By Michelle Marquardsen

December 2023

Part I:  GO (to the game instead of getting your booster shot) CHIEFS! 

 

We woke up on a crisp and chilly Sunday December morning to a call from a friend.  He had Chiefs tickets and asked if we wanted to go to the game.  Of course we did! He would be at our place in 25 minutes so we got up, got bundled, and got ready to go.  I was extremely hungover because I had closed the dance club the night before.  Nobody keeps this girl down after all.  

 

I was supposed to get my third Covid shot that day, the booster, but it was easy enough to reschedule that.  I rode all the way to the game with my head hanging out of the back seat passenger side window so my husband could keep an eye on me.  All it took was some stadium pizza and a few tall boys and I was back in business.  When the sun came out in full, it turned into a beautiful day.  Our seats were great, and the Chiefs beat the Raiders good and proper.  We wore masks just like everyone else as the mandate stated, but for some reason and in reflection, I believe THIS is where I contracted the Covid virus.

 

I was pretty worn out after dinner that following Tuesday evening but didn’t really think that much of it. The next day at work, I was becoming more easily tired, and was starting to develop somewhat of a sore throat. I thought perhaps these symptoms were just due to a busy workload.  We had lots of orders coming in and were just finishing inventory.  I was up to date with my TWO vaccines so I attributed these elements to general exhaustion.  Holiday season in a busy retail receiving department can be brutal for even the strongest of characters.

 

I barely made it thru Thursday at work.  Inventory was all but finished, most of the orders had gotten processed and Christmas merchandise was scarce. By about noon (we started at 7a.m.), I was really beat.  I was tired and dirty and just needed to go home and collapse, hot shower then bed!  I let my boss know where I was with everything and told her I was leaving a bit early. My desk was a mess with paperwork and a few orders were still in limbo but I could do that tomorrow.  

The reality of it was that I always tidied my space up just enough before I left so I would know where to pick up the next day.  So, although it was a mess to me, it was far more organized than the world around it at that time.

 

After work, I went home to rest.  Later that night, in my sleep, I was awakened by a panic attack.  I could not breathe.  We had an old rescue inhaler in the medicine cabinet so I grabbed that to get my air flowing again.  We also had an extra OTC Covid test from the first time we needed one and it came back positive.  I called my boss the next day to let her know what was going on and said just to leave everything as nothing was that pressing.  I was going to find another test or go to the clinic or something to be sure and would not be going in to work today.

Part II:  THE “C” WORD

 

When I first saw the “positive” indicator on the OTC rapid home test, the very hard to find AND very pricey home test, I was taken aback.  I was fully vaccinated and one single day away from getting my newly rescheduled booster shot.

 

My standing theory–amidst this raging pandemic–was that my adolescent fingernail biting–albeit a bad and completely disgusting habit–was actually helping me stay safe in these trying times.  I was sure that all of that fingernail dirt I must have eaten in my youth, and last week, would surely be providing ample immune support for me now.

 

Little did I know…

 

Ok maybe the test that I took the night before had been old.  It had been a few weeks sitting on the shelf at our house at this point.  Maybe it had expired or something. I wanted to double check and needed to know for sure.  My throat was killing me, a dry deep cough had wrecked my sleep two nights running now, and the long, slow pour of general body aches was washing over me like roof tar on a chilly day.  I was slow and stiff and moving like a freight train coming in for its much needed maintenance.  I still had been fully vaccinated but something had to give.

 

We searched, again, high and low, to procure ANOTHER set of tests (they are sold in sets of 2).  Thank God, I wouldn't want to waste a trip or anything.  I was STILL on hold with the 3rd local pharmacy, when I got a text that my husband had found a test and was headed back home.

 

Tests were in short supply the first time we needed to find one, so knowing all the hoops I would have to jump through to get us in touch with another test, and urgently, I went ahead and made an appointment with an Urgent Care provider just in case. I wished someone could please tell me why these tests are hard to find and expensive again, please! In hindsight, I am glad I did.  

 

We took the tests side by side, well 6 feet apart I guess, to see what the story was. The long and short of it was, I WAS positive for the Fuzz–Covid 19.  Ugh!  In disbelief, I asked myself  “are we sure??”  POSITIVE!...again.

