It could have been the bowling alley. I always wonder if they ever clean the finger holes of bowling balls. Or maybe the Italian restaurant, packed on a Sunday night, everyone laughing and talking as they passed around breadsticks and slurped spaghetti. I’d been a lot of places the weekend before I tested positive for Covid. Worst of all, the morning it happened, I was about to host a big event at our assisted living. After the tiny pink stripe appeared on the test strip, I spent the next two hours making calls and sending texts and emails to let people know the event was off. I comforted myself that at least I found out before the gathering and not after.
As my mind retraced where I could have picked it up, I started worrying I was patient zero in our friend group and would make everyone sick. My friends and coworkers reminded me that it was going around everywhere, many of them had it recently too, or just got boosted, or weren’t that worried. Mike kept his distance and I spent the first day in an N95 mask, wiping down everything I touched with bleach wipes.
It’s humbling to realize you aren’t impervious to getting sick. I made it almost 2-1/2 years without testing positive, even in the early days before the vaccine, when I would meet with families at home or in the ER to sign hospice paperwork. Even this year, when I was sitting in a rock concert with my niece, surrounded by 5,000 screaming fans, I didn’t catch it.
As the virus kicked in that first day, making me sweaty and tired, a kind friend stopped by and delivered two big bowls of chicken noodle soup and chocolate chip cookies, leaving it at a safe distance on our front porch. Mike decided to join me in my misery a couple of days later by testing positive, so at least I didn’t have to hide out in the back bedroom and wipe down everything I touched. Another good friend took pity on us and left a box of donuts and coffee on our steps. Our neighbors dropped off fresh basil and vegetables from their garden. And my dad showed up with a rotisserie chicken and we talked at a safe distance through the screen door.
I don’t think I really appreciated how busy my days are and how much I run around and talk to people until it all came to a screeching halt. We couldn’t go anywhere, because we felt like crud, plus we didn’t want to spread Covid. I slept in a little, but when you have dogs, there’s only so much sleeping in you can do. The days crawled by and I would look at the clock and sigh in disbelief. Only 1 p.m. We ate our meals on the porch and tried to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine and the unexpected chance to spend more time together. At night, we’d sit on the porch swing, wrapped in blankets, the dogs snoozing at our feet, and watch the stars until we got tired.
And in between the meals and the star-watching, I shredded paper. It was the one mindless thing I could do each day, ridding us of old bank statements and utility bills. I sifted through folders of papers and notes I had kept, thinking they might be interesting or useful to read again someday. Well, someday arrived and I wasn’t interested, so with a satisfying crunch, they went to the Big Recycle Bin in the Sky.
By day three, I was losing most of my sentimentality. Maybe it was the cough medicine or the restless nights of sleep, but I tore through old birthday and anniversary cards like a professional organizer on Hoarders. I ran out of paper bags to put the shred in as I filled the machine up over and over. I made it a personal goal to fill the entire blue curbside bin and I’m proud to say, I made it almost to the top. While I wouldn’t recommend catching Covid just to get organized, it’s definitely one of the positive things that came out of being sick, along with a new appreciation for how much I enjoy being around people and going to work each day.