Well that was an adventure I do not wish to revisit.

I started feeling off late on the 24th. Like, foggy froggy gross kind of off. Knowing that one of the places I frequent to visit clients had a recent outbreak that spread rather rapidly and even though I wore my mask and sanitized the dickens out of my hands, I thought to test.

On a Covid test, it tells the tester to set a timer for 15 minutes and read the results. Dudes, it wasn’t even a minute when I got the positive test. Yup, still the same at the 15 minute mark. I tested positive. FARTS!

I’ve avoided the plague for four years, but in my line of work of caregiving, I could only dodge the bullet for so long. I’m sorry my reign ended but I wouldn’t trade the time I had with my beloved clients to change that.

Three days of heavy flu-like symptoms, then a cough which gradually dwindled. Fever free on day 5. Feeling as normal as I can at 10 days out.

I hate being sick. I hate not being able to GO! GO! GO! It goes against my ethics, but I further know that if I don’t take care of myself, I’m setting myself up for failure. I’m not willing to fail. I’m not willing to give up. I’m not willing to surrender.