 

These tests- I remember those pink and blue lines from high school-am I pregnant or NOT…they were so confusing.  But today, I had that sinking feeling.  I knew I WAS…not pregnant, but positive for the “C” word.  I had indeed contracted Covid.  WTF?!?

 

My head was in a slurry state from all of the medication I had taken to manage symptoms.  I was in pain, aching all over, and was struggling to breath.  I wasn't sure about what to do next.  It was a good thing I had my urgent care appointment pending.  They would do a good, real, actual test, in a lab, with real science.  If something was off, they could tell me FOR SURE.

 

I had to wait at home for my appointment until they texted so I bundled up, took a hit off my inhaler, and swallowed some more pills.  I was only 6 minutes away according to their algorithm.  When they texted to tell me it was ok to come in, they were clear to note (in the last line of the text) that this was NOT an appointment, just a spot in line…GREAT!  Wait at home until they call me in, then go there to wait some more.  Fantastic!  THANKS SO MUCH.

 

Already not feeling well, (see previous paragraph) I was amazed that I managed to make it there in 10 minutes, despite the fact that I had inadvertently left the house in slippers. I was already the walking dead and these slippers were not easy to drive in.  Not that any slippers are easy to drive in, but these were my giant dog shaped slippers…just saying.

 

I filled out their paper form, the same form I filled out online when I signed up for the appointment, gave them my ID and my insurance card (*AGAIN–why isn't this FREE?!?). I made up some story about already having met my out of pocket max to avoid paying the $75 co-pay.  Concierge medicine, I couldn’t wait to see what the insurance company had to say about that.  AGAIN*...really?!?

 

I took my seat in lobby hell to wait, not to fear, I WAS next.  25 minutes of “Horton Hears a Who” later, I was actually NEXT now.  Over here for this, over there for that, then into a third small room to, you guessed it, wait some more.  Thank God, I hadn’t missed to much of Horton.

 

“Knock knock.” 

 

“ Horton, is that you?” I was really in a fog by this time and this was me feeling cheeky from lethargy…”come in.”  It was the actual doctor.

 

“Ok, so what’s going on with you today?” the doctor said. Enter 10,000 questions of Bartholomew Cubbins.  

 

“Same thing all of the forms say. Cough, sore throat, incessant delays, lethargy, more questions from the forms I have already filled out…” then–

“Ok, let’s get some tests going.  I’ll be right back.”

 

I swear she went to Walgreens and got the exact same test I just did at home.  WTF?!? I KNEW IT!

 

If you knew me, you would pencil in some wild conspiracy theory about how all insurance is just scams, how the debutant dillicrats and the part they play in keeping the middle class down have ruined our nation, and the healthcare system, despite the Obama Marketplace was still a wreck, but I digress.  Anyway…

 

Circle swab left 3 times, circle swab right 3 times, then do the Hustle!  

 

After waiting ANOTHER 30 minutes, (at home tests take 15 minutes for results) I was starting to get antsy. Horton had ended and they had mentioned they would call me with the test results anyway, so I decided to leave.  I kind of knew what those results were going to say already.

 

I walked past a lovely young lady.

 

“Can I help you?”

 

“Yes, I am sick and I want to be done here.”

 

“Ok, I’ll be in in just a few minutes.  I just have 1 person in front of you…”

More waiting, FANTASTIC! Thanks SO much!

 

She was very kind, too kind for me to be mean.  Her tender demeanor swirled around me like wind blown hair on a warm summer day.  Her eyes smiled and seemed to say “Go back to your room BITCH, I’ll be in shortly.”

 

“Ok, yes ma’am.”

 

When I got the results, it was true, I had the FUZZ!  I got some prescriptions for my symptoms, a note for work, and a SOLID warning about sequestering myself…10 days in the hole! UGH!!!  I called my boss to let her know.

 

Great!  What the fuck was I going to do for 10 days!  I had shit to do, ya know.

