home rapid antigen test was positive.

I wrote and posted our saga covering the first eight days.

It seemed we were past the worst of our symptoms, so on January 28th, I sunset the Chronicles with a plan to write a post-script announcing my PCR results when the time came. Today’s post is that post-script. But we aren’t post rude-guest-infected, yet. I’d like to blame the stupid length of this post on the interloper’s contamination of my brain, but that’d be a lie. I just have a lot to say.

Two days ago, Friday, January 28th, I went for the PCR test. I am calling it Freaky Friday.

Let’s catch you up on yesterday, Day 9 in our Chronicles (and the Freaky part of Friday that I didn’t tell you about on Friday), then I’ll share not briefly (promise) today’s party with the rude guest who won’t fucking leave.

I’m not crabby!

The following photo is my dad. I took it yesterday while assisting from a socially and prudently safe distance away from falling bolts and washers. I had felt a bit better and finally made it outside to water the gardens and look for blooms. I peeked in on my dad to see what he was up to. We won’t discuss the discussion that occurred prior to this photo. I was a trauma hospital social worker. I’ll leave that to your imagination.

You might be reacting to the photo in the vicinity of dude, get off that ladder!

I’ll tell you what …

It is my father’s perseverance that has gotten him so far in life. It saved his life at one point, but I’ll save that for another time. He is an amazing man who, after being born in a shack with no electricity or running water, endured the dusty parking lot playground of a cotton field as a young child. His parents were Okie immigrants to California’s central valley in the 1940s. With grit and determination, he made a life you’d be amazed to hear about. On a sidenote, as a Marine, he narrowly missed Vietnam. I was born not too long after that.

The garage door was messed up by Snowmaggedan.

No one can keep his old bones off a ladder.

I was there to catch him if he fell.

Freaky Friday

I had a driving scare on my way to get the PCR swabby. Dang, after writing it out, I’ve just decided that this event deserves a post of its own (and now I am too f’ing wiped out by covid19, the Omicron #1 variety, to go back and edit this post again, so, No, this wasn’t planned to keep your attention). I’ll share in a separate post another day why I don’t want to drive until the A**hole is GONE. It’s just too much to fit in here, even accepting my long form writing style. Won’t you be a good neighbor and come back again? If not, I’ll be okay.

Day 10 (today, jeez, finally!) PCR Results Reveal (no fireworks included cuz we are in California, duh)

This morning, as I was writing the first draft of this post in preparation for the promised announcement, my PCR results came in:

Actually, it was a link to the results, not just a “hey, you got covid19 so stay the fuck away from people” straight away in my text messages for anyone who picked up my phone to see.

I was glad to initially see some confidential handling there. Not that our cooties are a secret; I’ve been telling you guys for over a week. However, the information required to get the actual results are widely known by my family and friends. Just sayin’.

What a strange sensation. I paused to feel into it, but it was elusive. A heaviness, an understanding that I don’t yet understand descended upon me. Part of me wanted to understand. Another part of me wanted to escape.

It is one thing to KNOW a thing. It is a whole ‘nother thing to SEE proof.

Thank gawd I can justify my jammies on this glorious Sunday.

Here’s what happened next. I am telling you this for a reason I hope you understand by the end. If you don’t, then I can’t help that. I never promised brilliant writing.

I was so engrossed in going through the notification link process that my brain didn’t register that the power went out, even though I had three hints:

