Well, after two and a half years of dodging it, despite family members working daily with the public, COVID-19 has caught up with me. With a vengeance.

I say that not because I’m terribly ill, but because three out of four of our household members have all come down with it at once. The only reason number four lucked out is that she moved to Japan in July.

She’s always been the smart one. They know how to wear masks over there.

Of the three of us, I’ve been hit hardest. That’s really not a surprise due to autoimmune issues, other health concerns, and age. I did qualify for Paxlovid, which is supposed to help prevent serious complications. That stuff is nasty, mostly due to the continual wretched taste it leaves in the mouth. Well worth it if it does as advertised, though. I have a day and a half left on that prescription.

Today, I retested and am still a strong positive. I guess I won’t be out on the dancefloor any time soon. I am doing ok, though. I feel slightly flu-ish, mild coughing, drippy, tired, a bit weak, occasional nausea, I get woozy….

None of this is a worry, and my heart goes out to the millions who have had it far worse. For me it’s an annoyance that I’m trying to remain patient with. For many, it has been a heartbreaking tragedy.

COVID remains out there. Thanks to the fact that we all can’t be like the Japanese, we’re now giving in to the realization that it is going to be around indefinitely. Already, many guidelines say go back to work after five days even if you’re still positive, as long as your symptoms are improving and you wear a good mask. Soon, they’ll just say, “Just suck it up and hope you don’t kill somebody’s grandma.”

To my way of thinking, there are already too many grandmas lost. And grandpas, and sisters, and mothers, and brothers, and children, and sons and daughters and neighbors and friends….

Please, let us never forget them.