The Vegas betting odds were against me.
I saw Tony on Wednesday (November 11) night, hung out and slept in the same bed on Thursday night. When he worsened on Friday and his symptoms aligned with c19, only then did we think, Hey maybe we should social distance. Even then, it took us a few days to assign separate bathrooms and to live in separate parts of the house. It took still another day for him to volunteer to wear a mask. Friday morning he got tested. Sunday afternoon the results came in: positive.
I'm doomed, I instantly believed.
So, I resigned myself to a statistic in the pandemic 2020. While I was sitting around waiting to get covid, it dawned on me how foolishly I was behaving for someone who still had her health. I'm not going to sit around and wait for sickness. I jumped up and went for a hike on a lovely day...and the day after...and the day after. Each day that passed felt like a miracle. I now knew how Castro felt before and during the Cuban missile crisis..."Any day the Americans will invade!"
The Americans never did. For Castro and me...though I hate to compare myself to Castro.
How did this happen?
My neighbor had a plausible explanation that he shouted from across the street while walking his dog, "The spectrum of symptoms and effects, and the people who get c19 is so broad that it's hard to understand this virus at all."
Tony felt better after five days; a friend felt horrible for 14 days. Tony lightly lost his smell; another friend rubbed garlic on her hand and couldn't detect it.
Yet, there is some evidence as to how and why the virus attacks others more virulently than others. I did everything physically and nutritionally to boost my resistance.
On Thanksgiving, I sent out thanks to friends and family for prayers, love, and positive thoughts with news that I'd met my 14 days of quarantine and hadn't become a Vegas win.
Yet...I still feel cautious; I still wonder if I have the newly mutated version that has an incubation period of 21 days instead of 14.
I am baffled. I am grateful.
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