66. Negatives and Positives
Hannah — Sunday
Hadley — Tuesday
Jessica — Wednesday
Tim — Friday
There was no Welcome sign at 183 Wildwood — in fact, the property had long ago been rendered as uninviting as humanly possible — to people we love and germs we feared. That mattered NOT ONE BIT to the sickening-scourge, the murderous-menace, the political-plague that found its way along the streets of 01603 and to the doors of our side by side homes bright and early Easter morning.
It should be noted that the resident families of the quaint duplex have taken the pandemic with utmost concern. Long before I became ‘sick’, the O’Briens did their part to protect themselves, the ones they loved, and liked, and even those they didn’t particularly understand at times. We stayed home, put on masks, got our vaccinations, and boosters, and, and, and whatever else we could do.
During the early days we hunkered down. Tim started working from home, as did Hannah, and Hadley did the whole remote schooling thing with me. Not ideal, but you make do with what you have. By far, the most important, and most difficult thing we did was stop seeing my eighty-six-year-old mother and sister who live a mere five miles away in their hermetically-sealed abode. Looking back, that means we didn’t see, I didn’t see, my mother for the better part of two years. Sure, there were a few drives to their neighborhood so we could wave to one another, but we went without an embrace for f.a.r. t.o.o. l.o.n.g. There were many holidays during that time that we spent apart, for the greater good, for our good.
Things changed in 2021 — a death sentence was levied
and we responded.
We relaxed the no-visitor’s rule a bit.
The O’Briens had a small Christmas gathering where ‘guests’ were required to rapid-test, mask up, distance themselves whenever possible, and disinfect themselves between bites of candied ham and pineapple stuffing.
Happily, the celebrants of that event managed to cross city and state lines without bringing with them, so much as a single errant, Covid germ. So imagine my delight when Tim and I decided to have Mom and Marchrie to our home for the first Easter celebration in two years.
You should note that this particular Easter has taken on a particular relevance for me. You may have noted that I didn’t include it on any of my goals in any of my blogs — it was a goal for me, a very personal, spiritual and religious one.
Easter to a Christian — enough said.
So, in preparation for our upcoming holiday gathering, Tim and Jessica spent Saturday cleaning this, dusting that — including Yours Truly — vacuuming everything, and cleaning the kitchen top to bottom. Believe me when I say an inspection by the Queen of Clean, Debbie Gagnon, would have been passed with flying colors.
A side note: if residential cleanliness had been ‘the’ deterrent of a Covid illness making its way onto personal property — the dastardly disease Would Never Have Tried To Gain Entrance At 220 Wildwood. I dare to say that NO ONE keeps a cleaner home than Mrs. Gagnon. It is always spit-polish-clean and without any of the clutter ‘real people’ consider accessories of life. Don’t know how she does it — well, I know how she does it — but I never did it that way.
Anyway, 183 was clean and smelling great on Saturday. Prep work for Sunday brunch had begun with the making of the candied ham and cheesecakes. All that needed to be done Sunday morning was to put the pineapple stuffing and scalloped potatoes in the oven. Jessica was down bright and early prepping them and getting the coffee fixins ready for our dining guests.
But first, we all readied for our most important guest.
Hadley — the kid on an Easter egg hunting mission.
The Easter Bunny — who by the way was welcomed to our home — made an ‘appearance’ sometime during the night. Evidence of this was shown by deposits of brightly colored eggs scattered across our barren lawn, tucked into a few crevasses in the stone wall, and nestled into sparsely vegetated gardens. There were chocolate-foiled carrots hanging from branches still eagerly awaiting spring’s green buds, and candy bunny pop ears poking over the tops of planters waiting for their floral friends to make their triumphant return. It was a beautiful kid’s display. The perfect place for a seven-year-old girl, armed with an empty Easter basket, to descend upon. When the next door opened just after 7 AM, sounds of glee filled the air. I positioned myself in my recliner so I could watch Hadley dart here and flit there, gathering her bounty.
It. Was. Wonderful.
After the last treat had been found, masks that Hannah and Hadley had at the ready went onto their faces before they came in — Hannah for a cup of coffee — Hadley to show off her loot. She rattled off her tale of where what was in the yard, while her Mom prepped her caffeine-fix. With gigantic mug in hand, Hannah took her seat next to Jessica on the loveseat.
