How Getting Covid Became My Reset Button

Why a full stop can push pause, in a good way

Last week I could sense the headless horseman coming for me. It was just like all those scary movies. Me, hiding behind a tree in the gully. Up above on the ledge are men on horses, dressed in long capes, with tall black hoods made of stiff linen. They are galloping along the trail, looking for me, down below, to make undead.

This is the size and proportion of which Covid has been in my mind, at certain times throughout this not-ending pandemic. And yes, I have occasionally been that dramatic.

I knew it might come to this, because, with reckless enthusiasm, like we weren’t living through a pandemic, the weekend prior we had hosted a teenage birthday sleepover for my older daughter. Meanwhile, my younger daughter went to a different party, which involved late-night glow-in-the-dark trampolining. Sure, we could have employed one of the many at-home rapid tests that they pass them out now at grocery stores along with the question: Do you need any bags? Covid tests?

Yes, I live in Canada.

But we didn’t. I couldn’t face another disappointment to rack up on the wall of Things-Lost to this generation of Covidteens. So we progressed, with eyes wide shut.

Had I the stomach to look, the evidence was actually strong: Absenteeism rates at schools is soaring, and the Wastewater Testing Results? Trending in exactly the wrong direction.

I had also stopped putting together a string of potential consequences

A bad test this week could end up causing problems for next week. That week being all things in one weekend: Easter, Passover, an important birthday to recognize, and Provincial Volleyball Championships.

Why is it that when you take the mask off, the logic learned from the conditional phrase: If X, then Y…vanishes?

No sooner than the morning after the sleepover, I had a text from one of the moms: There was a faint line…just to let you all know….And one day later more messages from other directions started to scroll in. When my younger daughter woke up Tuesday without her voice, I reached for the Covid test box. Negative. But, go back to bed. Wednesday morning re-test: Positive.

Before we even had the double lines, I had gone into mode for the broader family. Not safe to gather here…let’s pause on the Seder dinner gathering until we know more. And the Easter Brunch? Maybe we should cancel that before we lose any money for a late cancellation, just in case.

Hard to say whether it was hypochondria or reality, but I started to feel marginal. On a jog Tuesday morning, I found myself gasping for air. Wednesday morning I sat at my desk, unable to muster up any energy to do anything.

Meanwhile, there was no time for this

Other people could get Covid, but I had already decided that I was immune to it. I had endured the first Omicron surge over Christmas and New Years. I took care of everyone, managing all the in-room food deliveries, the dirty dishes out, the bathroom scrubbing, and the laundry. All of that, for three people, and I didn’t get sick. I have been living with the belief that back in 2020, when I had something that looked a lot like Covid but didn’t test positive, it must have been Covid, after all. The pre-vaccine OG Covid. Could that explain how I had developed super-antibodies that had kept me from getting sick for two year, despite it raging in my city, and then in my own home?

Besides, I had work to finish, and then I had to pack the car to spend three days in a hotel room while my older daughter finally got to play in her volleyball championships, which have now been cancelled two years in a row. Omicron be dammed. This one was going ahead.

That is the spirit of the moment now, isn’t it? We must go on living. Don’t cancel everything and stop to a grinding halt, unless you absolutely must. Until you are absolutely positive.

Well there we go

That was my positive result. From the desk of the hotel room which I had rushed to, one day early, just in case. Just in case I did actually test positive, and that meant that I couldn’t check-in, passing their list of questions at the front desk. Just in case I felt too terrible to drive my daughter there, and just in case, organized a second hotel room for my daughter, all so that she could play for the gold with her team.

And I made it to the finish line. But now, it was time to stop. Positively.

There I was, all alone, in a hotel room, with swirly brown carpets and lime green wallpaper. Without a minibar or room service, and nothing to do. No one wanted me. I was banned from any and all places. I was officially stuck. My best hope was ordering Uber Eats to the hotel room door.

I was sort of jittery at first…I still had to make sure my daughter was awake, get her tested, tell the coach, make sure found a ride, scrounge up some food and drink for her to bring for the day.

But then she left. And the room was quiet.

And sure, there were a million things I should have done…circle back and check on my taxes, write another draft of that difficult email, source those outdoor lights we need, book the service call, check-in on a project…but, I didn’t do any of that.

Instead, I took a shower, put on fresh clothes, opened the curtains, and then lay in bed looking up at the sky. I put some music on to listen to and decided that I would feel absolutely zero guilt about it all. And then I read my book, drank a mug of microwave-boiled tea, made a playlist of podcasts that I’ve been meaning to listen to, and then did an old school websurf, where I read something, that lead to another thing, that lead to another thing. No guilt. All pleasure. All activities with luxurious nothingness.

Something about finally testing positive for Covid felt like it was freeing. I finally got that thing that I’ve worked so very hard to avoid for two years. The mystery is over. And luckily, I’m still alive to talk about it.

Later that afternoon

A friend called me to talk about organizing a dinner for a larger group, and when I told her where I was, she laughed. “You don’t sound very upset about this situation,” and we both laughed. “No,” I said, “I’m making the most of it and for now I feel just fine.” We both laughed that knowing laugh, and then she concluded the thought: “What is it with being a mom that actually getting sick is like a holiday because you have an excuse to lie down and do nothing?”

And that was it. If I was at home, my husband would have been lovely and offered soup and cookies. But then I would still have been there, and the temptation not to throw in a load of laundry when I walked by the machine might have been too much. The responsibility of everything that is home and family were still there.

But in this hotel room quarantine, like I was trying to make it into Australia, was just fine for me. Despite having very little food, and no service to draw on, I felt like I was actually alone and no one was coming home, for the first time in…years. I slept so well and so long.

Day two wasn’t as sanguine.

I woke up with the most crashing headache I’ve ever known. The idea of lifting my head up seemed sufficiently impossible. I kept the blackout curtains closed and kept my head flat. Water was about all I wanted, which was lucky, since that was basically all I had available since the mini-fridge had frozen the things that I did bring with me. I went into a semi-delusional state. When I closed my eyes, like the migraine aura, I saw constellations and colours. When I had to get up to walk, I held on to things to make sure I walked straight.

But my spirits were not deterred. I could not read, and I could not watch a screen. So I listened. I discovered a new podcast, which lead to a new band, which lead to a YouTube Live covid-era concert, which lead to another musician discovered.

Something about this day, when the whole world shuts you out after you actually get Covid, that I realized I could enjoy this space. The psychological effect of being sick in a way that no one wants to be near you, few people can even help you, and you know that you need to stay far away from everyone, actually didn’t feel alienating. It felt freeing.

I allowed myself the space to be quiet, and be alone, and away. And thankful that I am triple-vaccinated, that I don’t have any dangerous co-morbidities, and that I have the backing of an excellent public health system, should I need it.

As for the rest of the day, for me and my ‘vid, facing my virus fear did turn out to be a powerful thing. And allowing myself the time and the space to be there, to be sick, to channel recovery for a virus that has killed millions, made me feel stronger.

Today I was exchanging text messages with a friend…me admitting I’m still lying in bed with the latest that Covid has to offer…her admitting she hasn’t so much as taken a Covid test, let alone had the disease.

I’m still recovering, but now I’m doing it at home. And yes, I did give up my hotel room. But I’m working to keep that Covid feeling, alive…not the one where my lungs feel like they will collapse after a flight of stairs. But the one where I allow myself some space to be, and think. And dream.

Samantha writes on Medium, produces audio and coaches writers.