(November 28 – December 11, 2022)
When the Walgreens screen lit up “POSITIVE,” I knew my long-running streak of Covid dodgeball was done. After two years of caregiving, masking, and lecturing my grandkids on “Papa’s special germs,” the virus finally tagged me—24 hours before a scheduled colonoscopy, no less. (Silver lining: that particular probe got postponed.)
Below is the condensed log of those eleven strange, woozy, gratitude-laced days—stitched into one story so future-me can remember what it felt like and maybe someone else can see the curve of the ride.
Day 1 – Tag, I’m It
Mild aches, drippy nose, a touch of lung crud. No fever. Being fully vaxxed and boosted should help, but I’m immunocompromised, so optimism comes lightly salted with caution. Wife Robin races off to chase down a test of her own; the local pharmacies treat each swab like a black-market truffle. She’ll eventually find one, but not today.
Mantra of the day: Choose Joy—postpone colonoscopy.
Day 2 – The Aches of It All
NyQuil half-dose knocks me out; exhaustion finishes the job. Fever hovers at 99°. Joints and brain feel like they’ve been run through a dishwasher’s pots-and-pans cycle. Still, I wake to another “perfect first second,” so the motto stands.
Day 3 – Run Over by a Bus (But OK)
Fatigue deepens; head feels wrapped in cobwebs. Lung rattles a bit on the right side. I retreat to my bookmarks folder (11,000 strong) and start pruning like a dazed librarian. If brain fog deletes something important, future-me will blame present-me and move on. Wife finally secures her test appointment for tomorrow; we both practice advanced breathing exercises—mine for congestion, hers for patience.
Day 4 – Paxlovid to the Rescue
Primary-care doc orders the fabled horse pills. Three tablets, twice a day, the size of Lego bricks. First dose brings a metallic taste that would curdle coffee. Robin’s test comes back negative (hallelujah). My nose leaks, head throbs, but spirits climb; at least I’m doing something.
Day 5 – And Let the Aches Begin
First real fever spike—98.9° for me is a bonfire. More sleep, more Paxlovid, more weird taste. I stream sports in bite-size bursts between naps. Wife drops NyQuil-induced saint jokes into the doorway and flees before the cough can catch her.
Day 6 – Better… Maybe
Groundhog’s-Day repeat of Day 5: low-grade fever, ripple-spasms in calves and right arm, hearing goes muffled, leg hair decides to evacuate. Miss my grandson’s second-birthday party but beam in via giant-screen Duo; he presses his nose to “Garage-Wall Papa” and giggles, which pretty much defeats despair.
Day 7 – A Break Toward the End?
Nine hours of sleep, no fever on waking. Headache bows to Tylenol. Still wiped, but I can read a novel in slow motion and pretend to be an academic peer reviewer (sorry, colleagues). Memphis Tigers win; Robin and I text commentary across separate TVs like quarantined sportscasters.
Day 8 – Is It Safe to Come Out?
Last dose of Paxlovid. Cold-symptom leftovers linger, but the brain cobwebs thin. I sanitize my quarantine cave with disinfectant wipes and old Navy Chief resolve. Still negative on home tests (they’d never caught me in the first place), but lab PCR says the virus has left the building.
Day 9 – Sanitizing & Second Wind
Negative test—again. Hearing still fuzzy; weird muscle ripples persist. I decorate the Christmas tree in slow-motion bursts, pretending that counts as cardio. Begin wondering about Paxlovid rebound; file that under “Later.”
Day 13 (Final Entry) – The After-Party
Two weeks out, aches return for an encore: chills, sniffles, that “coming-down-with-something” twinge. I sleep ten hours, wake up merely tired, and decide the acute phase is probably done—even if Covid itself is clearly here to stay.
Global case spikes, China’s policy pivot, U.S. winter wave—plenty of reasons to stare at charts, but I bookmark the headlines for tomorrow. Today’s task is simpler: breathe, hydrate, and remind the universe I am still a stubborn man on the right side of the dirt.
What I Learned (and Might Forget)
- Covid is a shape-shifter. One hour you’re polishing ornaments; the next you’re an overheated rag doll.
- Paxlovid works—but the taste could strip paint.
- Testing infrastructure is only as good as the lone pharmacy tech on shift. Plan ahead.
- Brain fog is real. Backup your work, apologize in advance, and don’t buy crypto while medicated.
- Gratitude beats grievance. A devoted spouse, good docs, grandkids on video chat, and a house big enough for quarantine equal jackpot odds in most of the world.
- Joy is a choice. Even when the choice feels like lifting a sandbag with tweezers.
I’m filing this saga under “Completed Quests,” aware that sequels are possible. If another variant comes knocking, I’ll answer with vaccines, Paxlovid, patience—and the same first-second grin.
Until then, stay safe, get boosted, love your people, and Choose Joy. The clock is always counting down to the next perfect second—don’t waste the one you’re in.
