A sense of hope after surviving COVID-19

Friday the 13th whipped through my home in 2020, leaving COVID-19 in its wake.

On that day, my spouse took to his bed and didn’t resurface until late the next evening. Despite all the media coverage and government warnings about the virus, I jumped into bed beside him.

When the tests for COVID came back positive, time seemed to stand still for a moment. Next came fear, considering we were both 65.

Then I flew into survival mode. Whipping out the disinfectant, I sprayed and scrubbed any countertop I could get my hands on. I washed our shared bedding and hurriedly got our spare room into shape for me to isolate in.

For me, COVID brought a slight cold and cough that lingered for weeks. My spouse had chills and exhaustion yet seemed better in four days – until his underlying condition kicked in and laid him out flat for weeks.

Thankful

But still, we were some of the lucky ones and are thankful we didn’t need hospital visits much less ventilators.

Told by doctors we were not contagious after 10 days and not to take any more COVID tests, we were confused about whether we were clear.

Our general practitioner informed us about a blood test (a pin prick in the finger) that provided a result in minutes. Using a strip much like the ones many women use for pregnancy tests, we watched in fascination at the appearance of three lines of different shades of pink that showed each of us where we were with the disease.

I had negative/positive results, meaning my antibodies were fighting off the virus while the positive showed I had been exposed. My poor spouse kept coming up positive and positive. No matter what the doctors said about us not being contagious, it delayed our ability to feel safe going out and about with our lives.

Isolation

So we isolated and isolated some more. My spouse seemed to become one with his bed as if in meditation, counting the stillness as the hours passed, while I read books and binge-watched English detective shows.

Stepdaughters helped by going grocery shopping for us and doing drivebys with grandchildren so we could wave at them from our porch.

Weeks later – when we felt sure we were way past contagion – we had to reassure the few visitors we allowed into the house that we were clear. It was hard not to see the look of fear on their faces, although that was understandable. Our isolation had been dutiful, yet we couldn’t help feeling like we wore a scarlet letter of shame.

As Christmas came and went and we were healthy, we received a greeting card with “Peace Hope and Joy” written in gold. It reminded me that, after COVID, these were important words indeed to try to live by.

Maggie Lennon is a writer and photographer who writes about navigating the aging process. Check out her blog, “The Sensational Sixties. An everywoman’s guide to getting older.” Contact her at maggielennon164@yahoo.com.