Covid . . . The Rest of the Story (I Hope)

I wrote last week about getting Covid after four years of apparently avoiding it. Unfortunately, Covid is the gift that keeps on giving.

My husband and I first tested positive on January 10. I’d had a scratchy throat for a day or two, and he had been coughing a bit, but we both felt pretty good. I only tested myself out of an abundance of caution, and when my test showed a faint pink line, I made my husband test.

After my positive test, I obtained a prescription for Paxlovid and finished that regimen of pills on Monday morning, January 15. I never felt very bad through those days.

On Thursday morning, January 18, I tested negative, and I felt well. Whew, I thought, I got through that pretty easily.

My husband still tested positive on the 18th, but his pink line was barely visible, and he said he felt fine, too (though he was still coughing). So it seemed he was recovering as well.

I spent Thursday catching up on things (masked, when I went out). Friday I even shoveled snow and ice off our driveway and walks.

But by Friday afternoon, I felt sick. Worse than before. Congestion. Coughing. Aches and pains. So Saturday morning, we tested again. Husband was now negative, but my test showed a bright pink line. Paxlovid rebound, perhaps. Or perhaps I’d never really kicked Covid the first time.

Back to isolation for me. And for my husband, since I do the driving in the household.

It’s harder to look on the bright side this time around.

I suppose I should feel grateful that we still have not been terribly ill, though last Saturday I felt miserable as only congestion and coughing can make one feel miserable.

I suppose I should feel glad that the polar vortex is behind us and Kansas City temperatures are now forecast to reach above freezing every day for the next week or more. And that our pipes did not freeze, and the electrician reset the circuit breaker.

I suppose I should feel good that during my day of normalcy on Thursday I bought a new microwave that will be delivered this week. I also bought groceries, so we will not starve (not that I feel much like eating).

I suppose I should feel happy that our appointments continue to be things we can cancel or reschedule or do online, though I’ve now rescheduled my hair appointment three times.

Despite these reasons for continued gratitude, I am mostly feeling sorry for myself. And wallowing in my misery. Every day my health improves a bit. But I am so ready to be over Covid.

And then I remember the people who never got over Covid. And I try to feel more grateful and wallow less.

When have you wallowed in misery, knowing it was self-indulgent?