Log with a Blog

Men treat colds like they are terminal illnesses. You have to validate a man’s cold, and acknowledge its severity, especially if said man is your boyfriend.
In my case, he is.
Before I came over, I had but one request: a negative PCR test.
Don’t worry, he said on Saturday. I am already feeling better. It’s definitely not COVID.
So, I came over, full of hope and naivety.
Reader, he took a test today. It was COVID.

My boyfriend was very apologetic. It was an innocent mistake. But, to borrow Oprah’s saying: “you get a positive test and YOU get a positive test and YOU get a positive test.”
I didn’t know that my day would be full of positive tests, so I came to work bright and early. My supervisor and I were report-writing machines. Starting from the early(ish) hours of the morning, we dictated, scored, formulated, and diagnosed. My task was to send out all of our reports before the winter break.

Somehow, we worked at lightning speed and got everything out by 1 pm. One of my supervisor’s former students came by with a Christmas gift: seashell-shaped milk chocolates.
“I’ll give you as many as you want after you send out these recordings!” he said.
A seashell! A chocolate! For me!
Let’s just say that the recordings were sent immediately.

After practicum, my boyfriend and I were kind of at a loss. It turned out that both families had COVID and we had nowhere to go.
I called my grandma and ended up providing an update.
“What is the difference between COVID and flu?” she said. “There is none! All you can do is take vitamin C and wait it out.” She then advised me to have some chocolate, which was advice that I follow every day, regardless of my health.
And tea, which is the Russian panacea for all things sickness.

At the same time, my mom contracted COVID some time on Friday, independent of us. It ended up being the most severe. I volunteered to take over interviewing a few of her clients’ parents tomorrow.
What I lack in qualifications I’ll make up for in enthusiasm– right?

My boyfriend made the world’s most delicious apology soup. Apparently the recipe to cure sickness is soup + being a log (no work, no school, no spicy foods — just existence)

There are now cartoons on the TV (I am blogging instead of watching), but every one of my needs is attended to. If I say I have a tickle in my throat, he brings me tea, and if my head so much as imagines an ache, I get a hug, so I’d say that the “cold = terminal illness” thing may go both ways. And in spite of the fact that I may get actual symptoms, I sure am glad that it’s with someone I love.