covidland diaries

For 96 weeks and two days, I'd been afraid of catching covid. In one week, I went from spending the Monday shopping and eating out with friends to stocking up on supplies and preparing to be locked down for a short time by the Saturday. In those 22 months, our understanding of this virus has both increased and become more muddied, but we've done everything we reasonably could to protect ourselves. Hand sanitizer? In every bag, coat pocket, car console. Masks? Check, bought so many different kinds to match varied family members' preferences, and then traded them all for KN95s. Social distancing? Yes, we have spent more time socializing with friends outdoors than ever before. Vaccines? Counted down the freaking days until we were each eligible and signed up literally as soon as we learned we could. Boosters? Same damn thing. 

Did we live as hermits since March 2020? Not exactly, but pretty close at times. We've spent time inside one home of friends since the beginning of the pandemic, and we did visit family during the lull we all experienced this summer, pre-Delta. We've had kids in public schools, at least wearing masks, and I've worked back in the office since the fall, but again, masked whenever I'm around other people, which is actually quite rare. Hubby continued to work as a referee, after a bit of a slowdown during the beginning of the pandemic, but since being vaccinated, he's done what he could to work as safely as possible, including wearing a specially designed mask that holds a whistle on a clip inside of it. 

We tried; we really, really tried. We've made significant sacrifices, along with tempered decisions that weighed our risks and benefits. We've adapted and most of these behaviors now come quite naturally, but we understand the responsibility needed in an attempt to stay healthy and safe, along with not spreading the virus in our already vulnerable community. 

But as they say, breakthroughs happen. Our story began on a Saturday with Hubby's positive test, after two days of a 'scratchy throat.' I'd been preparing for this, in theory, for almost two years, saving articles, reading guidelines, and thinking of potential game plans if someone in our family got sick. And all of that left my mind upon seeing those two lines. The only thing I could think to do was run to grab KN95 masks for the three of us sitting at the kitchen table, followed by nudging the kid away from the table, as the tears began. 

I knew that our odds of getting seriously sick were low, as all four of us in the household are fully vaxxed AND boosted, yet my heart seized with fear, because covid is a thing that millions of people have died from and here it was in our family. In my partner. Fuck.

It's at this time that the calm and concise guidance from a friend was exactly what we needed. JN actually answered my phone call, because why in the world would I be calling unless it was serious? She helped us get our plans together and especially helped me think about how to start recording a timeline, information that could be helpful as all of us would need to be monitoring in coming days for more infections. Hubby grabbed everything he could think he might need and went immediately into our guest room for the beginning of an expected 5-day isolation, at the least. None of the rest of us felt any symptoms, but the reality that we'd all been together in the house in the previous days weighed on our minds. It felt inevitable that more positive tests were in our future. We all masked up, just in case someone wasn't yet infected.

Stopping here to openly acknowledge all the ways in which we are fortunate and privileged in the time of a pandemic-- we have space in our home to segregate comfortably, we had at-home antigen tests on hand thanks to our public library, we have the means to purchase more at-home antigen tests (which we definitely did!) and they were available in our community (I'm now greatly acquainted with GoPuff), we have jobs that allow for remote work or sick leave or flexible work time, we have support of so many good friends, and more. 

Even with those incredible supports in place, it was a helluva couple weeks. Two days after Hubby's positive test came mine, and a day later came the 14-year-old's, who actually had the same symptom onset as me, but had a negative test one day before testing positive. Somehow, the 15-year-old escaped the virus completely, experiencing no symptoms and testing negative multiple times. By his day six, Hubby was still testing positive but felt mostly better. He didn't get a negative test until his day 11, and the youngest was in the same boat by their day 10. I, however, had a slightly different path.

DAY ZERO= symptom onset, Monday

We'd had a significant snowstorm, and the kids spent time sledding on a neighbor's hill and shoveling out our driveway, and I had prepped all the bird feeders over the weekend, so I enjoyed a little bit of time just sitting outside, all bundled up and enjoying the view of our first big snow of the winter. I had expected to return to the podiatrist this day in hopes of getting out of the walking boot I'd been wearing for five weeks, but the snow canceled the appointment, which was for the best, since I wouldn't have gone in with our covid exposure. By the end of the day, I was aware of my own scratchy throat and a headache, but I was hoping it was just my anxious mind. 

