After almost two years of dodge, dip, dive, duck and dodge coronavirus finally caught up with us. We’re not entirely sure where we caught it but we have managed to pinpoint the day and I’m pleased to report it was the product of a particularly wonderful night out together.
For a virus whose symptoms range from literally nothing to death, we got off lightly. I’d like to thank everyone involved in the vaccination roll out for our ability to fight this off without major incident. I realise that our privilege means that we were able to get vaccinated, stay home from work with full pay and order pretty much anything we want to be delivered right to our door within minutes and it makes me insanely sad that for many, MANY people their corona reality is so much worse.
For anyone that’s interested, this is our Twelve Days of Coronavirus…
On the first day of covid… (Sunday)
I stood in line waiting to get a PCR test, texting my Mum to say I’d been pinged from the previous week but that my lateral flow test had been negative the day before and that I felt completely fine. I had to wait for half an hour in the queue despite it being appointments only and I remarked that I hadn’t seen people lining up like that since the beginning. It felt odd that those memories are now over a year old.
I went home. I video called with my family back home which again felt odd as it’s not something we’ve done for a while now. I worked for a couple of hours and then started cooking a roast dinner for myself and my boyfriend. Part way through the evening I began to feel unwell. I couldn’t put my finger on how I felt, just exhausted and shivery and off. He felt fine and we went to bed as normal.
On the second day of covid… (Monday)
I woke up with the alarm but couldn’t stir myself free of the drowsiness. My boyfriend had moved to the sofa at some point in the night, I assumed because I was snoring. I hit snooze 4 times, an unusual thing for me and eventually my boyfriend crawled back into bed with me saying he was hot. We began a now thrice daily ritual of temperature taking. His was 38.2, mine was 37.6.
Eventually I dragged myself up and we took lateral flow tests: both negative. He hadn’t had any results from the pcr he’d done the previous Friday so he did another one and I ventured out briefly to post it, fetch some supplies and take the bins out. If we were going to get sick then I wasn’t having a stinking chicken carcass in the flat with us or leaving the dishes piled by the sink.
I had a zoom meeting for work and ploughed through some essential tasks for the day. I noticed an inability to retain information and kept having to ask things multiple times and I felt overwhelmed and tearful. I became noticeably physically shivery and by 4pm I had to log off from work and lie down. My boyfriend’s temperature reached 38.9 whilst I shook with chills next to him and we agreed; we’re definitely sick.
We tried to eat but he couldn’t manage anything. He spent most of the day in bed. Everything ached. I became incredibly aware of every muscle and every joint in my body and anything that was touching it. My leggings became too painful to wear. My knee resting against the duvet became incredibly uncomfortable.
We both became very sensitive to light with even the most dim settings making us uncomfortable. I fell asleep until about 9pm at which point, restless, I got up and watched an hour or so of TV before climbing back into bed and attempting to sleep.
Bonkers dreams and thought processes made the night seem long and weird. I felt acutely aware of my body taking up arms to fight this thing. My boyfriend said later he felt the same, like we could feel the antibody pep talk ‘alright lads, time to step up, this is what we trained for…’
On the third day of covid… (Tuesday)
Shortly before 4am I woke to realise my boyfriend wasn’t in the bedroom with me. I checked my phone and saw the NHS app had an update, confirming that I had tested positive for coronavirus. I actually felt fine at this point. We sat in the lounge and had a very sensible conversation about it all but then realised we should definitely go back to sleep.
By morning his fever had broken and his temperature was coming down. I didn’t feel too bad. The aching had subsided to a level where paracetamol could kick it into touch. We both had coughs but nothing that would usually deter us from normal activities.
I spent ages trying to confusedly complete the test and trace questions whilst we tried to work out where we had picked it up from. We’ve had lots of confirmed cases within our work and social spheres but no one we could pinpoint as having seen recently enough. We were out on the town on Friday night so could easily have mingled in the wrong air space somewhere. Half an hour after completing the questionnaire I had no recollection of what I’d written.
By the afternoon we tried to eat and realised our tastebuds were changing. Not gone, but things felt different. By evening we had both sunk back into feeling pretty ropey and were in bed by 10pm. We each took a Nytol to try and encourage some deep sleep which unfortunately worked for me but encouraged my snoring into disturbing him until he woke me quite dramatically at 1.30am and I applied all the anti-snore methods I could think of before passing out again.
On the fourth day of covid… (Wednesday)
I slept until 9am. By 11am I still couldn’t get out of bed. He was feeling much better but I felt exhausted, drained and totally weird. My cough was definitely worse, having woken me up several times in the night and my voice was now squeaky and hoarse. I determined to listen to everyone’s advice and stay in bed. My natural instinct is to power through but I am pretty terrified of long covid so I’ll give my body the chance to properly fight it.
We tried eating again and agreed that whilst some things tasted flavourless and strange other things were really heightened. I could taste pepper really strongly in everything and everything seemed to leave a bitter, unpleasant aftertaste.
My boyfriend gets his positive result from Monday’s pcr test which helps to confirm that our Friday night activities were the likely culprit but ultimately doesn’t tell us anything we don’t already know.
The weird feeling continued into the evening. I felt displaced and unsteady. I couldn’t grasp things and kept fumbling everything and stumbling as I moved around. It felt like being high but without any of the nice fuzzy warmth. It felt like that moment when you’ve been drinking and you take the sip that makes you realise you’ve stepped over the edge and there’s nothing you can do to speed up the process back to sober town.
