So Wayne's Celebration of Life memorial was on December 8 and it was a success, if you can use that word to describe that sort of an event. About sixty people came, but not all stayed to the end, which was the best part, at least for me, where we raised a tiny glass of Crown Royal and said Farewell. It was the part where I involuntarily cried. Speeches and memories were shared, some prepared, some not. They were all touching. Old friends of Wayne's, and now mine, took care of most of the arrangements including a lot of food that didn't get eaten. But anyway, that's done and over now, and I supposed there should be some closure as a result, but I don't really feel it yet. Frankly, I was on auto-pilot through the entire thing, just like I was during my mom's funeral, and Daddy's. It's like some fog machine kicks in, and all your hostess training starts making sure you keep circulating, say hi to everybody, accept the hugs, visit with them for a while. Everyone wanted to know some of the details of what happened to Wayne. I tried to give the short version. Some of the people I hadn't seen in years. So, yes, lots of hugging.
Which probably goes a long way to explaining why a couple of days later—COVID! I have heard from people who were at the Celebration and there are others who now have the virus. I actually worried about it, and tested on Thursday before leaving the next day for the event. And I had my fifth booster on November 6, also in preparation for being around that many people, all the hugs and kisses, etc. (Insert a "Waynism" right here—"You can make a plan but don't plan the outcome.") Neither my worries nor my caution kept me from exposure. And now I'm sitting at home, sick, sick, sick, taking a sack-load of medicine, and not feeling appreciably better with each passing day.
Wayne and I quarantined during the Pandemic. We isolated more than most of the people we knew. It was mainly Wayne who insisted on it. He had seen me go through several serious bouts of bronchitis and lung infections. It was, in fact, what caused us to leave the mountains—my breathing trouble. I guess he was worried the virus would go hard on me. So for 15 months we didn't go anywhere or see anybody. And we stayed well—until last September 2022, on a trip back from Oregon when we got delayed in a too-crowded airport. Even though we wore our masks we caught COVID anyway. You can never say for certain, but we felt like all those people at that airport caused it.
So as soon as we tested positive, we called the doctor, did a tele-medical and she prescribed Paxlovid. It worked, almost too well. It left a terrible taste in our mouths, but it kept the symptoms at bay. We both had one bad day and the rest was about like having a summer cold. Within a week, we were back to fighting strength and testing negative.
Flash forward to now. Paxlovid might as well be a box of M&Ms. It is doing nothing or next to nothing, other than giving me that bad taste lingering in my mouth. I started taking it on Sunday, four days ago now. Monday was rougher than Sunday. And then Tuesday I thought I might be feeling a bit better. However Wednesday came and I woke up with a burning chest and a deep unproductive cough that caused shooting pains in my lungs. And I'm like "what the hell?" I did a tele-medical with my current provider and a few hours later a huge sack of medications arrived at my door. So now, in addition to Paxlovid, I am taking an antibiotic to keep my lungs from developing something worse, like pneumonia for instance; I'm doing a nebulizer inhaler three times a day; and I've got some codeine cough syrup to suppress this painful cough. Then this morning I read an online article from Bloomberg that said Paxlovid is now only 37% effective against the COVID mutations. Duh! I could have told them that.
So I'm hoping I will be better by Christmas. Yes, I'm thinking that far ahead since the daily improvements are, at this point, miniscule. I don't want my "boys" to have to cancel their flights to come here. And I don't want to further ruin a Christmas that has already been ruined by the death of my beloved. All in all, I just want COVID to go to hell—straight to Hell—where it belongs!
Stay well, friends. And Merry Christmas!
Onward....
