It’s comfortably raining in Portland again.
After a week of snow, I’m okay greeting the less frozen variety of moisture from the sky. We’re high enough in elevation at my house that just yesterday, we still had hollow, lumpy skeletons of snow piles from shoveled sidewalks and plowed streets from last week’s snow showers. Melting snow running below them, fragile to the slightest touch but still holding strong against the occasional bath of sunlight. Today they are only a memory. They were no match to last night’s rain.
This holiday season approached with such hope. Company parties were held at nearby resorts to much fanfare. Ugly sweaters were pulled out from under the bed for the first time since 2019. We went out in search for a live tree again, in hopes to dampen the stale atmosphere our fake tree spread in 2020. The halls were decked, cookies baked, and plans made to spend Christmas with dear friends.
We were setting ourselves up for a season spent around a fireplace, sipping whiskey as the day faded, the glow of the fireplace accompanied by the crackling Christmas music on our turntable. I eagerly bought a few new decorations to freshen up our look and add new life to the same stockings that get hung each year.
Yes, this season came with hope for the first time in more months than I care to admit. After all, this year brought some light at the end of the pandemic tunnel. Wouldn’t you say?
Then it hit. More like, then it snuck up on us. What started as a handful of sneezes on the 21st, turned into an annoying cough on the 22nd, and that sneaking suspicion on the 23rd that Omicron might have found it’s way down our chimney before Santa did. A mad dash for a home test on Christmas eve landed me less-than-optimistically looking at that lollipop shaped test on a friends kitchen counter as that positive line appeared. Don’t scoff because I was at a friend’s, they all but begged me to come in and take the test, and like so many people during the 20th month of this thing, we threw caution to the wind and went inside.
I think the best way to describe the feeling I got when I saw that line appear was ashamed. The masks were worn, the hands were washed, the 6′ distancing was adhered to as much as possible when recommended. I only attended public events that required vaccines or negative COVID tests. Both vaccinations were received last spring and I was planning on getting boosted in January. But there it was. Reminding me that this thing is coming for you, no matter what. One positive test turned into 4 a few days later when my friends got their bad news. It was the gift that kept on giving.
There’s no denying those chills.
The aches will get you.
The fatigue is extreme.
And for me, my voice left on 12/24 and only pops in when it wants to. I’m not fully back to myself.
But the worst is over. Is it like a bad cold?
Maybe for some.
Was it more like a flu for me?
Am I thankful to not have it as bad as some.
So now, I’ll move forward less anxious about contracting it and more diligent about staying germ free.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.
6 thoughts on “20 twenty-two”
Oh Erin, I’m so sorry to hear this, and at Christmas too. Sounds like you’re starting to feel better, though. Stay strong!!
Ugh, that sucks. I think everyone will get it at some point. Hopefully you get back to feeling normal soon. ❤
I’m in the same camp – at this point, it’s only a matter of time until we all have our own “oh, I had COVID” story. After I got over the initial shock, I was fine with it, until someone told me that hair loss is a lingering symptom for some people. So basically, I’m a mess over that news. Does that make me vain? Probably 🙂
Well, hopefully that symptom doesn’t happen to you. Maybe take all the awesome hairfies (hair selfies) you can now just in case!
Hairfies… to document this glorious mop on my head in the event it’s not there tomorrow. Now there’s an idea 😉
Erin’s Glorious Hair. Sounds like a new blog or instagram account is in order…