After two years of dodging bullets, I finally got caught. Covid got me ten days ago and boy did it get me good!
I think I “manifested” it to be honest because recently I was a little bit smug about the fact I hadn’t had it. Telling everyone “No we haven’t had it, touch wood.” Should’ve kept my mouth shut. Story of my life.
Anyway as it turned out by the time I actually tested positive (five antigen tests later) I was relieved that I had Covid and not some rare tropical deadly disease that made you feel like you were swallowing broken glass and your head was going to explode.
Trouble was, Himself was gone away on a boys long weekend to Barcelona (I’ll save that for another day) and so I had no one to look after me whilst I coughed and moaned in my sick bed.
Everyone knows that part of the reason you have kids in the first place is so they will look after you in your hour of need. It might not be the number one reason for becoming parents, but it’s up there.
My two obviously missed the memo about looking after your elderly parents because as soon as the test showed two pink lines, they ran for the hills...or the living room to be precise and checked in on me via Whatsapp every once in a while.
The Eldest has no bedside manner at the best of times but given the fact he was heading to Galway for the weekend with his mates, he was determined not to get infected again. He fell victim to Covid in college earlier in the year but this didn’t stop him wearing a mask and a scarf over his face when he came to my bedroom door with a box of paracetamol.
The Youngest showed a bit more empathy – leaving cups of tea outside my door, knocking and running away. On the third morning and obviously over the worst, I asked for toast. Two hours later no sign of any toast. “Lads have you forgotten the toast?” I then heard shouting over who was going to make it, followed by a message which read –“which button do I press?”
Ten minutes later a disembodied hand came around the door, putting a plate of stone cold toast on the floor before legging it. Just as well I’d lost my sense of taste.
Himself returned home late Tuesday night with a tan, a hangover and as it turned out a positive antigen test. The next morning The Youngest tested positive.
They all took to their respective beds, requesting drinks and painkillers, tea and sympathy which I’ll admit was very much in short supply.
The only good thing is they’re all in their bedrooms recuperating while I get sole control of the telly and the opportunity to sample as many packets of crisps as I can to see if my tastebuds have returned.