"I had to take a sick day I'm so sick of these people."

I love to reflect. In fact, reminiscing is one of my favorite pastimes. And today, November 13, is an anniversary.

Around noon on Friday, November 13 in 2020, I was so uneasy about how weird I was feeling for the previous few days that I finally went for a PCR Covid test. I didn't feel comfortable returning to work until I had official results so for the next four days, I stuck to our IKEA chaise (forevermore affectionally referred to as 'the sickbed') and waited. 

My Chipotle the night before the test did taste odd, but I chalked it up to classic downriver fast food inconsistencies. However, by the evening of the 13th, my sense of taste was totally gone. We even tested it by eating a spoonful of horseradish and it went down smooth. As the days slowly passed while I waited for a phone call, I started to get nervous. I couldn't rationalize that little sinus headache or the tickle in my throat-- especially not combined with the loss of taste which I had never ever experienced before. 

On Tuesday morning, I got a call from the clinic and she told me I tested positive. And even though I had my suspicions, I didn't believe her. When she repeated herself, a weighted blanket of guilt and shame squished me-- another thing I'd never ever experienced before. The embarrassment was easily the worst part of having Covid and I don't for a second take for granted how fortunate that makes me. 

After I made the necessary calls to inform others about my results, I went back to my sickbed and didn't move from it for the next week. I watched Seinfeld (my comfort show) and played Sims and took pictures of Iris and nibbled on biscotti. Somewhere in there, the Wayne County Health Department called to ask a few questions and do some contact tracing and the woman on the phone was unexpectedly kind. When I confessed to her how ashamed I was, she was reassuring and supportive and honestly, made me feel a lot better. I know I did everything I could to limit my risk of getting sick, I followed all the precautions at work to a T, and once I knew I was sick, I was even more careful to not spread it. Morally, I knew I had no reason to feel guilty, but that doesn't change the fact that I most certainly did.

My view from the sickbed last year. 

And Joey. My old man. I was very worried about getting him sick. This was before he was being evaluated for a transplant, but because he has known underlying conditions, I didn't want him to get sick and I 100% didn't want to be the reason if he did. As far as we know, he never did get sick last fall.

This time last year, Joey slept on the couch we have in the room with the sickbed so neither one of us had to sleep alone. The sickbed is Joey's now and I sleep on the couch. He doesn't sleep on it for the same reason I did though. I wanted to keep us distanced so my germs wouldn't spread. I know in reality, he couldn't help but be exposed since we live in the same house, but it made me feel better to give him space. Joey is using the sickbed to keep his legs and head elevated while he sleeps in an attempt to limit the constant edema.

Our bedroom for the last several months featuring the sickbed.

This was not a post I had planned, but when you're struck with inspiration, ya just gotta roll with it. I intend to post again soon with more present day updates waiting patiently in my drafts.

The quote used for the title of this post was said in "The Frogger" by my queen, Elaine Benes.

And now, a word from our spoonie: Joey was telling me about a dream he had where he regretted getting one of those new folding smart phones and said (in typical engineer fashion), "Those are my nightmares, Katie. Things failing that shouldn't be failing." I helpfully replied, "Awww... like your whole life."

Also, Joey said something kinda gross this week regarding his swelling so consider that your warning-- "An odd benefit of having edema in my legs is built-in kneepads."