Meh. I am now Covid-19 positive.
Yesterday morning I was sent home from work after getting my results from a weekly PCR test. Luckily I have no symptoms apart from a slight loss of taste and smell. No temperature, no aches, no tiredness. I saw my doctor for blood pressure, breathing etc – all normal. I need to go for a new PCR test next Tuesday, and if negative can return to work.
Honestly, I’m not that surprised I have it, and had already mentally prepared for such a situation. Currently we have four resident positive cases at work, plus in the region I live in the infection rate is super mega high. I had the 1st dose Pfizer vaccine on 29 January, and while I was under no illusion the vaccine would prevent me from ever catching it, I think having it has (thus far) helped keep the symptoms at bay (fingers crossed).
Okay, so a bit of a mashup for today’s post, pandemic meets Six Sentence Stories
and my contribution is dedicated to dear Covid-19, with the prompt word being: Plow
(a somewhat apt word right now, lol😏 )
Ode to Covid
Covid, dear Covid, I know you so well, how you cause merry hell in your search for kicks and spats and brawls, how you make us redesign our daily routines, rewrite our blueprints and protocols. I know you so well; the clang of your bell, the rap of your fingers on the doors at work, your spiriting away of the seniors and an ex-colleague of mine, the vicious spells and altered states you leave behind. I know you well through masks and gloves and disposable fatigues, have seen you in action through the misty lens of a medical visor, tried to counter you by offering my arm to a needle full of Pfizer. Week-on-week tested negative, negative, negative, as you wormed your way into our lives with nothing more to give than fear and sickness, isolation, and now me – made positive. Nice work, you did it, you plowed my defences – mon gestes barrières – and though our personal war has just begun, I am yet unwounded and happily breath the air you propose me to quit. Covid, dear Covid – old friend now – I aim to persist on whichever battlefield you decide to see fit.
Funny, how in my last pandemic post I wrote this:
“Maybe the vaccine will help me, maybe not. Maybe if I catch Covid-19 the symptoms won’t be as bad as my body is now currently learning to recognise it and remember it for future combat.”
Body-Rap. France. 1988.
LOL. I have no choice now.
TVTA, it’s time for your next round of injections. Ouch!
Airgam toys catalogue page. Spain. 1977.
You betcha! The TVTA scanning room is already abuzz with new materials waiting to go, go, go! Our intrepid office cat Wooof has chosen this time of infection to break out his special gold-edition Hello Kitty mask. And I will use my time off to
laze in bed in between bouts of copious alcohol drinking catch up on projects.
See you later!
Another popular English expression heard among my French colleagues (such as “What the fuck!” and “Good job” and “Let’s Go!”) is…
“See you later!”
So, vintage mates, see you later!
Stay safe and healthy out there everyone!
[edit 19/02/21 : I saw the copy of my positive result and they state now the results of any variant detection. Luckily I didn’t get a variant, though I trust they would have told me if I had. My test on 16/02/21 came back as ‘Weak Positive’, so still some work to do yet before I get back to negative. Will add here a HUGE thank you to everyone who sent well wishes – it’s really appreciated and really helped cheer me up 😎 you guys rock!]
Disclaimer. This report is meant to offer an overview of the fluid impact upon a care worker in the French medical system. No names of any persons or institutions are given. Some of the reportage here concerns decisions made at a French national level which is available to the public at any time. No breach of confidentiality or professional workplace standards is made or implied. Any health advice stated here is exactly the same as that given by the World Health Organization public advice pages