​

Part III:  10 DAYS IN THE HOLE AKA:BasementLife#

 

10 days from the onset of symptoms IS the “10 days in the hole” I needed to sequester myself to prevent the spread.  

 

“With God’s help, I can conquer this terrible affliction.”  

 

They said to separate yourself from others in your household (including pets…um, NOT happening), use separate bathrooms, mask up–even inside, wash hands, clean surfaces, and don’t share any space, surface, or item.

 

As luck would have it, both of our bathrooms were in the process of being remodeled. This would prove to be an interesting ordeal in itself. Picture camping, but from a sofa, all while sharing a VERY small and completely ancient water closet.  Somehow we made it work, but it wasn’t easy.

 

I moved my life to a small and terribly uncomfortable pull-out sofa in the basement.  This truly was the belly of the beast that is our home.  The furnace was literally 5 feet from my head, so everytime that kicked on, it was like a fireball in my face.  Good thing I couldn’t feel anything other than numb. I didn’t really care too much about anything anyway.  There was that small water closet of a bathroom close by so that was good.  It also made access to our big backyard from there and getting our small dog out for a potty time pretty easy.

 

“Easy” had, of course, a different meaning in this context.  In my case, walking up the flight of 5 stairs was a strain.  So, yea, easy was relative.  The first 2 days were a fuzzy malaise of aches and pains, with general tiredness constantly.  The basement was dark and cool. I popped in and out of a sleepy fog and managed my way through weezie bouts of stupid television programming.  When I was finally feeling well enough to be awake for more than 10 minutes at a time, I set my sights for some fresh air.

 

When I arose from my funky warm and sickly retreat and headed outside, I was met with blushing rays of sunshine.  It was unseasonably warm for December, that’s global warming.  Those rays, peeping through the scattered clouds pounded over me like a drum line on parade.  Thank you sunshine, I am feeling better already.

 

With the sun washing over me, I closed my eyes and just let it become part of me.  The combination of warm sun and crisp air is about my favorite part of nature. I have always been very fond of being outside in those elements, until now.  My lung capacity was down about 80 % so when I took a few deep breaths, I was completely worn out again.  Thanks air–OUCH!  It was time to head back to the basement.

 

Day 3: Stick Cramming

 

Once I started to move around more, I endeavored to venture out into the yard again.  We had a large tree fall over a few days earlier from a big gusty storm so there were branches all over the place.  My husband had gotten most of the big stuff taken care of with the chainsaw, but there were still lots of sticks and itty bits that needed tending to. 

 

There was a chilly chill in the air on this particular day but I needed to get out of the basement again.  I bundled up in something warm, layers of comfy, and actual shoes, not just slippers, and meandered out into the backyard. Two covid tests at the store $39.99, not having to wear a bra for as many days…priceless!  

 

The amount of debris from our tree was so overwhelming, I didn’t know where to start.  I knew my “job” for the day was to at least TRY to help and do SOMETHING of value.  I was certainly not used to having stuff done for me, and always believed that being a working part of a couple was imperative.  This “laying around all day” attitude was most assuredly NOT my style and I did like projects.

 

We had lots of cans, baskets, and bins to put twiggy bits in.  Now I would begin the task of putting round pegs in square holes.  Turns out, even the largest bin or bucket can only accept one arm full of branches at a time, mostly just one until you had to put things in one by one.  After that first armfull, I could really only put in one stick at a time.  Seriously?!? Yep!  I spent the next hour or so sorting through these piles of sticks to find ones that were straight enough to cram into the bin, and one by one, I added enough to fill each basket. 

 

It must have been kind of sad looking for the neighbors peering in.  

 

“Why is there an asylum idiot in their yard?”

 

I had a funny hat on, was fully masked, had the equivalent of the Pilsbury Dough Boy looking get up of jackets on, and was moving at a snail's pace. Spending the next hour or so cramming each stick into a bucket in just the right way.  It seemed, and must have looked like, a sad and awkward attempt at the most pathetic floral arrangement in the world. To make matters worse, I had the phrase “one stick in at a time” going through my head.  That quickly turned into the tune “one toke over the line, Sweet Jesus, one stick in at a time”…  Sweet Jesus was right.  The song was completely maddening, but the idea of trying to explain that whole scenario to another human made me chuckle a bit.

