Here’s the thing we always forget about illness: it’s boring, and it’s tedious.
The dread of it, no so much. That involves a lot of cortisol, and ultimately (if it goes on too long) the kind of numbing hangover that comes with too much stimulation.
But the thing itself? Boring as all hell. And as it happens, COVID is a particularly boring disease. While one waits to lose one’s sense of taste and smell, there’s really only achiness, and coughing, and possibly (but not always) some fever.
And in the meantime, there are all the inconvenient (and possibly only barely useful) precautions. Explaining to one’s kids that now they have to wear masks in the house if they’re in the same room as daddy, and yes that means all the way over the nose. Not going out to eat, which means not getting change, which means not being able to pay one’s kids their allowance. Not having friends over for dinner. Not going to parties. Not going to the pool. Not going bowling.
Not doing any of the things one had carefully planned out with one’s kids as a way to celebrate Father’s Day. Ugh.
Instead one gets to try to explain to one’s 5 year old that you’re not going to die, and while it’s okay to be afraid, he doesn’t have to be afraid of losing me just yet.