Doggone It
Evidently, I am a bad friend. This is news to me but must have some interesting basis in fact as this is not the first time I have been informed of my failings. There seems to be something about me that causes an abrupt and stunning end to my perceived connections with others. The current catchphrase for this “Ghosting.”
I contracted Covid 19 on December 17, 2020. It was not officially confirmed until December 21st, but all the subtle signs were there. Upper respiratory, a niggling cough, feeling tired. It wasn’t until the fever of 101 and the aches that I felt I needed to go get tested. Then, with what I now know to be Covid brain fog, I had to stare at the results for far longer than necessary in good health to allow the word, “positive” to compute. Not possible!! Nope! Nah, not me. I am careful and have a robust immune system. Guess not.
I began the phone calls to those that had been exposed to me during the previous week. The two girlfriends that had been over for lunch on Friday, the friend with whom I had lunched on Thursday. The facial lady. Not a long list, but still not easy to blurt out the phrase, “I tested positive for Covid. Thought you should know.” The one friend had been over on Friday and Sunday. I had said I felt like I was getting a cold on Sunday and gave her the option not to come over for three hours and eat, but she came anyway. The other Friday friend was a tougher call as she is kind of mean, in her overly giving sort of way and there is always a need to point out my failings.
The Thursday friend has now become known as Covid Susie. She is ground zero. The point of Covid entry into my previously impervious immune system. When I called her, she blurted out, “Oh I’ve been sick since right after we had lunch. I have a sinus infection and a cough and I’m on antibiotics. Where did you go for the test? Oh, my doctor would have done it for $50. Bummer Heath.” Two hours later she texted she had tested positive as well and both her sons and husband were coughing and glaring at her. A couple of days later we were chatting, and she said, “You don’t think you got it from me do you?” I had to break the news that yes, indeed she was the source. “Really?!” was her only reply.
Everyone else was tested on Wednesday. My two lunch friends and 91-year-old husband. All tested negative. That was a relief, except that my husband had a false negative, so back to the drawing board and into caregiver role along with sick person role.
The difficult friend expressed concern and asked if she could bring food or other things. I thanked her, but declined as she lives 30 minutes away, is 73 and has difficulty moving and no one here had an appetite to appreciate her efforts. On Thursday morning, December 24, I received a text that she would be by my house in 15 minutes with baked goods for the shut-ins. I texted back that I was in a Zoom class, and I could wave from the window, but would not be opening any doors. “Oh, I don’t want to be anywhere near you. Just dropping off.”
A lovely plate of bake goods appeared and was left there to be picked up by my nephew when he dropped off the groceries. No one here to enjoy and one hated to waste all that beauty and effort. My temperature spiked that day to 101.5 and my husband ceased to be able to make his brain talk to his legs. I was concerned he might have had a stroke. It is a bit of a challenge to hold up a 160-pound man and propel him forward when you are feverish. I spent the majority of the day sitting in a chair with tears pouring down my face. Seemed the only sensible thing and all I was capable of doing. I sent a text to the baking friend that said, “Having a tough day. No energy to chat. Thank you again for your effort, generosity and kindness.”
Luckily on Christmas morning, I got my miracle and my husband seemed to remember he had legs and could walk with minimal assistance. Our days were spent sleeping or lying down. Reading was too much effort and television just annoying. I managed a few conversations a day but talking was enervating as well. I tried calling my baking friend, texting, and emailing, but no response. I wasn’t concerned at first as I know she likes to hide during major holidays, but as time went on and her phone kept going direct to voicemail, I became worried. She lives alone with an old, crippled dog. She doesn’t speak to her neighbors and she lives in the middle of nowhere. Finally, when it had been 8 days with no communication, I sent her an Email and text that said if I did not hear something by the next morning, I would be contacting the Fountain Hills Police for a wellness check. My other friend had offered to drive out and ring her doorbell.
That is when I received the email informing me that I was a horrible friend. She had brought me baked goods and, in her mind, I instantly texted her to say I was too tired to talk. It was three hours later. She had expected the text to read that she should wait, and I would be bringing out a meal and gifts for her dog, but no, just a thoughtless text stating I was having a tough day. She no longer needs to wait around until I feel like chatting and don’t answer this email, it is not a conversation.
Well, alrighty then. The disconnect in my mind was somewhat similar to my having to stare at the word positive on the Covid test. Huh? What? Excuse me? I was going to prepare you a meal and bring gifts to the car for your dog? You would want things touched by a Covid-ite with a 101 temperature and a cough? Had I made some sort of promise in a Covid haze? I took my time to scan through any hallucinogenic ideas I might have entertained and came up with nothing. I ran the rolodex of slights I might have perpetrated knowingly or unknowingly and again, nada. I thought of our many conversations in which she shared her offense at actions that had nothing to do with her. I revisited the giant chip she lives with on her shoulder and the litany of crimes against her nature – real and perceived. I wondered what it must be like to go through life thinking that it is out to screw you. If you think Covid is exhausting, and it is, that is beyond exhausting. I sighed. Thought of what I would miss. Said a gratitude prayer for all the fun we had enjoyed for two and a half years and let it go. Although I must confess, I feel a bit bad I didn’t know the dog wanted a present.
