Christmas Behind Bars

I’d spent the best part of two years doing my best. I’ve never feared for myself, but worrying about my daughter and my parents has made me catch my breath many times.

I’d heard Linda struggling for breath on the phone in the early days of lockdown and wondered if this was it, when we were just starting out, had we been fast forwarded to our end by the stupidity and inaction of others?

I’d watched incredulous as the Tories laughed at us, fattening their own and their friends’ wallets as we slipped into chaos, and all the while a large number of this islands’ inhabitants still cheered them on because you know, Brexit.
“Who’s the more foolish? The fool or the fool who follows him?”
I’d like to say that Obi Wan nailed it in ’77, but Boris is no fool, he’s a cynical, devious liar and the only fool in that picture is anyone who voted for him.

I’d got my jags; support band, headliner and encore. Am I now being tracked by Bill Gates, Wee Nicky or MI5? Not any more than I have been since I first signed up for something on the internet and started carrying a smartphone.
This really pisses me off. Conspiracy theorists are dicks. Actually, that’s a little harsh, they’re terrified dicks. Rather than accept that in reality there is uncontrollable chaos waiting at the edge of every choice we make, they invent the “enemy”, the big plan that’s behind it all because that’s easier to understand and gives them something to fight. It’s the adult version of sleeping with the light on.

I wonder if antivaxxers and antimaskers go straight onto the internet rather than see a doctor when they have other medical problems? I mean, “they” might implant a tracking device when they reset that broken wrist, they might be irradiating you when you get that scan, they’re might be an explosive device in that filling…

So my luck finally ran out. A customer pinged me as a close contact and he had omicron no less, back from before it was popular. I had been masked up, I’d been jagged, I waited in and watched the clock for ten days.
With no symptoms and and consistent negative tests I got back to work on the Thursday and Friday.
On the Sunday I didn’t feel so good, on the Monday I booked a PCR test and my temperature didn’t slow down as it headed north of 38.
Within 24 hours I was conformed as positive, and a day or so later so was Holly.

I watched the clock again, not for the days to freedom, but to track the progress of the symptoms in both of us. There were a few rough days but we stayed level and Holly recovered pretty fast but after ten days we were both still testing positive.
The two red lines on a LFT had more of an impact on me that the official results over text, email and phone (oh they really like to keep in touch). It’s somehow more real, it’s right there in your hand: you have Covid 19.

I eventually tested negative on the 23rd, my 53rd birthday, woohoo etc. It meant that we could cautiously actually have Christmas.
Linda was back, we had dinner at my folks and although more than a little nervy being so close to the ones I love again, it was okay.

Holly had already her jag too, her choice, she didn’t even want to talk it over with me. She’s asthmatic and a few years ago I saw her life saved by the NHS after a blue light ambulance ride when she wasn’t breathing.
I don’t need to look hard to find the synergy in those previous points.

The last time I was officially asthmatic was around 13 years ago when mold or dust on a job caused a flare up and reminded me of the weedy, pale, skinny boy of long ago.
Didn’t take any thought for me either when I got my blue letter, let’s keep that wheezing boy in the past. Plus, if it helps stops the spread?

Which is another very important point, despite numerous interactions while I was likely most infectious, not one of my contacts developed covid.
That’s because as well as jagged, I was masked and I kept my distance.
All these easy precautions aren’t for yourself, they’re for others and I don’t think your dumb bastard antimaskers get that. I’ve heard “I’m fine” by the bare faced many times, and that’s just great, but what about your mother, the old boy with COPD on the bus, the asthamtic kid on Morrisons?
Not wearing a mask is just sticking your head in the sand, it’s fingers in yours ears and “la-la-la-not listening”, but worse than that it’s a blatant “I don’t care about anyone else”.

I’m still exhausted, maybe little better every day, but covid has put my on my arse and I’m still only back up on one knee.
We had a lovely Hogmany on the Wee Spark but I haven’t felt joy yet, the future is too uncertain and very much reliant on the conduct of the worst and most stupid amongst us.

So Christmas, December in fact, was spend behind bars, two red bars.
I’m not bitter, those dear to me are currently still safe and there is nothing more important to me.

I think my patience is gone though. I might even be angry when my energy comes back.

A little joy first, let’s see what tomorrow brings.

And don’t be an arsehole, wear a mask.

2 thoughts on “Christmas Behind Bars”

  1. Excellent post. I wished this was broadcast more widely. Sadly not everyone are aware of your excellent blog! Get well soon and Happy New Year.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.