Not a unicorn after all

For nearly three years, I have been so very careful. I have worn a mask, I have washed my hands, I have avoided large gatherings, I have canceled plans, I have turned my car into a dining room, I have skipped weddings and funerals and graduations and vacations.  

For nearly three years, every cough, sniffle, headache, and barely-there sore throat has put me on High Alert that I might have finally Caught It. And yet, despite so many “you might have been exposed” texts and phone calls, I miraculously stayed Covid-free. I frankly started to wonder.

Wonder if maybe that cold I had in February 2020 was actually Covid? Wonder if maybe I was one of those blissfully clueless asymptomatic carriers? Wonder if maybe I was a “Superdodger” or a “Never-Covider” – a magically immune unicorn in the midst of a potentially deadly virus?

Well, back in December I got to wonder no more. Turns out I am very decidedly not a unicorn.

It started innocently enough. All I noticed was slight soreness in the upper part of my throat. And it wasn’t sore when I swallowed. This was not typical at all for any “I’m sick” sore throat I’ve ever had, so I chalked it up to dry, wintery air and cold winds and maybe the side effects of some exhausted snoring the night before that Rob assured me was absolutely adorable.

Then a couple of days later, while sitting in the passenger seat while Rob and I were running errands, I felt a weird shortness of breath. I could breathe just fine – no wheezing or feeling pressure on my chest or panic that I couldn’t catch my breath. Instead it felt more like I just couldn’t get a good, deep breath without thinking about it – my breaths were sort of shallow on their own. But, that weirdness passed after a few minutes, so I decided it was just another peculiar health moment that seems to define being in your 50s.

The next day, though, yowza.

I woke up with the worst sinus pressure of my life. I had a massive headache and my whole face hurt. The sore throat was gone, but I had a light, dry cough and was sneezing and had a runny nose. I was tired and didn’t feel great, but aside from the headache I didn’t feel terribly compromised either. But the sinus pressure – it was pretty distractingly awful.

Ever the optimist, Rob saw the look of panic on my achy face but was certain I did not have Covid. He hadn’t been feeling 100% for a few days either, but he had decided he had a sinus infection due to his head and teeth hurting. Urgent Care had even provided him antibiotics that seemed to be helping despite uncharacteristically leaving a bitter taste in his mouth for several days.

With enough snot and phlegm plaguing my head, I decided it was time – for the first time ever – to dip into our Jenga tower of at-home Covid tests. I had enough symptoms and organic material in my nose, I was confident a false negative was impossible. 

Perhaps now is a good time to get a 
handle on the expiration date recommendations

Feeling like I should be wearing a lab coat and goggles, I swabbed and clicked and carefully applied the vialed reagent drop by drop. As I stared at the test on the bathroom counter, I had a moment of déjà vu and was filled with relief that a possible pregnancy was not at stake. 

I spent the next 20 minutes trying to figure out how long the wait at Urgent Care might be so I, too, could get some spiffy antibiotics for the insane sinus infection I seemed to have brewing. I also lightly pondered if I would need to use the other test in the box just in case. Because the instructions said the positive test line might be a very light pink color and therefore a little iffy to read.

Returning to the bathroom, I adjusted my glasses and got ready to intensely discern whether or not I saw a faint pink line. And the universe laughed.

For the untested, the bottom line is
the test result. You know, the deep
purple line that is more prominent
than the control line.

I spent the rest of the day on the couch staring into space. I didn’t feel like reading or listening to a podcast or playing mindless solitaire games. I didn’t have much motivation to do anything other than fantasize about what life would be like with a new head because the one I had was full of snot and was dreadfully annoying.

That first day of confirmed positivity ended up being the worst day of my Covidom. Each day after that was remarkably better in weird and wonderful ways. By the third day – and by my retrospective count, the sixth day of symptoms – I was feeling pretty much back to normal other than being tired. But I’m always sort of tired (hey there, painsomnia!) so that really didn’t count.

Over the course of the three most intense days of Covidity, I – at various times – had a light cough, a massive headache, and my ears were plugged. For one day, it felt like my tongue was coated in butter. The next day, the tip of it felt fuzzy like I had burned it on some hot soup. Both of those days, I couldn’t taste anything sweet and was overwhelmed by how salty everything was, especially Kraft mac and cheese (I love salt but that orange bowl of intended comfort was so disgustingly salty, I fear I may not ever eat that childhood favorite again.) 

I wasn’t able to smell anything for a few days, but that could have been all the congestion. In months past, I had wondered – and even Googled – what “brain fog” was. I can now describe it as feeling slightly drunk – like, you know what you are doing and saying but you have to double-check everything and go a lot slower and work a lot harder to make sure you aren’t forgetting something. Far as I can tell, the brain fogginess only lingered for a few days.

The common theme here is “a few days.” Thank God that’s all Covid really amounted to for me. But that was the terror in the thick of it: I did not know if anything I was experiencing was incredibly temporary or would linger for weeks or would become a new chronic issue that I would have to learn to live with. Not knowing how long the symptoms would last, not knowing if I would end up with long-Covid, not knowing if new symptoms would appear, not knowing if I was going to end up in the hospital. The uncertainty was by far the worse symptom. It was indeed like having a really bad cold, but more like having one for the first time in my life and having no idea what to expect from it.

I tried not to panic over thoughts of never being able to enjoy wine again or having to swim through the rest of my life feeling like my ears had water in them or having to build in extra time to do every little thing to allow my brain to keep up. I am so profoundly grateful that all of that was truly just a few days. And that I was able to treat my symptoms at home with the only-recently-expired stash of OTC meds Rob and I stocked up in April 2020. Tylenol, Mucinex, and Afrin for the win!

Speaking of gratitude, there is an enormous and unexpected relief to having finally Gotten It. For the first time in three years, I am not terrified of getting sick. I no longer wonder how my body will react to this unpredictable virus. I no longer fear adding to my list of chronic adventures. It was fascinating to watch my body learn how to fight the virus from the hints I shot into it four times. It learned quickly.

And for the first time in nearly three years, I can not tell you what the current Covid case number is in my county. That number is published in our local newspaper every Thursday, but hyper data freaks know where to find it on Wednesday night. But I incredibly do not know what that number is – and if it is trending up or down or largely holding steady. And I haven’t known – or cared – for a while now. 

That honestly is even better than being a unicorn.