The world felt bendy. My boyfriend put me in the bath and I started writing this blog.
On the fifth day of covid… (Thursday)
After a terrible time trying to get to sleep we both don’t wake until gone 10am. I got out of bed all chipper and determined to get a little bit back to normal but totally exhaust myself having a shower and have to have a lie down immediately afterwards.
Little goals and little wins become the name of the game as it becomes obvious that I cannot return to work yet. Sitting at the laptop makes me cry as my brain clouds over every time I try to read an email. I’m absolutely exhausted still and my boyfriend has to reason with me that it’s OK to have more than 2 days off when you’ve got coronavirus.
He complains of sore calf muscles and we joke that the symptoms of this are so weird and wide ranging that if we wake up tomorrow speaking Dutch we won’t be surprised. Our tastebuds seem to settle though and we manage to cook and eat dinner together. I don’t cry whilst trying to open the tin of beans, which deserves some celebration.
It takes us both a long time to get to sleep again as we notice the damage that being confined to our 3 room flat does to our energy levels.
On the sixth day of covid… (Friday)
I manage to make it to my desk and start reading emails but I find I’m having to read the words over and over again to make sense of them in my brain. It feels like wading through thick mud. It feels like the synapse links between eyes, thought and action are broken and it takes me a long time to formulate full and articulate sentences. Unsurprisingly I have to have a lie down after 2 hours.
It takes me hours to recover enough to start making proper sense again but by late afternoon the fog starts to shift. Although not before it makes me cry. I feel totally overwhelmed and shaken by it because my usually mega efficient brain is just like NOPE. My boyfriend seems now to be totally fine and not experiencing any brain fog at all, which makes me feel more unsettled and stupidly, a bit put out. I’m so glad he’s recovering but I feel foolish suffering unseen difficulties, like somehow my body is making shit up. I start to feel panicky and open the window, taking big lungs-full of the crisp, cold air. I realise the isolation is starting to affect me. We’re actually completely fine being stuck inside together but I would love to get outside for a walk to try and clear my head. My boyfriend very calmly reiterates that I am sick and that it’s OK to be feeling all these things. I am a terrible patient.
I get my reprieve though as we experience the highlight of the week visiting the post box to send off my antibodies test kit. We both mask up and go out the back way of the building, careful to avoid coming into contact with anyone else. It may only be a few brief minutes outside but it definitely helps, especially as it’s officially allowed according to the covid instructions the government keep texting me.
By evening we both have full head colds and are sneezing and sniffing away like troopers. He tries to drink a beer. It does not taste good. We abandon the idea of having any fun on our Friday night.
On the seventh day of covid… (Saturday)
We both struggle to sleep again and wake up late but thankfully the brain fog has lifted and I feel a huge sense of relief at returning to my normal self. Still coughing, still exhausted after doing the most standard of tasks but definitely on the mend.
We decide that a quiet day of not pushing things too far is the best course of action. We eat plain, home cooked food, take grateful receipt of some parcels and I do a little bit of work but ultimately we stay rooted to the sofa and the telly.
On the eighth day of covid… (Sunday)
I feel well enough to dye my hair (an arduous process that takes hours) and we decide we both feel up to having a few drinks in the evening. I find the feeling of being tipsy unnerving after spending so many days feeling brain muddled. Somehow muddling my own brain seems counterintuitive.
Lockdown pursuits of puzzles and board games are once again a possibility, which is a welcome relief from the TV.
We order in a late dinner and it’s the first time my boyfriend actually enjoys a meal since this whole experience began.
On the ninth day of covid… (Monday)
Back to work (at home, obviously) and absolutely joyous at being able to cognitively read emails and respond to things at a normal pace. I feel justified in my previous feelings of brain fog now, as if coronavirus has been vindicated by its own absence.
My boyfriend has cabin fever as he has no work to occupy himself with and he’s frustrated at being stuck indoors, however, we both agree that if there was a time to have fallen foul of covid’s charms, this was it. 2 days till freedom!
On the tenth day of covid… (Tuesday)
We spend ages debating the isolation period this morning. 10 days… except technically today is day 10 and my NHS app still says I need to isolate until midnight tomorrow. Closer inspection of “the rules” show ‘this includes the day of your test or when your symptoms started AND the next full ten days’ so it’s actually 11 days.
We’re not sleeping. It’s taking absolutely ages to fall asleep at night even when I’ve been almost asleep at 7pm, have had a bath and read my book, as soon as the light goes off BING my eyes are open and I’m completely awake.
I have a terrible night, waiting hours to fall asleep only to be awoken the moment I’ve nodded off because I let out a snore. Twice. He takes a Nytol and sleeps solidly, only stirring to wake me each time I drop off.
On the eleventh day of covid… (Wednesday)
The government change the bloody rules and anyone who tests negative with an LFT on days 6 and 7 can leave isolation (although shouldn’t really go anywhere crowded or indoors… there isn’t a palm or a face big enough for how I feel about this shitshow of a government). We take LFTs and mine is negative. His is very faintly positive. I risk a quick dash to the corner shop and it feels weird to breathe fresh air again and see other people.
We decide to turn our isolation frustration into a positive and celebrate our last night in together with a few drinks and a nice dinner.
On the twelfth day of covid… (Thursday)
We both treat ourselves to trips to the supermarket. We contemplate going to the pub but ultimately decide to stay in. We know how to party.
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