Dancing in the rain.

Surprise! We’ve got Covid. A person thought it would be ok to come INTO OUR HOME after coming into contact with an individual whose father tested positive. Of course, the guy who came into our home thought he did the right thing by getting tested, and the gentleman whose father was positive was also tested. Homeboy came back negative. Excellent! And that’s all we were told. That he came back negative from a covid test. And naturally, we thought that was great and that he was likely the safest person in our living room.

Here’s the part he neglected to tell us: He came into contact with the man whose father tested positive on Friday. He went out and got a test on….Friday. Same day. His test came back Sunday – negative. He came over to our house on Sunday. Of course his test was negative, he was tested the exact same day. Then, on Monday, he had a slight fever, and the gentleman he’d been near tested positive. Cool. Would’ve been super nice if we’d been told the whole story here as we’ve been EXTREMELY careful thus far.

Had we known that he was tested the same EXACT day he was exposed, that would have been enough to ask him to stay home. Had we known that the gentleman whose father tested positive hadn’t even gotten a test back yet…well, YEAH, that would have sealed the deal. For the life of me, I cannot even begin to understand why anyone would think that it is ok to enter another persons home, especially with three young children and a husband with asthma, four days before Thanksgiving, during a pandemic, knowing full well that he had come into contact with an individual who will likely test positive for Covid_19. Why? WHY?!

I will never know. And my sweet husband has made it clear that there is no sense in being angry with others. So, almost three weeks ago we were all exposed to COVID. And then, we were left to deal with the repercussions of that interaction. Sure, I’m still angry with the person who walked into my home with knowledge that I was not privy to, but positivity is better for the immune system, so fuck him. And if he’s reading this, I hope he reads the whole damn thing.

Here is a synopsis of our experience:

Day one: That person who came into our home reports a mild fever. Awesome. AWESOME. We cut off all interaction with the rest of the world. I call my grandmother to un-invite her to our miniature Thanksgiving dinner. It was supposed to be just be the 5 of us, plus her. Now she will spend Thanksgiving alone.

Day two: It’s been 48 hours, so we take the entire family to stand out in the freezing cold, and miss school, for a nasal swab COVID test. We wait nearly 2 hours in sub-freezing weather, in line with hundreds of other people who might be sick for this test where they aim to poke your brain via your nostril. The kids are troopers, but they are toast.

Day three: All of our tests come back negative! Kenny starts to feel unwell. He’s in denial, but goes to bed early.

Day four: I’m basically on my own. My husband is not well. Still in denial. I order him to stay out of the kitchen. He goes to bed at like 4pm.

Day five: Kenny is officially sick, and he has been relegated to the guest room. The kids have been notified that they may not use their bathroom. I wear a mask when I check in on him. I’m not sure the kids even know that he is home. Naturally, I’m fine. My immune system is like fortress. Always has been. Of course, I’ve got many days to go until I am released from quarantine over here, but it’s been six days since I was near that moron and my only complaint so far is a mild hangover, three needy children and my lack of husband. We are officially quarantining from him. No interaction in our own home, as directed.

My kids are fine so far too. Thank God.

Day six: My poor husband. Likely targeted due to his asthma, and the fact that the guy has exactly two weeks off between jobs right now. So, he’ll be spending it in misery, with a low grade fever, body aches and severe exhaustion, locked in the guest room, alone. So far, his lungs have been ok. Thankfully he’s prepared with inhalers, and we’ve had family reach out to offer their own stock-piled albuterol. But I feel like we’ve got a long ass way to go. I wear a mask when I deliver his three square meals a day, and a snack or maybe dessert if he’s lucky. Just kidding. I’ll bring him anything he needs, but our only contact is via text.

My kids won’t be able to go to school next week. I’ve had to tell clients that I cannot see them and rearrange my own appointments. I can’t see my parents. Our kids are locked in our house. I order groceries to be delivered. My poor husband.

In an attempt to have him re-tested ASAP, I spoke with his doctor this morning and the conversation was alarming. He might just have the flu, they said. Ok, but given the situation, my kids can’t go to school. Right? Well, you all got negative tests, so they can technically go. Um, WHAT?! Their Daddy is bed-ridden with a fever and body aches six days since being exposed to a person who likely had/has covid and was definitely exposed to someone with covid. But the kids can go to school? This makes zero sense.

The protocol here is frighteningly unorganized. We’re relying heavily on individuals to, “do the right thing” even when the right thing means missing work, losing money, missing class, paying extra for grocery deliveries, making tough phone calls to family and friends, and staying quarantined alone. Very alone. It’s no wonder anxiety and depression are common side effects of Covid. This shit is not for the faint of heart.

This is where the days begin to blend together a bit…

UPDATE: My little Charlotte woke up with a low grade fever. Telehealth scheduled. Fuck.

UPDATE: Husband and 5-year old have been tested. Waiting for results. Charlotte had a fever all day and a splitting headache. She moved into the guest room with Daddy. I washed her sheets, and my sheets and bleached every square inch of their bathroom. I am currently in denial of the slight tightness in my own chest and my aching feet.

