Gregrey.com

Covid Quarantine

I was a covid virgin. That ended this week.

My success at avoiding the virus, I thought, was getting vaccinated early and often, staying current on flu shots and generally being anal about wearing a mask even when others didn’t.

I felt ready for the world when a business trip took me to Morocco. I was in a 2% minority of people wearing masks through the airports of the world. Despite a 31 hour return journey behind a KN95 mask, I came away with the dreaded disease.

I thought I had won the battle, but within 48 hours of my return, I felt a faint tickle in my throat. I thought it had more to do with jet lag than anything else, but there was that test just begging to be used. I came back positive. I texted my wife and that’s when the quarantine began.

I promptly got a Paxlovid prescription and I was banished to the office until further notice. I obeyed. That was four days ago.

Thank god I had a lot of work to keep me busy. To be clear, I had cold symptoms, but they never mounted an attack as strong as some of my worst colds. The symptoms weren’t mild either. I was continually exhausted and I’ve used the time to maximize my sleep time averaging 11 hours a night in quarantine. But after three days of pills, I feel fine. I’m quite comfortable get to play in a fully stocked office with enough electronics to offer every possible distraction.

I am a little helpless and have lost a level of control in my life. It doesn’t matter what time I wake up, the coffee will arrive when the coffee is ready. But it arrives. And the meals keep coming. I never quite know when food will arrive. I’m not consulted much on the menu, but when the food arrives, it is spectacular. I get a full tray of drink, exciting meals plus desserts and then snacks for after the desserts. These jail cell meals are amazing.

It starts with a knock on the door. Like Pavlov’s dog, I jump to attention but have to wait five beats before I can open the door. That’s how much is required to clear the floor of all living species to allow me, and my germs, to emerge and claim my meal. Today there was an extra surprise knock with a bowl of ice cream.

We’ve spoken. There have been a couple of calls this week, but the isolation has been pretty complete. As the work-week ended and the weekend began, filling my time became a bit more difficult, but when I ran out of things to do it became nap time. No chores. No timetables. No interruptions. No dishes. No responsibilities. My version of prison isn’t all that bad.
And yet being isolated from the ladies feels like punishment. Instead of ignoring the video doorbell notifications, now I eagerly try to consume the beginning or end of a dog walk.

Tomorrow is day five. If I blow clean the doctor says I’m released. If not, it’s five more days! If I blow clean, the doctor may say I may return to a normal life. The parole board, however, has made no such accommodations. I have been granted permission to resume all outside chores (especially as the rain approaches) as long as I wipe paws, but I have to wear a mask in the house and am not allowed to dwell on the first floor. It’s not clear right now how long this protocol might last, but I plan to be too pitiful to lock away.
I hope to emerge stronger, healthier, ready and rested for life. Oh yeah, and never contagious again.

November 5, 2022