When Covid finally hit our house we figured we were all in it together – except like all the best laid plans it didn’t quite work out like that. The virus only had me in its sights this time round
• JUST when I thought I must be bionic and that I should donate my body to medical research, the inevitable happened – I got the two red lines on the antigen test. And do you know what? My initial reaction, having just returned from a week-long extended family holiday with a bit of a sore throat, was sort of ‘sure, a bit of peace and quiet, how bad.’ So before the second red line had barely established itself, I was gathering up various electronic devices, phone chargers, bits of Easter eggs, packets of biscuits, and newspapers and scurrying to the bedroom, suggesting that 1.30pm would be a good time for my lunch, and that I’d probably also need a little bell. I was totally ready for this, I knew the drill. Dr Tony would have been proud. There was only one problem ….
• And that was that the other two members of the family weren’t ready to let me go that easily. And try as I did to convince them that it was entirely their well-being I had in mind, as I slammed the door shut in their faces, they decided they’d had good innings and they’d take their chances. In it together and all the rest. To be fair, it made sense that we’d all try to get the virus at the same time, especially as I already had the week off work, the six-year-old was still on school holidays, and the husband hadn’t anything too urgent on the agenda. It was a case of: Covid, c’mon let’s be having you!
• Except Covid wasn’t being quite so co-operative. A day later, I was feeling absolutely miserable. A horrible headache and a hacking cough were my main symptoms, but the other two were still negative and in full health. At that point my husband could see how the week was shaping up (making me Lemsip and playing Barbies) so he rethought his strategy and armed with enough antigen tests for a small town, he retreated to isolate from us. Meanwhile, I upped the ante with the six-year-old: we shared a bed, we went on little spins (with the windows closed) and basically spent every (breathing) minute together. We went to a nearby beach for a few hours one day (bending the rules I know but let he who hasn’t sinned….), and also visited another Covid infested house (where we compared coughs), but other than that we were under house arrest for the duration. All of it.
• It was a week with very strong Lockdown 1 vibes. Even though I didn’t have a whole pile of energy (ah c’mon, get out the violins!), I still found myself doing Lockdown 1 things like walking up the road and litter picking; doing a bit of baking (that’s now 23 healthy lunchbox bars I’ve trialled on the six-year-old, all of which she’s rejected. Suggestions anyone?); watching random videos on how to properly fold jeans and fitted bed sheets (fascinating, swear to God, look them up) and watching too much Netflix (if you haven’t seen Anatomy of a Scandal check it out not for the storyline, but just for Sienna Miller’s house and her wardrobe. Oh and her hair). I also spent the week deliberating over a black dress which would have been perfect for the fast approaching Communion season (I don’t really do colour). On Wednesday I felt I could probably live without it, and by Thursday I felt life would be better with it, and when I went to purchase it on Friday, sure of course my size was gone. In that moment it was almost too much to deal with, but time is a great healer. Besides, I do have five other black dresses to choose from.
• Having to isolate was also a great way to empty the freezer, what with not being able to ‘pop to the shops.’ However, having selected chili con carne three nights in a row in what was a bit of a lucky dip, I’m definitely going to take more care with my labelling going forward (and I don’t want to see minced meat for a good while either).
• In the middle of it all then the dog almost had a heart attack. She’d been under a bit of pressure for a few weeks and I figured it was just an age thing. One morning though, her gasping for breath put my own heart crossways. A dash to the vets diagnosed she was indeed experiencing heart failure, but thanks to modern medicine she’s back flying it and giving the puppy a good run for his money. We’re also doing our bit for the pig industry as she will only take her meds concealed in ham (at least it’s not minced meat I suppose).
• Anyway, I’m not sure if it was just our household, but we became obsessive compulsive about antigen testing. It was the high point of every day. Sometimes we couldn’t resist and we did it twice a day, just to keep fully on top of developments. I was in constant hope of being in the clear, and the other two wanted to know if they’d caught the lurgy. I obviously eventually got the single line on day seven, and strangely the others never tested positive at all which possibly means they already, unknowingly, had it. Bonkers. A bit like the Covid headache which is lingering on. All in all a long and testing week!
