A Scare

My family's COVID gear.

Living in a tiny county in Southeastern Kentucky, the threat of a pandemic didn't seem very real. Even as our schools closed, our events were cancelled, and our lives changed entirely for the foreseeable future, the threat didn't exactly seem relevant. Our case count was extremely low, the result of individuals returning from vacations and business trips, which were quickly contained by our health department and forgotten. There were a number of rumors flying around, but many cases couldn't be determined as testing wasn't available. Later on, many supposed cases turned up negative. Still, fear spread like wildlife, and with our county being rampant with diabetes and heart disease, it wasn't difficult to see why. 

In my own home, fear was less palpable, but the anxiety was still prevalent. In 2009, my dad had had a major heart attack, the effects of his heart disease still well-known to this day. And just last year, he developed diabetes, making his issues and possible complications with COVID two-fold. As such, my mother, sister, and I began wearing masks and sanitizing everything very well almost immediately, with little hesitation -- not so much for ourselves, but for my father and my grandmother, who often visited us, as well. By the time I left for college, all was well, and my father's fear was at a minimum. 

At the end of September, however, my family paid a visit to me in Lexington. We went to Fayette Mall, and then to an ice cream shop. This was on a Friday, and I passed the weekend lazily, reading snippets of my current book, playing Pokémon, and watching YouTube videos. On that Sunday night, I called home to wish everyone well for the night, and Mom told me she couldn't talk long. Odd. I asked her why, and from the background came the sound of retching. My sister and my father were both sick, with coughs, upset stomachs, and sore throats. They claimed to have felt very fatigued starting Saturday morning, and it worsened into Sunday. 

Instantly, my mind shifted to the worst case scenario: COVID. After all, what virus was more on our minds at the time than this respiratory bug? I went over our time in Lexington in my mind a million times, wondering when it could've been contracted. Images of little bottles of hand sanitizer danced in my mind, and I couldn't decipher when we had let our guards down. My dad isn't the best about wearing his mask at all times -- he claims it's frustrating to wear, especially after having done it for so many months -- and I wondered if he had taken it off at some point when we weren't paying attention. 

As he worsened into Monday morning, he finally agreed to get tested. My sister declined for the moment, citing that she was feeling better. Maybe she was, but I tend to think she was afraid of the test more than anything. I texted them to keep me updated, and then logged onto class for the day. Later that morning, as the day marched onwards towards noon, I received a text from my mother: Negative. We couldn't be more relieved. My dad, being the stubborn man he is, declined any further tests or medicines and went back home to rest. By Tuesday afternoon, he was feeling better. 

This story sticks out to me because I never thought it was a worry my family would ever have. Disease has never been a prevalent thought to me, even as the pandemic worsened around me. I took basic precautions, but to say I feared it? Not really. Until the disease snaked its fingers into my life and tightened its hold. Until I realized that disease can touch anyone, at almost any time.