 

I filled 2 large bins and 3 small ones, always wondering if any bin could allow for ONE more stick.  You know what they say, “if you can add one more, it wasn’t full to begin with.”  Of course they could, they were never really full enough.  They were the proverbial half full bins, but it was time for me to go in.  It was, after all, my first real day out and I was beat.  I went back inside and peeled off my layers to rest more. It felt good to get moving again.

 

It felt good mentally, too, to be helping with some chores, to have a sense of accomplishment.  I likened the experience to landing on the moon…”one small step for yard work, one giant step away from actually being done in real life.”  Oh well, tomorrow was another day.
 

Day 4: The Nose Knows…(does it?)

 

Does this smell?  Well, if you have to ask…

 

I had heard that the loss of taste and/or smell MAY be a side effect of having the fuzz but I didn’t really pay it much mind.  It’s kind of one of those things that you take for granted until it’s gone. Enough said. It was an interesting experience to have no real sense of smell, no ability to distinguish whatever it was I was trying to smell.  I got a brief whifty faintness of an idea of whatever it was, but  mostly smelling was a no go.

 

*BLANK: The new scented candle by COVD

 

*My brain comes up with all of these million dollar ideas.  SEE: BasementLife#, that is one of them too, that clever candle brand.  

 

It’s worth a mention that the loss of smell got progressively worse as the days wore on.  BasementLife# has its own special set of circumstances regarding smells.  Dark and cold with zero airflow, on a sofa, with a dog combined with the sticky smell of sour sickness and sweaty covers would normally make for a real nose treat.  Good thing I wasn’t able to smell anything…

 

My lungs were starting to loosen up a little.  I was sure being outside in the yard for a bit had helped.  I would take whatever relief I could get at that time and push forward.  At its worst, my lung capacity was labored and extremely diminished.  I could only take short, small breaths and always had 2 masks on inside and out. It was the best way to stay safe. We didn’t need him getting sick too.

 

I recalled that first night, when I started to notice symptoms, and had to use the inhaler, how I was strapped and struggling for air.  I could feel a flap of some sort, pulsing in and out as I tried to breathe. With the steroids in the inhaler, I was able to get some relief but the next few days would be about moving slowly, breathing carefully, and trying not to become breathless. It was kind of scary and something that I had to be constantly aware of.  Breathing is automatic in everyday life, this was something I had to actively manage now.

 

With proper management and awareness, breathing was do-able.  This would certainly NOT be the thing that kills me.  The tricky part was learning to manage the symptoms, this was my new life.  Going slow, pacing myself, not forgetting to breathe…you know, basic life stuff.  Eye Roll!  But going slow and pacing myself aren’t exactly my specialty.  Covid would just have to move the fuck over, I had my own stuff to do. 

 

Tasteless and scentless are not good words to use in a dating profile but if you have to ask “does this smell?”, it does! I had to remind myself to shower my shit, shake out the covers, and get fresh air whenever possible.  I guess if there was a good time to lose my sense of smell, it would be when I can't take a big enough breath anyway.

​

Day 5: Spicy Pepper

My sense of taste must have slipped away quietly in the night by day 5. At first, I barely noticed that something was awry, like I had spent my whole life eating bland food, and nothing was different now.  I know that is certainly NOT the case, we spend way too much time at our favorite mexican restaurant. 

 

When I got a craving for one of my favorites, chicken salad, I gathered the ingredients…chicken breast, celery, cottage cheese (instead of mayo), garlic salt, and pepper.  It was easy enough to assemble all of the ingredients, but on this day, getting the flavor just right has escaped me.   

 

“Hmmm…it needs something else.”  So I added some more garlic salt and tasted it.

 

“No, something is still missing…” so I added a bit more pepper and tasted it.  No, something was still off, so I added more garlic salt, some onion powder, and more black pepper, pepper, then just a bit more pepper in between taste tests.  

 

“Ok, I guess this will do…” and gave it one last big stir and grabbed some crackers and dug in.

