(Not) Suffering in Silence

Apart from autoimmune flare-ups, I don’t get sick very often. When I do, I’m either fine in 12 hours or I’m down for the count for days (or in the case of my mercury poisoning and toxic mold poisoning, years).

Why am I telling you this? Because I’ve been sick for nearly two weeks now and I hate it. And the worst part is, it’s not just a summer cold. After five years, I finally got COVID.

I am one of only a few people I know who managed to live through the 2020 pandemic without ever getting sick (mainly because I lived in a mask and quarantined for nearly a year). Even after the world reopened, I was able to sidestep COVID for four more years (thanks to diligent vaccines and boosters).

Until now.

Now, I have COVID. Or at least I think I have COVID. I didn’t go to the doctor or test, but the symptoms all line up …

Razor sharp sore throat? Check.
Runny nose and congestion? Check.
Low grade fever and mild headache? Check.
Crushing fatigue and weakness? Check.
Loss of breath? Check.

It’s been twelve days, and I still feel pretty shitty … I guess that’s what I get for hanging out at a Chuck E. Cheese with a bunch of toddlers (don’t ask!).

The first few days were the worst, as expected. And my family was both sympathetic and helpful. But after a few days, they were over it — which meant my dreams of lying in bed watching The Price is Right while sipping warm ginger ale through a straw (#IYKYK) were over, too.

Here’s the thing: Moms don’t get to be sick. Sure, we get sick, but we don’t get to be sick. Unless we’re literally on death’s door, we need to suck it up and handle business — ours and everyone else’s — because that’s what moms do.

The men in my house can handle me being out of commission for about a day or two, max. After that, the wheels start to fall off. Nothing gets done. They won’t starve — they how to use UberEats — but they also won’t handle the day-to-day household crap. I’m not even sure they know what needs to be done.