Six Hundred Twenty Two Days. My little family made it 622 days--March 12, 2020 to November 24, 2021 before The COVID entered our realm. Ugggggg. We did everything right--careful, vaccinated & wise without being fearful or paranoid; fully aware of the high risk nature of my kids (Isaac specifically) and the job that daily exposed me to the virus while trusting our Great Physician to protect us along the way. Our 622nd day, the night before Thanksgiving, ended holding my violently vomiting child and his bone rattling chills sending the dreaded text to Thanksgiving guests "stay home tomorrow, this is probably COVID" and whispering 'oh dear sweet Jesus'.
It hit Isaac first. Then Mila--looking at me with a panic during our tiny family Thanksgiving lunch then breaking into tears "I am NOT going to school on Monday!" She felt SO yucky, she pre-declared the start of her sick leave four days ahead of time. (Classic Mila!) Twenty-four hours later, we had all tested positive and the Health Department was sending ration boxes to our door.
I have harbored two fears over the last 18 months: 1.What if we all get sick at once? 2.What to do if one of us needs to be admitted to the hospital? There is literally no back up plan if I have to be two places at once caring for sick kids--and God forbid, I need to be admitted! Thankfully, I didn't get so sick I couldn't take care of the kids. It wasn't pretty but we all were able to stay away from the hospital and recover. Isaac slept 6 days straight, waking only to drink and use the bathroom, then falling asleep again.
He spent the next 4 days refusing to eat; his little ribs poking through his frame crushed me but I was once again so very thankful that the Lord had protected my little boy from any respiratory effects of the virus--symptoms I am confident would have indeed landed us in the hospital.
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