As the 18
th of December drew closer, the fear
inside me grew: what if we had to send a bubble, or more than one, home in
those last few days of the school term? What if holidays were going to be
ruined by isolation for scores of children and staff?
There was a selfish fear too, of course: what if I come into
contact with someone who tests positive and have to isolate? Or what if one of
my own children gets sent home from their school?
My fears were, inevitably, pretty quickly realised: my
middle daughter came home on the penultimate Friday, destined to self-isolate
until Friday 18th. But that didn’t touch Christmas, but it meant a
huge burden on my wife, working at home fulfilling Christmas baking orders. I
hurried back from school every day in order to try to provide some relief.
Every day, that is, until Thursday.
Because, of course, it was the unthinkable that actually
happened.
Rewind to Wednesday night:
Wednesday night was a tough one: I had an inexplicable pain
across my lower back – I couldn’t get comfortable in bed and, along with the
accompanying nausea, it kept me awake most of the night.
I ‘woke up’ the next day feeling slightly unwell, in my own words. Thursday was to be the last day
in school, and not thinking that back ache and tiredness should stop me from
enjoying the last day of school, off I went.
Thankfully, I spent the day ensuring, as usual, that I was
social distancing, was in well-ventilated places, keeping my hands washed
regularly and so on. The day was a great way to end what had been a fantastic
term – yes, a challenging one, but a challenge I had relished. I was glad to
leave by the end though, as, due to a lack of sleep, or so I thought, I was
flagging somewhat.
At home I caught up a little with the DfE’s newly-revealed
plans to ask secondary schools to test pupils as of January. I fired off a
quick commiseration email to our principal (I work in an all-through academy)
and thought I’d forget about it. With one more work-from-home morning left to
go, I retired to bed that night, although not before a heated discussion with
my wife regarding whether or not I should get a Covid test: when my symptoms
are definitely those of Covid, was my stance; tomorrow, regardless, was hers –
so that we knew for certain whether or not our Christmas plans would be
affected.
But my subconscious brain clung on to the evening’s
thoughts, weaponising them and torturing me all night. I dreamt of having to
set up a testing centre at school – one of those looped dreams consisting of
bright colours (the testing booths were decorated with red and white Christmas
string), repeated phrases and nothing at all very tangible other than the
feeling of dread. I woke at 4:10 am and headed downstairs to book myself a
Covid test, the fever being such that the virus was becoming a more certain
possibility.
***
Just before lunchtime on Sunday the test result came back.
I’d all but convinced myself it would be negative, mainly on account of an
easing temperature and the presence of phlegm: it was a chest infection, it must
be.
Dear Aidan Severs
Your coronavirus test
result is positive. It means you had the virus when the test was done.
I went downstairs to break the news. By now, of course, the
rules for Christmas had changed, all our plans involved people now marooned in
tier 4, so my corona was not going to be the cause of spoiled Christmas plans.
However, there were plenty of other consequences.
I have to admit I cried. Many times. Everything set me off.
The thought of potentially ruining so many other Christmases. The fact my wife
had to cancel and refund all her Christmas orders. Knowing my mother-in-law,
who is in our bubble, would not be able to spend Christmas with us meaning that
she may face it alone. The knowledge that my children, who have soldiered on
through the country’s toughest restrictions, living as we do in Bradford, and
not even an area of Bradford that got out of local lockdown for a while, would
have to endure more time indoors with only each other as company. Heightened
emotions may be a symptom – then again, its legitimate for it to be that
upsetting without that as an excuse.
I completed my Test and Trace information, and the academy’s
counterpart. Thankfully it was deemed unnecessary to ask anyone else to
isolate, due to the mitigations in place and my keeping to them. That was a
weight off my mind, although I spent each day of the holiday waiting to hear
that someone else from work had come down with it because of me. At the time of
writing, I have heard only of one very tentative transmission, and am hoping
that when I speak to my colleagues again in the new year, all will report a
healthy Christmas holiday.
And the thing just left me weak, wheezy and a waste of
space. Unable to go out, incapable of doing anything of any value. I
par-watched a film, and an episode of a series. Reading, writing, music had
very little draw – besides the initial headache that came with my Covid
prohibited these activities. I slept on and off. I mostly just felt guilty – I
know it wasn’t my fault - and sad that my wife was having to take on
everything. My muscles ached, my skin felt like it was on fire, my head felt
like it was sunburnt.
At some point, it robbed me of my sense of smell, leaving me
with only a partial sense of taste. All that Christmas food! Would I be able to
taste it? That was if I even had the appetite for it – usually ravenous the
whole time, I certainly experienced some fluctuation in my desire to eat.
It felt unfair. We’d stuck to all the rules. I’d survived
the term, always being there at work, covering when others thought they might
have had it, or indeed, when others did have it, plugging away finding
never-ending solutions to all the latest Covid problems. We’d ridden wave after
wave of the UK’s harshest restrictions, very rarely losing hope.
Even after a week, I was still dog tired. I woke up on the
23rd feeling a bit brighter, a little more energised, but as the day
wore on, that wore off. If there’s one thing this virus does well, it’s robbing
its host of their vitality. Perhaps the exhaustion was due to my body fighting
of the illness effectively enough for me to remain at home, instead of being
hospitalised? I suppose if that was the case, then I am thankful for the
tiredness.
Of course, friends and family rallied round. Many a kind
message was received, people picked stuff up for us, dropped it off.
Entertainment for me and the children was sent. My wife did a cracking job of
keeping the morale high despite everything.
Christmas Eve was merry – I was feeling a lot better and
managed to join in with all the day’s activities – still inside the house,
isolating of course. Just before we headed out for a drive around to look at
the Christmas lights loads of my family members came to the street and sang to
us – a lovely, heart-warming moment, and a chance to sample some of my dad’s
Covid Carols live! But we weren’t only going to see the Christmas lights, we
also made a second trip to the test centre: my wife had begun with a cough
- a cough which by now was plaguing me
to the point of perceived pain in my lungs.
And on Christmas morning, whilst preparing the meal, her
text came through: positive.
And the so the saga continues. Thankfully by Sunday 27th
(my official release date) I was feeling normal enough again to do a decent job
of having a good time with the children, feeding the family and keeping the
house in some sort of semblance of order. I took the kids out for a brief walk
in the woods and it did us good. At the time of posting, my wife is still ill
in bed, experiencing her version of all the symptoms I had.
