Tales from the Sickroom, Days 2-5

 Both my son and I have now tested positive for COVID, and I’m having a hard time explaining why he tested positive when he got his shots. 

We are now all on quarantine, because my husband has also been told he can’t go back to work until I test negative. 

The biggest enemy of quarantine is boredom. While I have more advantages than my grandparents had when/if they were in quarantine, boredom is a universal problem. There are only so many games of solitaire you can play on an iPad, only so many websites you can visit. I fried my brain on too many solitaire games a couple of days ago. 

Tomorrow none of us will be at church.  We will go back to the days of online church, where I will make communion bread and we will dig out the last of the grape juice to drink. 

Quarantine also totally throws off an internal clock. I’ve lost a sense of what day it actually is and even had to check my phone to see what today’s date was. 

Fortunately, I fall into the category of “not that sick” and my husband took advantage of that . . . By having us go and do yard work in the back yard this afternoon. He mowed, I ran the edger. 

Tonight I got a nice infusion of courage from the movie “Darkest Hour”, the story of the first weeks of Winston Churchill’s term as prime minister in 1940.

None of us are lying in bed feverish and coughing. 

My release date should come on September 29th, barring another positive COVID test.  The test has already been scheduled.  

And I took advantage of Instacart to restock necessary supplies of apples, bananas and chocolate. 

Unfortunately, I had to settle for dark chocolate Reese’s cups rather than milk chocolate ones. :: places hand dramatically to forehead :: Oh, the humanity! Life is so unfair! 

On the other hand, if the lack of milk chocolate Reese’s Cups is an indication of how unfair life is, I think that is something I can put up with. 

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Tales from the Sickroom, Day 1

 I have been ill off and on since around Labor Day. The worst of it was around the beginning of September, when I had a bad sore throat and it hurt to swallow.

I felt better right after Labor Day. Then I relapsed.

Finally, I did what I probably should have done when this whole thing started.

I signed up for a COVID test. 

The process took about five minutes and involved swishing a long-handled Q Tip in one nostril while the person counted to 12, then repeating the process in the other nostril. For those of you that had a COVID test where the swab was shoved up your nose almost to your brain, no, this was not like that. You just had to get enough to be tested.

After said swishing was completed, I broke off the cotton portion of the Q Tip into a vial filled with liquid, sealed it in plastic which contained the ominous orange and black warning "BIOHAZARD", then dropped it into the collection box. All of this was done at our pharmacy's drive thru. 

The test said "one to two days" and I had mine done Sunday, so I didn't expect to hear until Tuesday what my results were.

Last night my phone dinged with my results.

I tested positive.

First off, I was shocked but not really surprised. It's a shock when you see "positive" on a test where you wanted a "negative." Second, even though I've been vaccinated, I've heard about breakthrough COVID and I figure this is what it is. Third, I'm grateful I did have the vaccine because I would have been much sicker without it. 

Today I called my doctor's office.  I am to quarantine for the next 10 days. And my husband and son need to get tested.

When I told my son, he didn't get why he needed to be tested because he'd already had his shots. But I got him tested anyway. And my husband is scheduled for tomorrow. 

I am not really that sick. I just have lagging congestion, the occasional cough, and residual fatigue.

Last year, I would have been terrified at a positive COVID diagnosis. 

This year, I'm just annoyed because this morning, I was on either phone, e-mail or text notifying everyone who needed to be notified and changing appointments that needed to be changed. (I'm reminded of my mother in law's comment after she had a seizure -- probably due to a lack of magnesium -- a number of years ago. Her complaint was, it's in the middle of a busy week!) 

But, I'll take annoyance over hospitalization any day of the week. 

I can't use "It's The End Of The World As We Know It" as my theme song in this particular snarkfest because I don't "feel fine". If anyone can find a funny song about illness, send it my way. In the meantime, I will be waving from the sick room.  Cheers! 

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Getting on with it, 20 years later

What more can I say about 9/11 that hasn't already been said, twenty years later?

We who are old enough to remember where we were, we've talked about where we were when we found out and how we felt. 

We've been through a 20-year war that began as a direct result of 9/11 and just ended in chaos a few weeks ago, and that's left everyone wondering, was it worth it? 

"Homeland Security" is now a regular phrase in the nation's vocabulary. 

We've grown used to the TSA's pat-downs, to taking off our shoes before we go through security screening, to buying 3 oz. bottles for our liquids.

This year's graduating seniors weren't even born when 9/11 happened. They learn about it in history class. 

Too many of us are too suspicious of anyone that doesn't look like us. 

And every September 11th, for too many, the bandage gets ripped off the wound, leaving it raw and exposed. We hear the reading of the names at Ground Zero, see the tears, see the photos of lost loved ones. 

Some want to remember. Some want to move on. 

Today, one of the "name readers" at Ground Zero specifically remembered her sister. I think the sister's name was Cathy.  

Cathy's sister said that one of Cathy's phrases was, "Get over it."

And then she said, "We've never gotten over it, but we've gotten on with it."

Getting on with it.

Maybe that is what should sum up these 20 years since 9/11. We have gotten on with it. 

But how well have we gotten on with it? 

Sixty-five children of 9/11 victims grew up to be first responders. 

Others enlisted in the military, wanting to serve and defend their country. 

And others looked for meaning in this tragedy. Some found a way to "get on with it" by serving others. 

Others have not.

They have "gotten on with it" by pointing fingers of blame at people who were not to blame, and encouraging hatred of people that should never be hated.

They have "gotten on with it" by using the phrase "America First" to excuse their hatred towards people and ideologies they do not like. 

Which leads to the question:  How am I "getting on with it"?

I'm remembering a personal loss today, in addition to the losses on 9/11:  my father died on September 11th, 1993, after fighting with Lou Gehrig's disease. He would probably be the type of person to say, "Get over it."

I also lost my mother in 2017. 

Like everyone, I am navigating a world dealing with a pandemic. 

I've spent nearly 20 years dealing with the reality of autism, the losses that it sometimes brings and the many gains it has brought.

There are days I seethe in anger and frustration at the finger-pointing and blaming going on in today's society. I fear that another 9/11 will not unite us. Instead, it will break us. 

My heart is especially broken over Christians fighting Christians over how to handle the pandemic, how to respond to racial issues, how to deal with the current political climate, and other subjects. 

So where do I go?  How do I "get on with it"? How do we all "get on with it"? 

Well, the longer I live, the fewer answers I have. 

But for me, I have to look to who is outside myself, and that is God. I know Him as someone who knows and understands my anger and pain, and my questions, and who can take it. I don't understand Him at times, and I don't understand at times why He continues to allow pain and evil in this world. 

And yet, I believe, in spite of my anger, in spite of my pain, in spite of the many times I have shaken my fist at God and demanded to know, why are you allowing this to happen?  I still believe He loves me, I still believe He is a God of love, I still believe He exists, and I still believe He is there.  

So how do I get on with it?

I reach up, put my hand in His, and together, we move forward.

Today is a day to stop and remember. For some, it's a day to stop and grieve. 

For all of us, tomorrow will be another day to get on with it. 

So, to combine the words of Cathy's sister and the last words of Todd Beamer, one of the heroic passengers of United Flight 93 . . . Get on with it. Are you ready? Let's roll.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.