Eleanor raised her arms to be picked up. “P, P, P,” she said, her version of “please.” What could be more precious than a little girl in a pink tie-dyed dress asking for a lift? I did it, but it was an effort and I felt flushed. I put my hand to my forehead. Do I have a fever?
“I’m going to change into a lighter shirt,” I told Dave. I handed over the baby and went upstairs.
Whew. These stairs are steep, I thought. Deep breath. Slow release. Repeat. Repeat. My lungs were working, but am I getting enough oxygen? Is this what they mean by “short of breath"? My hips were sore; my lower back ached. It’s probably just from picking up the baby, from awkward positions. Right? Or are these “achy joints” a Covid symptom?
Mentally, I scanned my outings, hugs, and interactions over the past two weeks, minimal though they were. You never know who’s a carrier… shit. Do I have it?
Just yesterday I’d been satisfied and smug. Due to my morning routine of Pilates exercises and stretches, my back had never felt better. And even in caring for Eleanor, Dave and I have marveled at our continued stamina in following her around the house, up the stairs, down the stairs, lifting and leaning as we obey our adorable tyrant and the imperative of her pointing finger to allow for closer inspection of flowers, bees, rug lint, and anthills. But every Covid patient has had a day-before-onset where they’ve felt as fine as I have.
We live near Westport, Town Zero for Fairfield County, where a going away party triggered the first wave of cases in March. Dave and I love eating out, and we’d socialized and shopped over the weeks prior as usual, not realizing the potential danger. When coronavirus alarms officially sounded, developing symptoms was an unnerving possibility. Every back-of-throat tickle was cause for concern, and whenever I coughed, I’d wonder, was that a plain old cough or a dry cough?
Our daughter Casey, in a reversal of roles, was stern in demanding compliance. “You’re not taking this Coronavirus thing seriously,” she’d say. “You have to be more careful.” In one instance, when I hugged a friend after two particularly tasty cosmos, Casey’s dismay arrived in a series of disapproving all-cap texts:
MOM YOU’RE NOT BEING SMART.
WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?
I’M SUPER UNHAPPY WITH YOU. IT’S NOT LIKE YOU TO MAKE SUCH A DUMB DECISION.
Sigh. She was right. But it was so unnatural, such a departure, to eliminate hugs and time with friends. Those were also the early days of Covid-ignorance when Dave and I believed the precautions and remedies suggested on social media and forwarded by friends. As advised, we held our breaths each morning for 17 seconds, and since we could, felt reassured that we were fine. I gargled with hot salt water regularly too, just to make sure.
As the months passed, minimizing outings and contact became routine, although we’ve enjoyed socially distanced visits with some family and friends, and resumed contact with Casey, her husband, and little Eleanor since Casey returned to work and needed help with the baby. It seems like eons since we’ve seen our Boston gang, my son, daughter-in-law, and two beloved grandchildren. That is our greatest sadness, but given the tragedies occurring around the world, we are just grateful everyone is healthy. While the news continues to be sobering as Covid cases rise, here in Connecticut, it seems the worst is over. Most people are being careful, so all of us are safer.
A few days ago, however, I caught myself idly biting a hangnail as I drove home from some errands. Oh no. I had touched counters and touch pads and well-handled-produce. Did I pick it up then? Do I have it?
When I got to the house, I started with hand sanitizer and washed my hands vigorously, for a long time, in very hot water. But what about my mouth? I smeared sanitizer on my lips, but that seemed inadequate. Then I thought, alcohol! Alcohol kills the virus. I took a hefty swig of Baumbu rum, swished out my mouth, gargled, and spit it out. A solution I hoped would be successful as well as tasty. I felt a touch safer.
But now, two days later, in my flushed and fatigued state, I worried about that hangnail lapse. The weather’s been crazy: wild rain then sunshine then thunder and lightning. Could I blame the aches and lethargy on barometric pressure? For good measure, I downed two glasses of water, a vitamin D pill, and a B-12 gummy. Dave said, “Go relax for a bit and I’ll watch the baby.”
I retreated to the back porch and tried to calm my Covid fears. A wren serenaded me with a song superlative in its composition and volume given the tiny size of the singer. Busy bees buzzed in our snowfield of clover. Foxglove spires bowed low under their weight of purple blossoms. A mountainous cumulous cloud obscured the sun. A hawk swooped in low. Nature heals.
I could hear Dave and Eleanor upstairs singing into the fan, “Wa wa wa wa…,” enjoying the tremolo produced by the swirling blades. I was cool and grateful for deep breaths that seemed to hold plenty of oxygen. Testing... breathing in and out, in and out. I think I’m okay. Thank you God.
