New Year's Eve went like most nights: a certain someone goes to bed early while The Big Scoop and I watch 1980 Wheel of Fortune episodes until it's "too late." Furthermore, who hasn't awoken on New Year's Day not feeling well? Certainly not unusual. But these days, New Year's events are a decidedly muted affair, so the little lady and I were surprised to see a very groggy older lady of the house the morning of. "I feel a cold coming on, but this feels different." How so, I asked. "I feel it in my body." Well, of course you would. Turns out, it was that indescribable feeling that meant something. Oh, did it mean something.
Out of precaution, she put on a mask. I crashed on the couch, and took over all home duties. Day 2 of '21 looked and sounded even worse. "I think I'm going to get a test." Movements seemed more deliberate and slower. You can only tell someone so many times to "take it easy" when you're trying to keep distance, right?
Later that afternoon, my phone rang. It was her - she was calling from the bedroom. Her voice was soft, a combination of illness and sadness. "I got the results back. I have Covid." My body likely made some sort of sound, and then I started to change the priorities of the house and, more importantly, my life. Masks on everyone, the Lysol in greater effect, and (more than anything) a general wondering of what the hell is next?
We meet outside, this time at approximately 20 feet distance (or so it seems) for the news drop on the Scoop. "Ohhhh. Uh oh." Yup. "Are you scared for me?" she asked. I said I was concerned of course...but if I might be allowed a selfish moment, I'm wondering if, uh, I'M ok?! Or will be tomorrow?
So the air filters are going and I'm dropping off room service food. From the bedroom, some groans and old smoker's coughs cut through attempted slices of life. The little lady and I go to Dodger Stadium and get tested...my heart races the next day to open the email...we're both negative. How did we dodge, pardon the pun, this bullet? I start to piece together how she got it (the hospital, of course...and it was likely inevitable. Shit, she went in that week to get the 1st vaccine shot. Oh the irony) but then conclude that what's done is done. Gotta keep up.
Week 2 continues, and we hear her beginning to boss us around from over the phone and rooms away. "This is a sure sign she's slowly getting better" I tell the scoop. She and I go to Echo Park for test 2 in a colorful part of town. It goes quick. We're both negative...again.
Come weekend, she says "well, it's been in my body for over 2 weeks, so I'm no longer contagious. I think if I wear a mask, I--" she was curtly cut off by yours truly. "Um....no? You're not healthy, still have a cough. Let's wait until you test negative." Days later, she gets a test, more out of my insistence than anything. "I feel better now, it should be fine." Well, I hope so. Sunday morning we finally get the news: she's prognosis negative. She looks like she's the picture of good health, all smiles. So are the scoop and myself, breathing a sigh of relief. Masks taken off...
But you can't help but reflect. Scared as I was, and maybe slightly am for the future, we got off lucky. There are, as of this writing, 35,000+ deaths in this state since "it all" started. There are no signs, as of now, of slowing. We look up, toward the horizon, knowing there seems to be an actual plan from those in charge. Thankful there is now someone who IS in charge. Thankful it worked out. Mindful that...well, it's not over.
