Rona’s got me in her clutches

Oh god, after all my smug certainty that I would avoid Covid it’s finally got me. I started to feel shitty on Saturday and figured it was allergies because I’d been out gardening and such. I even took a test on Saturday and it showed up negative. Today, day three, still feeling like garbage, I tested this morning and got the dreaded positive results. Like a total typhoid Mary, I’ve been emailing everyone I’ve been in touch with over the past few days to let them know they needed to get tested.

Dean is so far asymptomatic. I’ve been keeping to myself in the office, sleeping on the couch in there. Still though, it seems like it would be really hard to avoid catching it living in the same house. Maybe he’ll be okay, fingers crossed. We’d both figured that if one of us got it, the other would as well.

It is said that illness is western man’s way of meditating. Whenever I’m sick I really take a good long rest because I am rarely sick. I poped into a telemedicine chat this morning (which I love!) and met a very nice doctor somewhere in the midwest. He prescribed me Paxlovid so I’m going to give that a shot. A friend of mine took it and he had rebound Covid but he also said that you can’t push yourself after you recover because even though you feel better, it’s in there lurking.

I’m also goobering out on my apple watch oximeter. So far 97% and holding. So that reasonable. Ah, damn, I meant to have my friend sign my advanced health care directives when she was here the other night. Shoot! With all that’s been going on in the US I wanted to get started on a paper trail so the GOP goon squad can’t keep me hooked up to a respirator endlessly. I visit Florida often and don’t want to go through Teri Schaivo’s ordeal at the hands of an over-zealous religious nut, keen on scoring points with the angry sky wizard.