Tag: Covid 2023

Beware of Over Confidence

Dear Liza,

This “recovering from Covid” thing keeps surprising me. With most illnesses I’ve dealt with (which haven’t been many, knock on wood) , there has been a steady upward curve of improvement. Like recovering from minor surgery last year. You get cut and stitched, then heal up.

This time, however, I can’t seem to make up my mind. “You are so much better!” I tell myself. “Let’s go for a walk!” So I layer up and walk a pleasant block, having a nap to rest up afterward.

“That bathroom is nasty!” Says my judgy self. So I scrub a little. And sleep for a few hours.

And the next day, a shower puts me back in bed and conversation is too exhausting.

My Dad was a do-er, always up to some project over and above his regular job. I was raised to walk the line between ‘taking care of yourself’ and ‘challenging yourself’, usually erring on the side of ‘being busy’. This is currently not working for me. Just holding these thoughts in my head and typing them are pushing my limits.

So I’m going to listen to my body, make like a possum, and see you in a few days.

PS. This photo was taken July of 1980, the month before your Daddy David was born. It has no relevance to this post. I just really like it and thought it would make you smile.

Love,

Grandma Judy

Finally, I Got It

Dear Liza,

We have been hearing about Covid-19 since …. Well, since 2019. It was a rare virus out of China, our then-President emphasized. Couldn’t possibly get here. Like most things, he got it wrong. Then all heck broke loose.

So I wish I understood how, nearly four years and three vaccines later, I finally caught the darn thing.

There’s not much to write about having Covid. I’m avoiding breathing on my dear people, leaning on furniture when I walk anywhere, and feeling generally stupid. Forgetful. Foggy.

I’m listening to Agatha Christie books read by Hugh Frasier on Audible, which I enjoy because of Madame Christie’s wonderful writing and Mr. Frasier’s magnificent voice. But I can’t hold a clue in my head, so the endings are always a surprise. And that’s okay, too.

And nothing tastes or smells like anything. I’ve tried pickles, mustard, vanilla extract, onions, chocolate chip cookies, and roast turkey. It all tastes like my own mouth, it all smells like air. Blech.

I hope/pray/have great confidence that this will pass. I’ll keep you posted.
Enjoy some Christmas yummies for me!

Love,

Grandma Judy