Hadley squealed with delight — all eyes turned her way.
“Now? Can I open them now?”
“Go for it,” Hannah laughed.
The basket emptied in one fell swoop, plastic eggs bouncing here and there around her. Hadley quickly took hold of a yellow one, twisted off the top and found one of her new addictions — a Squishmallow — tucked inside.
“A Squishmallow — a dinosaur — I wanted this one! Mommy! Look!”
Hannah shot a quick smile and a glance her daughter’s way, handed her coffee to Jessica, said something about a scratchy throat, pushed from her seat and headed past me.
“Where are you going?”
“I’ll be back.”
She never came back.
Within minutes, Jessica received a text from Hannah and she, too, vacated my home. Tim and I continued doing what we wanted to do that morning — spend time with our favorite girl as she opened her Easter basket bounty.
That. Joyous. Plan. Lasted. A. Few. Minutes.
A Covid rapid test rapidly showed a positive result for Hannah leaving Autie J to the task of basketing Hadley’s bounty and ushering her out of my home.
HAPPY EASTER!
Hannah did four tests that morning — she was that incredulous that she could have gotten Covid. She was rightly-naive to think so. I mean the young woman has always been ‘beyond-careful’ with masking and distancing and basically avoiding life in the outside world. She followed workplace standards regarding the epidemic, then set her own rules and regulations for her lower-level office: an air purifier, social distancing, antiseptic cleansers at the ready, and masks ‘at all times’. Those were her rules.
As for Hadley, she followed her mother’s lead and did it all — without complaint and without exception. Even when the mask mandate was lifted at her elementary school, Hadley continued wearing hers and requesting distance from classmates, though not always getting it from _______.
The reason for her due diligence was simple — Hadley wanted to spend time with MammyGrams.
Well, she didn’t get to spend time with me.
That is part of this story, but it isn’t the important part, so we’ll save that bit for later.
By suppertime, Hannah was feeling like shit, Hadley had been masked up and set up for a day of fun with her new Easter Squishmallows in her playroom and was now readying for bed. Jessica did the food prep and deliveries for Hadley — leaving it on the front stoop — while Hannah fended for herself. Hannah suspected Hadley’s runny nose and peakish-look might mean she’d also be infected with the virus, but Hadley - Test One = negative.
By Tuesday morning, Hannah woke, knowing what it meant to have Covid, and she just ‘knew’ Hadley had the virus, too. The rapid test rapidly confirmed Hannah’s motherly-prediction. Hadley - Test Two = positive.The good news was that Hadley and Hannah could lessen their distance from one another — the bad news was that we couldn’t do much to help — except get onto the phone with Dr. Wonderful to explain the situation. He put Hannah on an antiviral medication that somehow stops the Covid virus from replicating. Thankfully, it worked. Hannah showed no new symptoms the next morning, and those she was experiencing seemed a tad bit better — though she was still quite sick.
By Wednesday morning, Jessica - Test Five = positive. Yeup, folks, Covid was now inside the walls at 183 — with me — a sitting duck. Up to her room she went with orders not to come down the effing stairs. Masks, in triplicate, were demanded by the husband and wife team whenever we shared space and for extra-measure, I’d throw my comforter over my head until his ass was back upstairs.
Tim began doing it all — working from home, prepping meals for the girls next door, following along after Jessica with disinfectant sprays and wipes hoping to keep the upstairs quarters from turning into a full-out Covid zone — Oh, and he was taking care of me.
A miserable test for both of us.
That is part of this story, but it isn’t the important part, so we’ll save the ramble for later.
As soon as Hannah’s illness was learned by family and friends, it was a full out assault by the forces. Offers of food shopping and dinner deliveries and errand running and, and, and, flooded in. Around the clock texts, emails, and calls came from near and far.
The ones that mattered most came from Dr. Wonderful who was caring for Hannah and Jessica by phone with me acting as the intermediary. Both girls were on the antiviral medication and though both were seeing a halt to progression of the illness, they were sick as dogs — Hannah was the sickest pooch by far, though Jessica suffered right along, mostly in silence.
