A week after coming home from Hawaii, Brett and I went out wth friends to celebrate a birthday. We waited for our table across the street in a sticky college bar. It was packed with rowdy, bombastic frat guys and and bouncy blonds whose shirts were smaller than the masks they weren't wearing. Ari called the place a "cesspool" and we all huddled in a corner feeling old and crotchety.
It all started a few days later with a migraine which is only odd because I've never had a migraine before. On Wednesday afternoon my skin burned against my clothes and my eyes hurt to move. Apart from one hangry outburst, Brett and I assumed I was just dehydrated. By suppertime I had a little headache. I woke up in the night with the most excruciating head pain I've experienced. I was sure it was an aneurysm which is not an uncommon assumption for me to make. I get a sharp pain in the right side of my head when I exercise. My doctor once happily suggested it was an unpopped aneurysm and then sent me home with no ounce of concern. But this time, I knew it was happening because certainly no one could have that much pain in their head and not die. I woke up Brett. The Google promptly informed us it was a migraine. Who knew it made your skin burn? Brett got up and drove to CVS for medicine while I mulled over how I would get my flower arrangements done without opening my eyes or moving.
Big Mama came over to help in the shop. I don't usually make her craft arrangements for me but she came in all chipper and ready and she did a wonderful job. We stopped for a lunch break and I felt queasy. Ellen and Liv came over for a visit. I began to wonder if a migraine was a covid symptom but I didn't want to alarm my family. Brett wanted me to take a Covid test but I didn't. I didn't want to find out that I had Covid, subsequently making it morally unsound for me follow through with my contractual agreement to come to a wedding venue and touch all of the things and stuff. By nighttime I was nauseous and I woke up the next day with a funny feeling in my chest. That's when I just knew.
Brett and I set up a rehearsal dinner on Isle of Palms and on the way home, I had him take us to Walgreens for Covid tests. I was eating the last thing I'd enjoy for weeks (a fried chicken sandwich from Boxcar Betty's) when my phone rang with my results. "You actually did test positive for Covid." the voice on the other end told me. Brett's came back negative. I was relieved to know I wasn't dying just yet but I became nervous about tomorrow's big wedding. Luckily, God struck rain down upon this couple, and my huge outdoor tent and arbor installation was cancelled. The whole party moved to a tacky ballroom. All we had to do was set the tables.
We woke up early Saturday morning and called Ellie and Caroline. They both had Covid while we were in Hawaii. They knew what I should expect and more importantly, they cheerfully agreed to help setup my wedding. These are true friends. I sat in the car in the rain while they did my job for me inside the venue. Something about being "on-site" made me feel better about letting an engineer, an HR rep, and a government worker decorate my most expensive wedding of the season. They sent me videos of the tables as they went and I could hear Brett in the background. "Make sure you vary the heights of the candles. She doesn't like the same sizes next to each other. See that table? That's too many." My heart nearly popped. Brett has absorbed decor rules by osmosis.
With the adrenaline of the weekend worn off, I really tumbled to the depths of The Covid. I couldn't eat. Couldn't sleep. And I felt awful. Walking from the couch to the bathroom made me breathe like a fatty at the top of a staircase. Except for a bit of cheese and two clementines, I didn't eat for four days. I laid on the couch until Wednesday when my next batch of wedding flowers came in. In the meantime, lots of people who love me sent food (for Brett) and cheerful messages and phone calls. I waved at Ellen through the window one day and worried that Mom, Ellen or Liv would come down with symptoms anytime now.
Even though I was "cleared to leave the house" and considered "no longer contagious" by my next wedding, I wore rubber gloves and a mask while I made arrangements in the shop and had Brett set up and teardown my next wedding as well. The recovery progress was two steps forward, one step back. I'd have a nearly normal day but then I'd do too much and be sick again the next day. I find all of this amusing because what I need is simply four or five consecutive days to "rest," and during any other part of the year, I have that in spades. Last year I spent the whole thing resting and worked maybe four or five days. But since Hawaii through the end of this month, I only have two day rest periods. And it is getting better but I crap out again by the end of the week.
Coffee tastes sour and I can't taste chocolate or blueberries at all. This part isn't fixed yet.
I've just finished my fourth week since testing positive and I have not been able to walk the dogs around the block, exercise, or move my candle boxes to and from the car four times each week. You know who has been doing these things? Brett or my folks pick up my flowers on Wednesdays. Dad has taken responsibility for assorted ladder transportation while Mom maintains my calm during setups. Brett cooks all of the meals and does all of the dishes. He walks and plays with the pups. He does the laundry. He comes with Mama and me on Saturdays to decorate the weddings and then drives back at 11:00 pm to join the vendor race to clean up.
Brett says he hasn't minded any of this except for the dishes.
I can do the dishes now. I can mostly clean the whole house and even make it through grocery store runs. Being useless feels awful. Most days you wish someone else would do all of your tasks for you, but if they do it more than two days in a row, you just feel guilty. This evening I'm going to surprise Brett and walk the dogs with him for the first time in one month. I'll need a nap after.
I've wondered if all of the old folks we pass on our daily dogs walks think that he and I broke up.
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