DAY ONE= positive test, Tuesday

By the morning, it was clear that it wasn't just my anxiety causing the now pretty bad sore throat. It took only a fraction of the 10-minute wait time for my positive result to show up on the at-home test. Hubby was feeling better by this day, his day five, so we opted to do a quick clean and bedroom shift, knowing that he was closer to getting out of isolation than I was. We shifted responsibility for caring for the dogs and actually gave each other a big hug since there was no worry about infecting each other now. I settled in the guest room with my work materials, my laptop, a full medicine cabinet worth of cold/flu meds, and a couple books (that would go mostly unread, #ThanksCovid). My throat was rough, and I was suddenly exhausted. No work was going to get done on this day. The pulse oximeter we bought at the beginning of the pandemic was now put to regular use, and the times I saw 94 on there were scary, but tempered by the 97s that followed later.

DAY TWO= Wednesday

When I woke up this day, I wanted to cut my own head off, because the pain in my throat was unbearable. I had a low fever all day, never going over 100.4, and my O2 never dipped below 95. All I could do was take ibuprofen, cry about my throat and head pain, and do work in an attempt to take my mind off the pain. Spreadsheets on a small laptop screen are annoying. 

DAY THREE= Thursday

Today the cold/flu aspect of congestion kicked in, and paired with the still raging sore throat and headache, I was doing shots of DayQuil as often as safely possible, even if it didn't make a whole lot of difference. I woke up in a cold sweat that seemed more intense than my usual middle-aged night sweats, and the fever was gone. My O2 stayed between 95 and 97 all day, and while I was able to work for a few hours on this day, I mostly just lay in bed, popping my walking boot and KN95 back on to walk to the bathroom, before collapsing back into bed where I either slept or binge-watched shows until I fell asleep. 

DAY FOUR= Friday

I slept over 12 hours and had trouble actually waking up on this day. I was aware that I wanted to wake up, but simply couldn't get my body to do it. The sore throat was still there, but maybe starting to lessen. My congestion was way up, but my temp stayed down. My O2 rose to 96-98, and I wasn't having any trouble breathing, but I did get winded from walking to the bathroom. I was able to log in a couple hours at the very end of the work day, but I still just lay down for most of the day cradling my head and feeling sorry for myself.

DAY FIVE= Saturday

Another day of struggling to wake up even after 11 solid hours of sleep. Big news of the day was that the sore throat was gone! I had gone through so many cough drops, I worried that my mouth would permanently taste of menthol, but I could finally take a break from them. The stuffed nose was still going strong, as was the headache, but the temp stayed down, and my O2 dropped a bit, but never below 94. 

DAY SIX= Sunday

According to the CDC, because I hadn't had a fever in at least 24 hours (my temp was normal since Thursday), and because my symptoms were "improving," I could leave isolation and go about my normal life as long as I wore a mask. Yeah, LOL. I was still rocking a headache and a stuffed nose, and I was clearly still sick. I couldn't do a regular day's work, and if I had a job that required me to follow these guidelines, I'd have been screwed. I have no doubt that I was still contagious. My O2 was up between 96 and 97, and I was still pretty wiped.

DAY SEVEN= Monday

I pulled out another at-home antigen test and crossed my fingers, but it was a no-go for me. Positive test #2 accompanied the continued stuffed nose, a worsening headache, and pretty solid exhaustion. How could I be exhausted from watching The Golden Girls and The Righteous Gemstones between naps all weekend? (Also, two awesome shows, but so, so, so very different...) Somehow, I managed to put in a full 8 hours of work spread throughout the day, but my brain felt fuzzy. 

