Several weeks ago, as fears about Covid 19 gained pace, like
many other people I felt a lot of uncertainly. The first concerns were of
course around family, not being able to see our grandchildren for potentially a
very long time, alongside the roles some of our family members did on a daily
basis, which involved essential services. Small changes in our lives were made
at first. Our son whose girlfriend is a trainee nurse moved into the old part
of the house, as hubby and I, having turned 60 last year were technically in
the higher risk group. The second set of concerns turned to business, safety at
work, and how the fear of a potential shutdown would affect our livelihood. Every
day there seemed to be something different to deal with, and every day we tried
our best.
Two and a half weeks ago I developed a cough. It wasn’t anything too bad
and in other times I would have dismissed it completely. Very soon after that I
developed a temperature, and generally felt unwell. It happened over a weekend,
but immediately I self-isolated. When I rang the GP on Monday, he put me
forward for a test. I was to continue the self-isolation, and hubby had to
restrict his movements. We both stayed at home. I stayed isolated in my son’s
old bedroom. The following weekend they changed the criteria for the testing to
having a cough and a fever, which I had, and a requirement to have been in
contact with someone with a confirmed case of Covid 19, travelling back from
another country, or be in the extreme high risk group. The test was cancelled
but we were advised to continue isolating. That isolation ended yesterday. I
never had the shortness of breath, so perhaps I didn’t have Covid 19, and in a
way it didn’t matter.
On Saturday last, I ventured out to the back garden. I
wanted to feel somewhat normal again. I did. It felt good. I felt I was getting
part of what was normal back again even though I still greatly missed seeing
our children and our grandchildren, and with the lockdown in place, business
concerns loomed too. I decided the garden like myself needed some TLC, and in
my stupidity while trimming back a low bush, I hit my head off a jagged branch.
It was really painful, but thankfully there was no tear. Sunday, I got the
mother of all headaches. It wouldn’t go away. I took paracetamol but it only
took the edge off it. I rang the GP again. Over the last few weeks, it’s probably
the most we have talked to each other in years. During the phone call we worked
out I didn’t have concussion, but I was to come back to him if things got worse.
Yesterday, I wanted to get back to writing, because I hadn’t written in four
weeks, but I couldn’t because my head wouldn’t allow me. I was put on stronger painkillers
and finally last night the pain eased.I had obviously damaged my head somehow,
and possibly had an allergic reaction too as small hive-like bumps began
appearing on my scalp, but like Covid 19, that too would soon pass.
This
morning the pain is a lot less than yesterday, and hopefully tomorrow it will
be better again. Over the last few weeks, I’ve felt all the normal fears most
people might have felt at this time, and sometimes, like others, I’ve seen both
the negative and the positive side of things. I know I am lucky. I know there
are people out there who have suffered badly and others who fear what the
future holds. I don’t have any wise words. I don’t think many of us have. All I
know is the buds are coming out on the trees, the daffodils are bright yellow,
and a robin has nested in a tree box outside my son’s bedroom window. These are
good things to cling onto, as is the love of the people we hold dear. We are
each doing our best. Tomorrow, after a month, hopefully, I will pick up my
unfinished manuscript. It will probably feel like an alien document, but I will
start again, no doubt badly at first, no doubt slow, but fingers crossed I will
get there.
