My Story of Covid

I don’t know how in the world this happened. Let’s start by reviewing my Covid resume. Thrice vaccinated, I participated in the Pfizer clinical trial. Good foot soldier that I am, I not only wanted to be part of the solution way back before the word of variants were known, but I also followed all the rules. I wore masks, I paid attention to CDC guidelines, and I hoped we would all be over it all by now. But alas, I’ve become part of the daily statistics.

Can you tell I’m a bit salty? I’m salty because despite the fact that I wear masks everywhere, do puzzles for a living, and am highly involved with others who do the same, I tested positive for Covid-19. Thus far, my symptoms amount to nothing concerning. But it is effecting my connection with the world. My “what the heck!” diagnosis meant I had to cancel a dinner with my son and his new wife. It meant I couldn’t host a gathering with my dear nieces or pop over to see my Hospice patient neighbor, and it meant that my husband and I needed to create a socially distant co-existence in the confines of our home. Quarantining and isolation are no fun. I feel like my wings have been clipped. 

For all you who read my articles, you know I don’t rest in saltiness (usually). There’s good, and in this case, humor, that inevitably rises. I’d like to share with you a snippet of what Covid life looks like for us. Picture this. My husband prepared dinner and strategically placed a placemat, napkin, and silverware on the staircase; a location roughly half way between the kitchen and the opposite end of the house. With my N-95 mask, I retrieved my plated dinner, and took my assigned seat in the back corner of the same French-door-encased room we’d take our kids for “those talks.” We call this place, “The Green Room.” My husband set a place for himself in the kitchen.

We yelled the kind of dinner time chatter best shared at the same table. For a couple of 60 something year olds that have been together a really long time, some things were definitely lost in translation. For example, as we tried to communicate on the happenings of the day, my husband wanted to update me on the child of a mutual friend. 

Mark yelled with a mouth full of stuffed pepper, “SHE’S MOVING TO DENVER.” But what I heard was, “SHE’S A SEX OFFENDER.” 

“HOW ARE YOU FEELING” sounded like, “THERE’S A LEAK IN THE CEILING.”

Yeesh, it’s hard getting old. 

So, now that I’ve contracted the virus, I am ready to move on knowing I’ll be just fine. Frustration and saltiness are being tempered with a bit of laughter. I’m most grateful to navigate this time with minor symptoms that allow me to make soup and take long walks. I absolutely attribute this to the fact that I am fully vaccinated. This is not the case for too many others. In addition, I don’t believe my husband and I ever shared the space between our kitchen and “The Green Room” with such flawed intention. Yes, even after 40 years of marriage we are finding new ways to connect. I am ready to say I’ve come full circle in my story of Covid.

“HOW’S DINNER?” My husband asked.

I heard, “YOU’RE LOOKING THINNER.”

Maybe we need to eat apart more often.