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After avoiding the dreaded ‘Rona for 4 years and tricking myself into believing we were either uncannily lucky or simply immune…
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The modern equivalent of the plague found me and I popped positive for Covid.
Life since has … quite frankly…. been hell.
Four days ago I had a slight sore throat.
Three days ago I took to bed and stayed there for 36 hours barely able to raise my head. Blinding headache, killer sinus pressure, body aches, congestion, coughing, chills, crippling fatigue. I was down for the count. And pretty much on my own because as much as I love my husband, he’s the worst nurse on the face on the planet.
Yesterday I managed a shower and did a victory lap to the kitchen for a bowl of chicken soup. Which I fixed myself.
This morning?
My ever so thoughtful husband stood at the edge of our bed shaking my foot (at 3:00 am…. WTF!) telling me I had to get up and test him.
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So now he’s in bed, where I was three days ago, whining non stop and expecting me…. who, hello? is sick with the very same thing… to cater to his every need. He may be a Marine, but when he’s sick he’s a big fat baby.
Hence, Hell.
Life right now is Hell.
Did I mention I just had to cancel a non refundable week long holiday vacation we’d booked at a fabulous resort in the Berkshire Mountains starting tomorrow? No quintessential Norman Rockwell Christmas in Stockbridge, no horse drawn sleigh ride, (I had to cancel that too) no sipping hot toddies on the Red Lion Inn’s porch.
Hell, I tell you.
Hell.
😫
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