It’s a month today since I fell ill. I still ache a lot from the waist up. Hot baths and Tylenol go a long way in reducing the suck that is the ache I cannot shake. I still need a lot of sleep. I’m working at work, (thank tacos) and working almost full-time now. I text my boss a bit ago, letting her know I want to continue working shorter days. Everyone in my little world is now recovering, recovered, or luckiest — asymptomatic. We wonder if now we’re immune, and more importantly, if we’re still infectious. Apparently it will be a long time until we can all have antibody testing and who knows how long until we know we can’t make other people sick?
For a change, I experience lower anxiety than the general public.
Some people aren’t convinced I had the plague which began to upset me, because, the only way I can explain it is to say I knew. I knew like I knew he was the one I would marry, like I knew I was pregnant, like I knew that was my dog, and this is my house. A knowing. A very woo-woo knowing. I had never felt like that. It hit different.
When the night came and coughing hurt and breathing burned and I was afraid to go to sleep for fear I wouldn’t make it through the night… When the worst had passed and I got winded making tea, or walking to the bathroom… When my temp stayed right around 100 for thirteen days… When I felt better and then worse, over and over…
Last Saturday, I wasn’t tired. I baked and cooked and had sex. And then Sunday I didn’t move from the bed. Monday I went to work for six hours and Tuesday I spent the day in bed. I’m pretty much at work or in bed.
While Moo has accused me of doing too much too soon and I balk at her, she may be right. Maybe the right thing to do was to lie down for a month, but I can’t fathom it and no medical professional told me to.
I don’t have proof it’s the plague. (which i know is not a plague because it’s viral and not bacterial, but i’m not naming the bastard — like a demon, like the orange-faced fucktard)
However, despite my lack of proof, you should prolly tuck my story into the notes section of your brain and remember it in case you find yourself in a similar position. Sick without proof. You might be as lucky as I. Cause I sure am lucky.
The scary part is not knowing how sick you’ll get. That’s scary. We’re talking about something that spans anywhere from you could already have it and not even feel unwell, to something that can give you one to nine symptoms for an unknown amount of time, send you to the hospital, or take your life. The spectrum is terrifying.
We don’t wear masks around one another at home, in our office, to drive, to walk the dog, or to sit on our patio, but we do when we will be around others. I own a lot of scarves.
If I have to open a door to UPS or visit the post office, I pull my scarf up and give people distance. To do so is good manners. Good manners, lest we forget, are to make other people feel more comfortable. Good manners absolutely require giving a fuck and yet, do not include yelling at other people about it.
People who do not give a fuck should perhaps take this time to gather together and enjoy recently opened beaches.