I awoke yesterday morning to the news that one of my oldest friends has the corona virus. He was tested Sunday, after exhibiting several of the standard symptoms, and has been home in quarantine with his wife (who is a nurse) ever since. He sent a text, which I read first thing and sent my sympathies.
I spent the day worrying about it, both about my friend specifically and about the situation in general. It’s funny, things are quiet outside, the spring is coming on, there is little traffic on the streets. I work as much as I can, but I am not as busy or stressed about work things as usual. I have groceries and toilet paper at home. There is an odd, embracing calm.
But then things hit close to home. Yes, I am in one of the demographics–people above sixty–most likely to succumb to COVID-19. That’s worrisome. I do the recommended things, as most of us do, but who can ever be careful enough? You can’t see a virus, you don’t know where it might linger, it is all very frightening.
Last night I called my friend and we spoke for a while. He’s not doing bad. His temperature has not climbed above 101.3. He has a little trouble when he walks around with shortness of breath, but is far from needing a ventilator. All in all, he feels on the mend. His biggest problem now is that his employer sent a courier with paperwork asking him to waive his HIPAA confidentiality rights, and that is a concern. But it’s reassuring to know that someone in my age group can contract the illness and live to tell the tale.
But then, my friend is a tough old bird. I hope I am too.