WHAT? COVID??

It never occurred to me.

Just because I was coughing, sneezing and wheezing …. that I had the energy of a septuagenarian sloth …. that I was going through a box of Kleenex every 20 minutes mopping a nose that cascaded like Victoria Falls …. who knew I had Covid? Not me.

Covid was raging five years ago. Not now. Right? Apparently not.

Even though my throat felt like it had been raked with razor-blades, I could still smell the last of the peonies I plucked in the back garden. And yes, my appetite was zilch but that didn’t stop me from wolfing down a container of fresh mango from Trader Joe. None of my friends were sick. And somewhere in the house, I had a plasticized card proving past inoculations. So why me and Covid?

Remember those days? Washing your hands with hot water for at least five minutes every time you walked past the bathroom, and learning how to Zoom so you could “have cocktails” with friends down the block. Those wardrobes of colorful masks! Those monthly VISA statements for only $121 that proved you were sitting home watching reruns of TURN: Washington’s Spies on Netflix. (I liked that, actually.)

Plus, living in a house with your husband when you test positive for Covid, guess what happens?  He rubs the swab in and around his nostrils, then I dip the Q-tip into the special solution, then 15 minutes later the timer goes DING and, no surprise here, he’s got Covid. Actually, we’ve got Couples Covid.

So we spend mornings and afternoons flopped in our matching blue leather lounge chairs, still in our PJs, occasionally tossing the Kleenex box to each other for exercise. Every other hour, we slide a finger into the oximeter to gauge our oxygen levels. “Uh oh, it reads 94,” I say.  An hour later it’s up to 98. Phew.

The kitchen island is a medical fortress of Tylenol bottles, Mucinex tablets, purple cough syrups, Thera-Flu packets, Covid tests and half-consumed glasses of orange juice. Kind friends have dropped off enough strawberries and bananas to open a fruit stand at the end of the driveway, but I’m not complaining. Others have crept quietly to our front door and left chowders and chicken noodle soup, Lindy’s Italian ice cups, even a sweet nosegay of daisies and yellow roses. We have great friends.

There’s a pile of books I’ve itched to read for months, just sitting there waiting for a rainy day when I have time. I now have hours to kill but the attention span of mollusk. Even listening to a riveting best seller on Audible, I conk out after about 15 minutes, sound asleep on the couch. 

I forgot how draining Covid can be. I also didn’t remember that when the whole world was fending off Covid five or six years ago, we were all in this together. Today it’s a lot lonelier.  

Before too long we will be back in the world, and I promise you this: I will not carp about having to weed my veggie garden, or complain about driving our recyclables over to the transfer station, or dig up dandelions on the front lawn.  In fact, I can’t wait to get outside and do that!