We are slowly climbing out of the Valley of Covid here. Dean tested positive last Tuesday, and although my first test was negative, I got re-tested a few days ago and got the positive call yesterday (no surprise since I've had symptoms all along). I'd say I'm about three days behind him. If anybody tries to tell you that this virus is just a hoax made up by (whoever— who would make this up?), you can use us as examples. This isn't the sickest I've ever been—that would be the time in my twenties when I had the flu so bad that my temp climbed to 104 and I started hallucinating. But it is still pretty miserable. And it is definitely way worse than a cold.
I've been thinking about the boredom of illness. When you feel ok, you can get absorbed in a book or a movie and before you know it, an hour has gone by. When you're achy and tired and have a sore throat, time crawls. It feels like I've been sick for weeks.
Enough whining. I'm not nearly sick enough to go to the hospital so I'm grateful for that. Dean's quarantine ended at midnight last night and I hope I will be done soon.
Wear a mask. Watch your distance. Wash your hands. (Repeat ad lib)