  1. My Chromebook notified me the internet had disconnected. I simply reconnected to my hotspot and continued on my merry way filling out the county health department notification questionnaire. It was an all-inclusive (and not like those luxurious vacation resorts; no one offered a buffet or a massage, which they should). My curiousity was lazer-focused on the process created by the powers that be.
  2. As soon as I was done with the county questionnaire, I went to the thermostat in the hall to turn up the heater and found that some rascal had turned it to A/C yesterday, which would explain why it was 62° when it should have been 68°on a sunny winter Sunday. One of the two rascals in the house had complained of being hot yesterday, but I was not aware anyone had touched the thermostat or I would have swatted their grimmy hand. I turned the HVAC to heat, and watched how nothing happened. Damn, here were are again, I thought. Just last week I paid a nice HVAC tech to fix our heater when the same thing had happened – it was a blown fuse probaly related to the power outage from a couple weeks ago, the guy had said. My next thought? We’re hosting the rude guest so no tech in his right mind will come near our heater in the near future! I went back to my covers and Chromebook.
  3. Caffiene addiction is underrated – if it wasn’t for mine, I never would have discovered the truth. Shortly after failure at the heater thermostat, I went to get Hug-in-a-Mug #2 because I was beginning to get twitchy anticipating potential withdrawl. I only made it two steps. I was still cold and the little oil heater next to my bed seemed to have died. I put my hand on the black steel fins and noted it had cooled down from its all-night blast. Was it malfunctioning? It’s nearly brand new! I checked the plug and the knobs. No light. What the hell! Then I looked at my bedside digital clock. It was dark and my mind registered the quiet that comes with a power outage.

You don’t know what I did next, so lemme tell ya. I walked down the hall to the coffeemaker, just as I had been in motion to do before realizing the power was out.

Electric coffeemaker. Big Keurig. Fire-engine Red to compliment the red valance with roosters that I made and the red gingham valances my mother made for me.

Thank you, mom.

On the way to get my fix from my favorite coffeemaker ever (don’t scold me for loving a landfill menace until I am well again), I noticed I was dizzy. All the way down the hall. NEW symptom folks and I don’t see it on any intruder virus symptom lists. My theory? Something to do with the eustachian tubes. Or maybe something else which would explain Freaky Friday!

Anyway, …

I made it safely to the kitchen (sorry, no drama there). I put my coffee cup on said Keurig platform ready to receive my second cup of the day. I reached up to turn it on because somehow it had turned itself off. I pushed the button.

Nothing happened.

The power was out folks. Did I forget this fact from my bedroom to the coffeemaker? It’s not THAT far.

What did I do? I went out to our trailer.

It’s a good thing Roxy the Rocket our Mini Aussie is outside right now, or she’d be all up in my face. Hysteria worries her. You’ll have to go read the other posts to see her photo of concern. I’m too far gone to find it for you.

Don’t confuse me with an ungrateful person. If it wasn’t for power outages, my family and I wouldn’t have gotten any camping in the past year. Our trailer is our second home. Familiar and lovely. What privilege it is to have a second home! I thank my Grandma Margie for that. She died of Alzheimer’s in her 90s and left each grandkid some money.

Thank you, Grandma! Not for the dementia genes. For the inheritance.

In Closing for Today

Validation. Data. The positive PCR test matters. It leaves no room for denial, doubt, or helpful suggestions that we have something other than the obvious.

A negative rapid antigen test result does not mean you are covid19 free. It doesn’t even mean you are not contagious. It just means the intruder is better at hiding than we are detecting.

I heard a sad coronavirus story today. A 30-something mom who has young kids died. Someone known to someone I know.

In fact, here’s our news tidbit that is so nothing in the bigger picture: Sick Kid 1 and Sick Kid 2 both returned to fever zone last night and this morning. No school tomorrow! The intruder is still here. What fun!

And for more validation, in case anyone else needs it (if you’ve been following along, you really shouldn’t by now, but at any rate … ), I feel like crapola. I thought my Day 3 was the worst of it, but here we are, with dizzy added to the mix of symptoms and what ever that thing was on Freaky Friday (that I am hold back from you; nothing psychological there).

The good news is I can still taste my sugar-pumped coffee. And the power came back on while I was eating and caffienating in the trailer.

Oh, one more piece of good news: Big Kitty peed on the pee pad in the litter box, again. What’s the bad news (because we all need balance!)? He also peed on the pee pad on the floor next to it. Training might take awhile.

May all beings be well. And if you aren’t, let it pass like the wind and leave you refreshed.

p.s. the heater is broke afterall and I missed the sunset again, but, for the sake of us all, the Siamese yeowler didn’t care.

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