It was inevitable, I am sure. Maria has been sick for several Polk; today, she tested positive for Covid.

I started to get sick at sunrise this morning – sore throat, congestion, body aches, etc. I’ve got it too – every single symptom.

The nurse says I’ll probably test positive in a day or two, and then we’ll see about an antiviral shot. She suspects I won’t need it since I’ve been double vaccinated and boosted, and most people are not getting sick, although it needs to be taken seriously.

We do take it seriously, but not hysterically.

I’m confident we got the bug in Williamstown during the birthday weekend celebration. We were around more people every hour than we were in years in our village.

The covid context differs from what it was a few years ago. I am aware and grateful. In the beginning, at my age and with heart disease and diabetes, I would probably have been on a ventilator and could have died.

Maria was sicker than I remember ever seeing her, and she still sticks, but she is getting better every day. I look forward to that, and I feel the virus spreading through my lungs, chest, and body like a dark cloud in a thunderstorm.

I am worn out every time I move. I’m told to rest and drink a lot of liquids, but that is always so simple on a farm with animals, as Maria can testify. We are splitting up the chores and hanging on there.

It’s get up and rest, get up and rest.

When people get sick, their loved ones and friends give them strict instructions: get lots of rest, drink lots of liquids, and do no heavy lifting.

But when we get sick, we ignore all that good advice and break most rules. It’s a fundamental part of human nature.

I love Maria, I love taking care of her, and she denies it, but I can see she loves giving me orders when I’m sick (and when I’m not.)

I do it all the time.

I went to the pasture to clean up and tell the donkeys where Maria was – they were looking for her. When I returned to the house, I thought I would keel over.

But I had to give the donkeys their daily alfalfa treats and the Imperious Hens mealworms. I can’t skip it.

 

When one of us wears out, the other steps in, we feed ourselves, and if anyone has to drive into town, I go, masked again. But I can’t go inside any building.

We both need to quarantine for five days before we go outside.

The only place I drive is to the pharmacy, and then only through the drive-through. I’m taking grade A antihistamines because I can’t stop sneezing and coughing.

The pills prescribed for me are dehydrating me at an astonishing rate; I belong in one of those John Wayne westerns staggering through the desert.

Maria and I have strategy sessions – who needs what, who needs to rest, how are we both doing? We plan every morning and then mostly forget what we planned.

I’m not used to seeing her sleep all day, and she isn’t used to my sleeping all day, so we are seeing a new face of one another. We are dizzy to the point of incoherence.

And, of course, I have to blog. This is big news from  Bedlam Farm, I was eager to write about it, but I couldn’t do it until now.

Perhaps a Covid Journal is in order. Not everyone has had it.

I’m grateful this round of virus isn’t as bad as the first, but it is no picnic. Maria has already begun to come out of her illness – one or two more days, we think.

I’m just sinking into mine. Three or four days, I’m guessing.

No Mansion, no Bishop Gibbons, no shopping, no gym, not going outside unless I’m walking alone in the woods, and if today is any indication, I won’t get very fair.

And I might go mad.

But I will blog when I can and sneak outside to take some photos. When I can. And won’t when I can’t. How’s that for a plan? My shrink tells me I am almost certainly ADD and live by impulse.

I didn’t know, but it makes perfect sense.

I’ve got a good book to read when I’m not groggy, The Angel Of Rome, by Jess Walter. It’s a wonderful book, one of the best short story books I’ve ever read.

Maria and I are both active, resilient, and stubborn and work well together. It would seem fitting that as she begins recovering, I start getting sick.