After eight months of being scrupulously cautious, pulling the kids out of school, not attending church or eating in restaurants or doing anything with anyone, my husband has covid. Because he had to go back to work and the people around him weren’t as careful as we’ve been.
I am alternating between terror and incandescent rage. We’re doing everything we can to keep the rest of us, especially Ethan, safe. But what does it matter when everyone else acts like this isn’t a big deal?
So far the Husband of Joy just has mild symptoms, but we know that can change. We’re well set up to monitor him here (hello medically complex child arsenal of equipment), but it’s more than that.
The rest of us are going to have to be tested next week to make sure we’re not asymptomatic carriers. That means coping scripts and medical play between now and then because we don’t want to make Ethan’s medical trauma come roaring back.
It means I’ve repacked my hospital go bag; if Ethan gets sick, we know he can go downhill fast, and we need to be ready.
The Husband of Joy was exposed at work, where they all sit together in an office, six feet apart but unmasked, despite all the science that says that’s not safe.
So when you’re thinking you’ll just get together with a few people for Thanksgiving? When you pull your mask down just for a few minutes? When you vote for people who won’t implement government aid so that people can stay home? Think about our family.
Because it doesn’t matter how careful we’ve been. If you don’t stand with us, we don’t stand at all.
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