A Week of Having Covid

When my husband complained he was getting a cold, it never dawned on me he could have COVID. Surely his runny nose, cough, congestion, and some shortness of breath was not unlike the common cold—so off my radar was the possibility that he could have contracted COVID. As a retired geriatric nurse practitioner, with a public health background, I fancied myself the forecaster of trouble ahead for my 84-year-old mate with chronic heart problems. Not until my daughter, graduate of two bouts of COVID herself, suggested he take a home COVID test, and he tested positive, did I realize that I had dropped the ball. Three days later, I tested positive, too.

Our lives up to that point had become routine. We went to the movies, ate inside restaurants, attended the symphony, and were lining up future travel options.

Bang, the brakes screeched to a stop.

After cancelling medical and social appointments, and notifying contacts, my husband and I accepted the reality of isolation. Virtual visits with our primary providers reinforced our low potential for complications and need for Paxlovid. My position in the COVID timeline gave me the benefit of watching my husband’s symptoms slowly recede. The light at the end of tunnel shone brighter for me. My fatigue and mental fog could be viewed as a benefit since the thought of being productive diminished for me by the extra nap a day.

The isolation days dragged but the week flew by. My husband now can go out in public with a mask. Today, so can I.* I’m making a quick trip to the Farmers Market to see if juicy peaches are still available.

We have yet to know if this encounter with COVID was just a blip in our life or whether complications will follow. However, I’m grateful that my husband and I are both retired, have good insurance, friends who volunteered to do shopping (which was not needed since our food pantry was full and our appetites limited) and that the viral strain was mild.

During the week, I followed the National Bank Tennis Open and, since we just subscribed to HULU, almost completed the first season of Only Murders in the Building—all TV viewing occurring between naps. From our patio, we enjoyed the hummingbirds at our feeder, rabbits hopping by, and the lizards climbing along the screen, their red throats thumping.

Easing back into our routine, I have accepted that I’m no longer the trusted predictor of oncoming chaos. Who needs that job anyway?

Click here for a good interactive tool to plot length of isolation and mask wearing.