 

It wasn’t until about half way through my little chicken salad snack, that I realized my mouth was kind of on fire or something. It wasn’t a Thai type of hot or a heat hot, no..this MUST have been a black pepper hot.

 

You can never really ever seem to add too much pepper to the point of no return because pepper was more a sublime sort of seasoning-but this was way too much.

 

“Hmmm…weird. Well fuck..I guess I have lost my sense of taste now too!”  At least the chicken salad was crunchy.  Food and the endeavors of trying to enjoy food became a whole thing of its own.

 

Now, the idea of something being crunchy or creamy or bubbly would have to be my guide.  I would be eating less for sure now.  I thought, perhaps that is the whole purpose of celery.  Maybe celery, although it too, has at best, a sublime flavor, is generally pretty tasteless. Poor celery, it's just all about the crunch with you, and well, the stuff you cram in the groove to satiate it’s endless quest for meaning.  

 

“Good luck with that, celery. I’m here for you.”

 

 

Day 6: The “ELBOW” Effect

 

Although I had no sense of taste or smell pretty much full time by day 6, I somehow got brainwashed into kooky eating habits.  I'd just snack on something that was probably salty or perhaps savory,  I had no idea what anything tasted like but I did know how the morsel felt in my mouth.  One of my favorites, my achilles heel for sure, was the peanut butter M&M.  I savored the treat with precision and intent. Each one was its own little experiment.

 

When I sucked on a single RED, (just kidding) any color M&M long enough, the hard candy coating would melt idly away until it became just a sliver of a shell.  Barely able to contain the deliciously creamy core of peanut butter any longer, the shell would give way.  It was at those moments, just as the shell took its last breath, that the delicate core would hit my tongue. I think it was more of the romanticized notion of the experience rather than any actual flavor that appealed to me during these trying times.  

 

Perhaps I talked myself into believing that I got a glimpse of any actual flavor which is really sad. I looked for ways to challenge this flavor conundrum, and challenge was the operative word here.  Enter, what I would like to call, the ELBOW Effect.

 

You guessed it, local chocolatier Christopher Elbow would take the challenge by that balls and squeeze.  A friend had turned me onto these delicious delights a while back and had brought some around for me now to help me feel better. These were actually meant to serve a “higher” purpose, as some of his crafty choco bits were made in conjunction with CLOVR Cannabis to create a THC infused product.

 

At this point, I was in need of some sort of stimulation. My tried and true regime of daily bong hits was NOT an option now due to my severely diminished lung capacity.  These hit the spot.  As you might guess,  these little gems were special in every way.  Shaped like small eggs, they were designed with an opalescent sheen of geodesic prisms brushed onto the outside shell.  Inside, the smooth and creamy texture elated me.  

 

They seemed rich and I assumed they were delicious given the fine craftsmanship, but I was still without any real sense of taste.  All I had was the faint memory of ones I had tasted in the past.  I relished the time I spent trying to imagine their unique flavors and duplicate that sensation.  The effect on my body was notable, though.

 

The candies gave me some sort of a boost.  Perhaps the sugar was a factor, but I am guessing it had a bit more to do with the infusion of cannabis and the sativa elements of the THC.  Either way, they were like gold.  I gobbled them up, 2 at a time even, hoping for some more meaningful results over the next few days.  In retrospect, I believe that these divine treats aided in my recovery somehow.  Perhaps physically, but for sure mentally.

Day 7: Card Vibing and Dice Wrangling

 

Having had plenty of time, product, and opportunity to medicate my symptoms, I was feeling slightly better.  Still a bit achy and tired but my movements and breathing were less labored.  My senses were starting to come back ever so slightly.  I also had just a bit more energy than in past days.  This was, of course, a noticeable enhancement to my mood in general.

 

We were still masking in the house but we could be in the same room together again.  In an effort to re-engage my brain. I needed a kick start.  We had always liked playing cards, Gin Rummy 5000, King’s Corner, and Phase 10.  On this day, that was the answer.

 

My head was still in a slight state of dark fuzziness, but focusing on a card game would certainly help me get back into the light.  We started with an easy one, King’s Corner.  It was pretty basic, you just played cards down in sequence from whatever was sitting out from the deal, down to the ace, alternating black and red.  There was some strategy to it, but it was mostly luck of the draw.

