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Kiss Me COVID

Wait. I wrote that wrong. What I meant to write was Kiss My A$$ Covid.

Seriously, I’m over it. Done. I want to tag out.

“You don’t always get what you want, sweetie.” The words I have spoken a million times to my kids coming back to bite me in the… I can almost hear them giggling in the background, high-fiving Word Karma.

Nah, they are sweet kids. And, if I am going to be honest (sure, why the heck not) they are what is keeping me moving. I am task oriented, to the extreme. I once ran away from home as a teenager, only to return later that day because I had a solo in the band concert that evening and didn’t want to be late. I had every intention of resuming my life as a runaway after the concert, but that solo went so well … I was on a bit of a high.

Anyhow, I can honestly say that if I didn’t have my current mom taxi schedule, I would be buried under a pile of blankets, covered in cats, moaning like the zombie that has taken over my body, or maybe growling. I don’t know. I have places to be.

“Didn’t you have Covid back in January?” you may be asking.

“Why yes. Yes, I did.” This Positively Sucks

It turns out what has been labeled “long haul covid” can, at times, actually be something else. It turns out Covid has a buddy, kind of a secret admirer. We’ll call him Mo … which is short for mononucleosis, reactivated mono, to be precise. Ah Covid, the gift that keeps on giving. Or … is it mono, the gift that keeps on giving? Anyhow, part of me feels like I should cite the medical articles I read on the subject, but hell, I have mono. I’m too tired to do that. You have fingers. Google it.

I thought Mo and I had parted ways years ago. He snuck up on me after the birth of my second child, My Sun. Kind of funny to hear myself say I caught the “kissing disease” at a time in my life when I was chasing around a three-year-old and a quasi-toddler. Yeah … not a whole lot of that kind of kissing going on then. As it turns out, you can also catch mono by sharing cups with a three-year-old with what seems like the sniffles. Who knew.

Anyhow, as symptoms dragged on, tonsils swelled and changed to a newer more fashionable polka dot look. Until my PA looked at me one day with that adorable inquisitive “hmmm, I wonder if” look and asked.

“Have you ever had mono?”

“Yes, and oh man I would never want to do that again… Wait. Why?”

When the doc asked if I wanted to get tested, our conversation was the following.

“Isn’t there pretty much nothing you can do about mono? I mean, if it is mono, is there anything I can do about it?”

“Not really. We can treat symptoms and, well, you will know it’s mono and not something worse.”

So, now I know it’s mono, time for wack-a-mole symptom treatment. But does that really mean that there isn’t something worse there, too? Maybe that’s just the pessimist in me, but hey, I didn’t know that Covid and Mo were buddies. How do I know they don’t have other friends? Maybe they’ve started a family while they were in there dancing on my spleen.

Don’t worry, I haven’t totally gone from being a “glass half full” person to “glass half empty.” Now, I’m more of a “does it really matter if the glass is half full or half empty? Just drink it. You never know if you’ll get another opportunity for a sip.”

And, don’t ask me if I think you have mono or not. I’m not your doctor. I not anyone’s doctor. I’m not a medical doctor at all. Hell, I’m not even a fully functioning human being right now. And, it’s time for my nap.

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