As I write this, I am currently on Day 8 of Covid quarantine in my office, which is, at best, 11 x 11 and arguably the worst room in our house. My next-door neighbor’s and my offices are literally directly across from each other (why do they build houses that way?), and both of our desks are at the window. Unless we want to look at one another and give a little thumbs up 10 times a day, we both have our blinds in some state of closure, allowing in very little natural light. I’m a person who loves to have the blinds open, but I also like my privacy. Don’t get me wrong; my neighbor is fantastic. No complaints there; I’m just painting the picture of the darkish, small room with only a view of the side of my neighbor’s house that I have been living in for EIGHT DAYS and counting.
Enough with the complaining about my quarantine space. Now that Covid has knocked on our front door and let its ugly mug inside, how do I feel? It’s late January 2022- that means we’ve been at this thing for 22 months. Over those 22 months, I, like most people, have run the gamut of emotions over Covid.
I was scared when we first heard about “lockdown.” I had visions of lack of food, gas, and other essentials and potentially total anarchy with people resorting to violence to get what they needed. I filled up the cars with gas, and we spent way too much money on supplies at Costco. Once I realized that “lockdown” included grocery stores staying open and restaurants offering takeout, I thought, “this ain’t so bad, I can do this for the 3 week lockdown”.
Then I became angry and a little defiant when the lockdown persisted, and NO ONE I knew or anyone they knew had Covid. It felt like the lockdown was a giant overreaction. Then people did start getting sick, and the healthcare system was taxed. I wasn’t scared for myself, but what if I gave it to my parents or someone else’s parents and they got really sick?
Then at some point, we figured out how to settle into what would be the roller coaster of 2020, 2021, and now 2022. Kids in and out of school, vacations canceled, parties canceled, holidays looking very different. Quarantine groups were established, the kids were playing outside, we were getting to know our neighbors. There were some bright spots and good times had during those many months.
Through it all, in the back of my mind, I always had the image of the one Covid test that came back positive. Which one of us would it be? Who did we get it from? Who did we give it to? Did we make a mistake in going to a particular gathering that we shouldn’t have? How would we handle quarantining (or not) the positive person? Is it mean to isolate a kid for 10 days? Which one of us would care for them if they were really sick and couldn’t be alone? What bathroom would the infected person use? On and on, the questions went that kept me up at night.
So now that it’s here, how do I feel? In a word a little bit relieved. Is that weird? My daughter had it first and is fully recovered. I now have it and am on the last few days and will be fine. My husband and son could still get it from me or contract it later down the line, but they are healthy, and I feel confident they will get through it. I’m relieved that this “thing” we’ve been so focused on for 2 years has come and will go, and I likely won’t get it again for a while. I’m vaccinated, boosted, and now have natural immunity- the trifecta.
I will still go about my life with caution as I know some people will get it and not be as lucky. I don’t want to do anything to contribute unnecessary spread of the virus to the more vulnerable population. I will do my best to be a good citizen for my community. Still, at least now, I don’t have to lay awake at night with my head full of worries about what we will do when the little bugger finally finds our family. In the words of Forrest Gump, “One less thing.”
Cindy Curley 