Well, I think I’m pretty safe in saying . . . This is really going to suck!
Last Friday my eldest, Caleb, began exhibiting all of the classic symptoms of COVID-19 (or, as he so accurately calls it, the plague) — headache, fever, cough, mild trouble breathing, fatigue, the whole enchilada. Since he is presently matriculating (that’s right: matriculating) at Auburn University, he checked himself into the quarantine dorm. We checked in with him on a more-or-less daily basis, and he seemed to be getting better over the weekend. Then . . .
Then yesterday evening we gave him a call, and he was in terrible shape. His breathing had worsened (nothing dangerous or life-threatening, but noticeably worse), his fatigue had worsened, he had developed stomach problems that presented at both ends (let’s just leave it at that), he has lost his sense of smell and taste, and more. In short, he had seemed to have developed every coronavirus symptom on the books, plus some! Halitosis, hangnails, flatulence, projectile vomiting, male pattern baldness — he had it all!
Now, here you have to understand something about my son Caleb. He is the most proud, stubborn, independent person I have ever met. (This frequently causes problems, but that’s another topic.) He hates to admit weakness or ask for help. So you need to understand that when he asked us to pick him up from Auburn and bring him home, that was a sign of apocalyptic proportions that things were really, really not good.
So at 8 p.m. last night I jumped in the car, drove down to Auburn, picked up my son and brought him home. If he’s going to be quarantined, he’s going to be as comfortable as we can make him, and closely monitored.
So now Caleb is in forced quarantine, and the rest of the family is in voluntary quarantine for 2 weeks. We have divided the house into 2 zones. Donna (my wife) and Austin (my youngest son) stay upstairs — they do not come downstairs. Caleb, of course, is totally restricted to his room and bathroom, which are downstairs. I am the only one who crosses the upstairs/downstairs latitudinal red line, for a number of practical reasons. First, someone has to take Caleb his food, make sure he has medicine, and perform all those caregiver functions which we brought him home for in the first place. Second, my office is downstairs, and I can’t just quit working for 2 weeks.
We are taking all reasonable precautions. I wear a mask when I deal with Caleb, and I avoid touching him (which is really, really hard — I want to hug my son!). He keeps his door shut. We have invested in lots of alcohol wipes and disinfectant spray.
Of course, Donna cannot go to work (school), and Austin cannot go to school for 2 weeks. No church. No bible study or LifeGroup. Pretty much no nothing. We’ll go to the store as needed, but that’s about it. For 2 weeks.
I’ve got some choice — and decidedly un-Christian — words for those of you who keep saying this is no worse than the flu.
Happy Labor Day to everybody else!
