Self-quarantined and pessimistic
That’s me. I’m self-quarantined.
I was pretty much there already given the health problems I’ve had during the last year: three months of Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, then Norovirus, the Epstein Barr virus, “dangerous” blood clots swelling up my legs and, most recently, a strep infection.
If you’re a friend of mine, you’ve probably heard me go on and on about my health, and you’re probably thinking to yourself, “When’s he going to stop with this whining?” Let me tell you, my whining isn’t going to stop anytime soon. Even if I self-quarantine.
Before the strep showed up, I was only going outside a little because of my health concerns. I’d take the trash out, walk to the cul-de-sac down the road and back or take my granddaughter to the school-bus stop in the morning. That kind of stuff. If I was feeling really adventurous, I’d go with my wife to the supermarket and help her shop. I liked getting out, whether it was to the supermarket or to the curb where the trash cans were sitting. I’d run into my neighbors or clerks I knew at the store, and we’d chew the fat for a minute or two. I love complaining and all these health problems have given me a boat load of complaint topics.
All that has pretty much stopped. The strep infection is part of it. It’s scary. I don’t want it, and I definitely don’t want to spread it around. But what’s worse of course is the coronavirus. My fear of it keeps me in doors like nothing else. If you look at any CDC list of who is most susceptible to this disease, you’ll find my name prominently featured on that list. I’m almost 72 years old, and I’ve got a history of heart failure and auto-immune problems that go way way back. I figure the coronavirus is just waiting for me to peak out the window.
Every half hour or so, I go to a coronavirus website and track where the disease is in Virginia. Last week, it was only in Fairfax, 169 miles away, but every day it’s crept closer. To Richmond, Spotsylvania and Harrisonburg. And cases have now been confirmed in Charlottesville, just about 70 miles up the road from where I live.
I figure tomorrow morning when I get up, the coronavirus will be here in Lynchburg.
I don’t expect this story to have a happy ending — no matter how self-quarantined I am.