UPDATE: Day 7 since that moron came into our home. 3am. I am up with a migraine, full body aches and likely a fever. Thermometer is in the guest room. So much for that fortress of mine.

End of day 7. Charlotte seems to have kicked the fever quickly. She hasn’t had medicine since 6:30am, and no fever. She played outside for maybe 30 min and then crashed on the couch, so she’s tired but otherwise her normal self. Hubby is extremely exhausted but has been able to join in helping with the kids. We are not quarantining from each other within the house anymore because of my fever/symptoms. Excedrin seems to be working well for me? I am tired and my body aches and my skin is tender (especially my scalp?) but otherwise alive. Kenny’s fever is back and he went to bed early again. I am hopeful that tomorrow we will all continue to improve. I am nervous because of all the stories I’ve read that covid can be such a rollercoaster of symptoms. We hope to have Kenny and Charlottes test results tomorrow. Praying that we all get some much-needed sleep tonight.

Day 8 since exposure. The kids all appear to be ok. No fevers, no symptoms. Kenny has a fever this am again, and very low energy but is otherwise doing ok. I also have a low grade fever, and some wild body aches but I am otherwise ok. Still no results from Kenny and Charlotte’s test on Saturday morning, but Kenny’s doctor’s office called him this morning and he was called in for a rapid flu test and rapid covid test.

Finally: He tested negative for flu, and positive for covid. We await more direction from the state, but his doc said we must all be re-tested. It’s been one hell of a week.

The days blur together as we battle parenting while both sick with COVID, the depression brought on by the inevitable quarantine required, and the inescapable exhaustion that we are facing. Y’all, the exhaustion is unreal. We push through day upon day of inability to rise from the bed or the couch and fight through parenting three young children and email contact with their wonderful teachers. My whole body aches. I can’t complete any task. My poor kids.

Day nine: I test positive. And a few days later we get my other daughters positive test results. She was entirely asymptomatic. No one would have ever known that she had COVID. That’s actually terrifying. It’s an absolute shit show over here. We’ve received direction from the state, and we’re completing our quarantine. Trust me when I say that these people who call you are kind, but they are also afraid. They are scared, and their lack of confidence is palpable through the phone. They just repeat the same narrative to us over and over.

Suffice it to say that we’re all alive. None of us had to rush to the hospital. I am extremely grateful that we are all on the mend. But I’ve also learned that this virus tends to take a mental toll in the same way that it takes a physical toll on your body. My body is still healing and my mind has a ways to go too.

I recently heard that the song, “Rain on me” by Lady Gaga and Ariana Grande was named as Billboards unofficial 2020 anthem. I wrote it off immediately because it’s just another pop song that will come and go. I like Taylor Swift better anyway. But I continued to drive home from my first outing in several weeks, and naturally got to thinking a bit about the song.

The words are, “I’d rather be dry, but at least I’m alive. Rain on me, rain, rain…”. And, well, right now I really am grateful to be alive. But I’m not mentally ok. I am afraid to rejoin society. I’m afraid for my children to be with others, even though they’ve completed their required quarantine and been cleared to go back to school. I’m perhaps excited to enter a grocery store (with a mask on), but petrified to see my own extended family. I’ve read far too many articles about post-COVID related health issues, especially in children. I am watching my children like a hawk, so afraid their immune system will crash.

I can’t stop crying. I cried over an Amazon commercial. I cried when I wrote my kids’ teacher a thank you email. I’ve cried over nearly every article posted on Facebook about….anything. I cried after my dogs vet appointment, and while watching my kids sled outside. I’m crying now. My nerves are shot. My mind is still in a fog.

It’s been two weeks since exposure and my fever is long gone, so I geared myself up for a short run. I BARELY made it a mile before crawling back into the house. My lungs feel like they’re seizing. I can’t take a full breath. I’m doubled over in the kitchen just trying not to collapse. It takes hours to pull myself together. And I’m the one without asthma.

Now it’s been almost three weeks since we were exposed and I woke up this morning with a splitting headache and a congested face. Maybe it was the two strong drinks I had before bed, maybe it’s lingering symptoms. When I first heard that song I thought the words were, “I’d rather be drunk, but at least I’m alive”. I’m not sure which version I like better.

Perhaps it should be the 2020 theme song. Being soaked can mean different things to different people, but we all wish we were dry. Maybe your rain is sadness, isolation, fear, or loss. Maybe mine is covid. I can’t take back that day I was exposed, though I’d give just about anything to do so. So here I stand, in the rain. I’d rather be dry, but at least I’m alive.

Sometimes, when all is lost, all we can control is our attitude. So I might be drenched, but I won’t just stand here. I’ve got three kids watching me. For them, I’m gonna dance in this damn rain. I will force positivity; I will rehabilitate my lungs; I will manifest healing; and I will hold our last umbrella over their three little heads in the midst of this torrential downpour. I will dance to heal my body and my mind and I’ll hope that we all come out stronger on the other side. For me, and for them.