DAY EIGHT= Tuesday

Hope springs eternal, right? Well, at-home antigen tests don't, but I couldn't help myself from taking another today. My desire to leave the guest room was pretty high by this day, and I know that I was so lucky to have the space to stay isolated, with food left by my door in response to a text, but I also have to acknowledge that I was going bananas in there. I'd open the window and stick my head out just to have a different viewpoint. I took that test with the hopes I'd be able to leave the room, stay masked, but still not pose a risk to our middle child who still was unaffected. Nope, it was not to be. Another positive test, again almost immediately. I worked for part of the day, and stayed horizontal for the rest. How could I still be so goddamn tired?

DAY NINE= Wednesday

I couldn't see myself wasting another test today, so I forced myself to just stick to the same plan. Worked for some of the day, tried reading a bit, but my headache was back on the upswing and it was hard to concentrate. This was the day that the sneezing began. Of all the weird-ass things that our bodies do on the regular, sneezing has got to be my least favorite. When I wasn't sneezing, I was sleeping. 

DAY TEN= Thursday

My anxiety was in the clouds today, as I had expected to be "back to normal" by this day, but I was still exhausted, still fighting a runny nose, sneezing practically nonstop, and still being brought to tears by the headache. Hubby was preparing to leave the next morning for a long-planned trip, and I felt the pressure to be able to leave this room of isolation and be the adult in charge at home. But the at-home antigen test I took on this day still came back positive. Sure, the line was a bit lighter in color, but it was undoubtedly still evident, and even with a mask on, my explosive sneezing was surely still blasting coronavirus all over. It was hard to not feel discouraged. 

DAY ELEVEN= Friday

Hubby departed, and I moved back to my own bedroom, where I'd still be spending 99% of my day, but at least it was a different view. Thankfully, the sneezing was lessening as the day went on, as was the runny nose and even the headache. By the end of the evening, I declared that I felt almost human again! I was still tired, but not in the same way when I couldn't even wake myself up. 

DAY TWELVE= Saturday

My hopes were dashed by yet another positive at-home antigen test, but at this point, I needed to get some shit done. Wearing not one, but two, KN95s, I emerged from the bedroom feeling pretty normal again and cleaned the whole house. I didn't feel completely safe from spreading the virus just yet, so I continued to eat alone in my bedroom so I wouldn't ever have an unmasked face in other areas of the house. The 15-year-old and I talked from opposite sides of large rooms, both masked, but happy to actually see each other again in person rather than on a video call.

DAY THIRTEEN= Sunday

Was I still tired? Yes, but more in the normal way of being tired, and I felt more like myself than I had in two weeks. I had a clean house, I cooked a real dinner, and while I was tired of wearing KN95s, I was happy to be on the other side of this nasty virus. 

DAY FOURTEEN= Monday

Two weeks after seeing the first of FIVE positive at-home antigen tests, I ripped open another package, followed the directions that are now imprinted in my brain, and prepared myself mentally for yet another positive result. I actually walked away from the test, but I couldn't wait the entire 10 minutes. After 7ish minutes, I peeked, and lo and behold, there was only the control line. I couldn't count it for sure until my timer went off, but I definitely started celebrating in my head. I started this day early to get a bunch of morning household and parenting tasks completed before finally starting my work day back at my desk, and 8:00 am saw me staring at my beloved three monitors, ready to truly get back to normal. I was so happy to eat a meal in the presence of other live human beings again! 

Two weeks doesn't seem like it should feel like an eternity, but it absolutely did for me. I'm still struggling with some fuzzy brain, especially in word recall, and my headache hasn't gone away completely, but it's more manageable than before. All the cold/flu symptoms were gone by day twelve, but I am still finding myself out of breath more quickly than before. At some point in my isolation time, I stopped putting the boot on out of pure frustration, so as I was finally able to leave the room, I was also walking on two shoed-feet for the first time in six weeks. 

After all this, I can't help but wonder what my experience would have been like had I not been vaccinated or even boosted. I know it's all speculation, but it seems safe to say that I likely would have needed medical intervention or even hospitalization. Would I have become even more of a statistic? I'm fucking thrilled that I won't know, because Dolly Parton-funded science was working its ass off in my body to fight off this terrible virus. 

May I someday be able to return to this post and think about covid in the past tense only. 

Title inspiration: "Santaland Diaries" by David Sedaris.