The weekend before last I went to St. Louis for a wedding. Each day I felt a little more under the weather; it was unfolding like a classic head cold. I’ve also been very susceptible to allergies, which up until this summer really haven’t been. The first night we blasted the air conditioning and chalked my sore throat the next day to a dry environment the night before. By Sunday I was full blown SOMETHING and was struggling to get through lunch with friends and the long drive back.
I decided on that Monday I wanted to see a doctor and, to be safe, get a Covid test. We tested negative with an at-home test we brought with us on Saturday but I wanted to have a PCR done. On Tuesday I went to a doctor. I thought I had a sinus infection, but turned out it was viral. I learned an at-home test can produce a false negative. Call it hindsight bias, but Tuesday night before I had the results I thought “yea I bet this is Covid.”
It’s obvious to say I caught it at the wedding, but with how lenient we are becoming/how easily it can be picked up I could have gotten it anywhere. And ultimately, who cares?
So once I got the result, on with the mask. Life got very, VERY lonely. I cancelled my Fourth of July weekend plans. I cancelled my workout sessions. I reframed my plans to what I wanted to read and watch, and I wrote off last week and this week.
I did note something about myself and my patience. Pre-surgery I had like a 4/10 level of patience, at best. AT BEST. Now I’m more like a 2/10 but sick? 0/10. I’m therefore just a joy to be with…
Today is technically the last day I should wear a mask. I’ll still be cautious, plan to still wear a mask next week at my workouts and want to get a PCR to “test out” next week.