 

When it was your turn, based on what was showing on the table and what you were holding after the first deal you would try to get rid of all of your cards.  The first player to run out all of their cards would be the winner.  When it rolled around to my turn again, I went to draw the top card…(always draw first).  It was at this point in the game that I really only needed one single specific card to clean house on my unsuspecting opponent. 

 

Being an already firm believer in the “creative visualization” principle, I used this technique on this turn.  Surely it would be easier to “see” the card I needed in this woefully slow and sick state of mind.  It would be the red 10 card that would liquidate my hand and declare me the winner.   I set my “sights” to the red 10 in an effort to actually make it happen.

 

I must have been closer to GOD in this sickly state, but I'd be damned if I didn't draw that red 10! Holy shit, I was onto something here.  To make matters worse for my sore loser (sore winner even) opponent, I had actually called it out loud, 

 

“...come on red 10, come on RED 10!” 

 

There was so much more satisfaction there than just drawing the perfect card.  I got to call it out, ‘sing it loud for all to hear’!  I was able to pull that trick off a few more times that evening much to the dismay of my already steaming mad opponent, even in our dice game.  They say the meek shall inherit the earth.  This night, the feeble of mind would conquer the night.  It was Christmas after all.

​

Day 8: Tape Dharma

 

By the 8th day, my senses had started to return and I was certainly in need of a project.  We were to the point with our small bathroom remodel where it was time to paint.  That sounded like a perfect project.

 

Normally, I would jump right in and get it done…turns out, slow really was a good game for me.  Taking the time in my mental recovery zone actually had helped me slow down and appreciate the art of “doing a good job,” something that had often eluded me in my haste to GET SHIT DONE!

 

Now, I was going with the slow and low, really taking the time to tape well, an important first step to any successful paint project, apparently.  I did the trim first. That always takes a bit longer to dry and with patience, also something that usually eluded me. I was able to get 2 solid coats on without making a giant mess, screwing something up or wearing too much of the pecky trim paint.  Amazing, who knew!  

 

I carefully removed the trim tape and after some extra drying time, started to tape off for the wall paint.  I did 2 coats of wall paint, and with my new slow and low M.O., put it on thick and well, (and all the way to the edges).  When I was, finished a few days later, the bathroom looked great to me.  It seemed that I had done a great job.  Fantastic and a Special Ed shout out to Fuzz Brain!

 

Now, in retrospect, I am only sort of proud to say that the bathroom paint project was my last attempt to “go slow and do a good job” at something. Dear reader, thank you for believing that it would all be fine.  It most assuredly was NOT.  

 

As it would turn out, I really had done only a fair job painting.  My wacked out brain saw something that simply was not there, a job well done.  I had done a crappy job on painting the trim, not because I hated painting trim, but because I am an asshole when it comes to painting at all.

 

Days 9 and 10 went by fairly quickly and I was feeling good enough to go back to work.  I would remain sequestered in my danky little basement abode for the next few months.  I had gotten used to having a space of my own and I enjoyed having a spot to come and just be me, an important element that had also often eluded me in the past.  

 

Those days of BasementLife# and having Covid were just plain weird.  Months later, my husband got the fuzz, too.  He, of course, was a huge baby about it, unlike calm and cool me.  I was an utter delight as usual.  When it was all said and done, I had learned a few things about myself, discovered a few new coping tricks, and had a deeper understanding of the slow and low factor. 

 

The holidays were an off putting time to be sick and sequestered.  Here are some tips to help navigate the other “C” word (Christmas):

 

*SPOON the dog well.  Hold her tight every day even though she probably hates that.  It WILL help YOU feel better.

 

*EAT whatever you want.  It’s only a waist line.  Comfort foods like mac and cheese and donuts from Lamar’s are very important in these trying times. If you have a heart attack from too many Lamar’s–there is no GOD!

 

*SHOWER? Nah, who needs it.  If you can’t smell you, then you probably don’t stink.

 

Hope those help! Merry “C” word!