Our girl, Hadley, did really well as far as symptoms are concerned: sniffles, runny nose, and a bit of fatigue and as for filling the l.o.n.g. h.o.u.r.s. o.f. s.c.h.o.o.l. v.a.c.a.t.i.o.n. — all I can say is thank God and Ron for FaceTime.
Yeup. That app allowed MammyGrams to spend this precious time with her precious girl.
By Friday evening, another had fallen, Tim - Test Eight = positive. What we’d been fearing — the cold-like, allergy-maybe symptoms that he had for a couple days were probably the earliest signs of Covid. So, now that it was confirmed, up to the second floor he went. The last conversation we had was a sad one — none of the members of this O’Brien family would be present at the wake or funeral of a brother-in-law of Tim and me, an uncle of Hannah and Jessica, and godfather of Hannah who passed away on Thursday.
To say our family was heartsick over this is an understatement.
With so much on everyone’s grief-stricken plates, the calls of offers still flooded in. We accepted a few from OB family members then reached out to the occupants of 220, who did the really important pharmacy run for Tim — and thank God they did because by nightfall he was really sick. Twice during the night he thought he might need medical care, and he would have gotten it, had I been off my ass and helping any of my loved ones.
But I was not — I could not.
So, I did what I could. On one of her infrequent Friday trips to the lower-sanctum, I had Jessica roll Hadley’s table in next to me and set it up with provisions. The poor young woman panted heavily through her masks, while she placed, with gloved-shaking-hands, sleeves of crackers, a jar of peanut butter, Figgies, and juices and waters and medicines onto the table. Then off she went upstairs to suffer — alone.
I sat, lashed to the leather, wondering when Covid would find me.
I mean, it was going to find me — right? Not if Dr. Wonderful had anything to say about it. The day he put Hannah on the antiviral medication to treat her, he did some research and decided he’d put me on it, too. He lobbed a preemptive attack on the fucker.
The previous Tuesday evening I started taking Paxlovid and thank God I did. It’s been 10 days since Covid began taking my family members down — one by one — and happily, thankfully, amazingly, I have managed to remain just out of its reach.
Let’s face it — I need to stay out of its reach.
AND. BECAUSE. OF. DR. WONDERFUL. I. JUST MAY. HAVE!
I’m still in the window of exposure, but so far so good.
Remember this?
Well, she didn’t get to spend time with me.
I was going to vent about the loss of time for Hadley and me. We’d made plans for her vacation, fun plans, silly plans — plans that would put us together for oodles and oodles of time — precious time — dwindling time. But, let’s face it, time lost to us can be recouped, somehow. That can’t be said about all things. Our family witnessed a truly sad and significant loss during Easter week — one that is lasting. A loving, devoted family man left this life — it didn’t take long for me to see the forest through the trees about life, love, and loss.
So, I’m not going to vent.
Remember this?
A miserable test for both of us.
I was going to piss, moan and groan a bit because of my predicament — the one that kept me from tending to my husband, my daughters, and my grandchild. The one that gave me a peek-see into the future — the one they’d be spending without me, without my help. I was going to ramble on with how that made me feel, beyond the whole sense of helplessness. But, there are way too many things to feel, and I feel them, in the most profound ways.
So, I’m not going to piss, moan and groan.
Remember this?
I sat, lashed to the leather, wondering when Covid would find me.
This is the part of the story that matters to me and to those who love me. Covid made its hideous presence known during Easter week. What it ended up taking from our family members amounts to nearly nothing. What it left in its wake is a deep-to-the-core sense of gratitude and belief that the OBs of 183 were protected and blessed.
Those blessings began on Easter.
God is good. God is great. And I love Him.
Breaking form just a bit.
I put up a brief message on Facebook saying my family members and I had been exposed to Covid. Within seconds of that announcement, Joyce was texting me with questions, recommendations, and loving support. We ended our texting with this exchange.
Joyce: Glad you’re doing ok … hang in there and stay negative (prayer and smooch emoji included).
Me: Usually people say, hang in there and stay positive. How ironic (several laughing emoji included).
Joyce: Didn’t even realize what I said (several laughing emoji included).
Me: Going in a blog for sure.
So, friends, I guess it all comes down to perspective,