Covid Omicron variant finally got me but my vaccines soon tackled it to the ground – Susan Morrison
Once, two little lines told us we were to be parents, thus joined together forever.
This time it told us that we were destined to be sealed in together. Well, at least for ten days. Or seven, if we got two negative lateral flow tests and a visit from John Swinney.
It seems inevitable. This virus variation is a sneaky wee mask-dodger. Fortunately, it looks like it’s swapped ferocity for speed. It can jink past two jags, but that vital third booster seems to tackle it like a Scottish rugby international hammering into an All Black.
My dear Yorkshire husband tested positive first, and with the sort of gallantry that we saw when Oates left that tent to go for a short walk, he insisted on self-isolating within our self-isolation. He retreated to the small bedroom. We were only allowed to shout through the door and leave food on trays, then knock and run away.
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It was like living with the Man in The Iron Mask, only with tea. Quite a lot of tea. We are talking about a man from the North of England here.
He coughed. When my husband coughs, it shakes the windows. He did a lot of that.
Despite his best efforts, Omicron snuck out and a few days later, I started sneezing and blowing my nose with more regularity than usual. Yep, it got me.
There was a massive amount of nasal gunk. It was like my sinuses were hell bent on beating a production schedule. I hit the sofa and worked my way through boxes of tissues and back-to-back episodes of Come Dine With Me.
The next day I could have taken on Arthur’s Seat. Of course, I didn’t, because there are some things I keep to myself, like PIN numbers and viruses.
Being stuck in doesn’t sound so bad until you are. I’m a gal who enjoys a stroll around the Kirkgate, or biff about the Links. Fortunately we have a garden, and I’m so grateful for that wee green space, but suddenly I was cooped up, energised and bored.
So, those kitchen cabinets have been cleared. That linen cupboard got ripped apart. The decorations came down, the tree removed and I hoovered like a finalist for Scotland at the Olympic Vacuum-and-Dust 100 metres.
During a tea break from seriously deep cleaning the loo, I bought a sewing machine online. It arrived the next day. I sat down, read the instructions, watched a Youtube video where a ridiculously cheery Australian girl explained the workings of my bottom bobbin, and used it. I made a lavender bag. No, I’m not sure what to do with it either.
The council was relentlessly emailed about local fly-tipping and the state of street lighting. Action was demanded, and to be fair, was delivered. I was one headscarf away from turning into Margo Leadbetter from The Good Life.
I’m considering dropping Jason Leitch a line to check if anyone else has recorded high levels of domesticity as an Omicron symptom.
Let's be clear, I’m not dissing this virus at all, it’s nasty. Other people will suffer far more than I did, but I’ve no doubt that three quick jabs went a long, long way to punching this bug out.
Get that vaccine and get those boosters. They work.