Wonderland
I stepped through the looking glass last Tuesday evening. Stepped out again yesterday, Friday, around noon. This is what happened. I got a text. At night. “I’ve tested positive for Covid.” It was from a cousin who attended the memorial service for my wife on the previous Saturday. The next morning, Wednesday, I notified my guests. Later, that same morning, I started running a fever. I scheduled a rapid test but had to wait until Friday. I decided to get tested at the local EMS. No rapid result, however. In the afternoon, my local Hill Country Memorial Clinic suggested they, too, should test me. In I went. They prescribed a Z-pack along with a steroid. I started it Thursday morning.
Here’s what was running through my mind on Wednesday and Thursday. Had I misdiagnosed my perpetual sinus issues? Had I given Covid to my younger cousin. If so, had I given it to the friends and family who attended the service, and the friends I saw on Sunday and again on Monday. Weirdly heavy burden. I rather hoped my cousin had given it to me and everyone else was spared my error. Then, quite naturally, my thoughts turned to how would I handle the disease if I had it. Would it be easy or hard? Would I be hospitalized? Would I die? I made my peace. I’m old. I’ve had a good life. We all die. No one gets out alive. I relaxed.
On Friday morning my fever was gone. I drove to Marble Falls; I took my rapid test. When I got home an email was waiting from the EMS. My Wednesday morning test was negative. A text arrived. My Friday rapid test was negative. So, no Covid for John, just sinus issues. I stepped back through the looking glass straight into 2020. This is a virus. You get it from people. The new Delta variant can infect even the vaccinated. When it does, however, it seldom results in hospitalization or death. But it’s still nasty, at least that’s what my cousin says. The data says, the unvaccinated, however, have a greater chance of experiencing all that plus the possibility of hospitalization, intubation, and even death. It’s just statistics. It’s the same serious stuff we faced in 2020, except now children are getting it. Which means, for me, masks, social distancing, and no crowds. I don’t want to give it, and I don’t want to get it. I may be old, but I still have things I want to do.
John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale