Back to the Whole McGillicuddy
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Last Sunday Ana, Michelle and I had breakfast out, the real
Mexico way. This, in itself, is not important. On Saturday, Ana had gone to her
Uncle’s 90th birthday party. This is important.
Tuesday was my birthday. Michelle and I drove to Etzatlan,
masked and gelled with gloppy hand sanitizer, for a treat at a coffee shop. Ana
stayed home, feeling unwell. Ana’s symptoms made me frown. I had, a mere couple
of weeks ago, recovered from the latest covid variant and many similarities
popped up.
When we returned from cake and coffee, Michelle had Ana do
the coronavirus test. Ana tested positive. I isolated behind my fenced area.
Michelle hitched up her mask and took on both women’s chores. At this point,
Ana was very ill.
The next day Michelle hollered across our patios that she
tested positive. Now I am in full worry mode. They have dogs and cats and
chickens and sheep to care for in addition to themselves.
Michelle assured me that she was asymptomatic and able to do
chores for now. She reminded me they have a town full of relatives to call for
help if need be.
Me, I’m not worried for myself. I had two weeks of recovery
behind me so figured I was graced with at least three months of immunity.
Right?
Meanwhile my email was pinging and dinging with notes from
friends afar who were also stricken. I would tell you what I think of this
Covid virus but you might be inclined to dent my tin hat while I’m wearing it
so I shall restrain myself.
Ana had been sick three or four days when I woke in the
night thinking about immunity and what that means. Not the least bit worried,
just to prove a point to myself, the next morning I reamed my nose and tested. I
must have stared at the result a good ten minutes, stunned. Positive. How could
that be? I’m immune. Right?
I waited a full 24 hours to repeat the test. Just in case
I’d stuck my big toe in the test kit or in some other way compromised it, I
tested again. I’m not feeling sick. I am testing positive. Thankfully, Michelle
and I both are asymptomatic but that also means that while we are positive, we
are carriers. I could infect you and I’d rather not.
I alerted our friends from the rancho to stay away, let them
know that we are not entertaining guests at present.
Over the past couple of months I had noticed that more
people in town were, once again, going about their business masked. Since my
own bout with the disease last month, I
began masking when in the car or in tiendas. But not always. My guard,
like most everyone else’s, was down.
We three have reverted to the whole McGillicuddy of precautions.
I don’t like it. I doubt my friends are thrilled. Masks are irritating. Hand
gel is gross. Isolating defies every instinct. Distancing, same. I want to
touch, shake hands, see your smile, (read your lips).
We three here are in agreement about our actions and
precautions. You do what you want. I understand. I have absolutely no advice. I
don’t know enough to give advice.
At any rate, there is a lot of sickness out there. A lot of
people are asymptomatic with Covid. I got sick the first time at a party in
which nobody was feeling ill, yet someone carried it to me. We had all let down
our guards. Lots of hugs, touches, closeness. Same for Ana at her party. Even people
who have been recently vaccinated can get it but not feel ill and share it
widely. Allegedly. How fun!
I’m okay. Don’t you worry about me. I’m appalled, not that I
have the Covid virus, but that I could so easily and unknowingly give it to
you.
Just in case, I’m writing this masked. I am isolated, 2500
miles away. I disinfected my hands. You are safe from me.
Sondra Ashton
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