Leap day.
It's the end of the terrible year that was 2023 and I'm sick with Covid. I tested as I was hoping to go to a friend's birthday party on Friday night, and there it was, a faint line where no line should be, to surprise me and kibosh my plans. Then ysterday, another test, this time wildly instantly positive, the damning line appearing within seconds, when the control line was still faint, before the liquid had even had time to climb to the top of the window. I have Covid. I have fecking Covid. And I feel really down about it. And unlucky, and pissed off, and worried. Worried about possibly having passed it to others, not about myself. When I told a friend (and close contact) their response was casual, hope you feel ok, don't worry about potentially having infected other people, sure it'll just be a light cold or maybe like a bad flu. This is not my attitude. It's also clear from other people that some have been testing before going out to group events, as I have done, or before meeting me, and others haven't. I thought about these responses, and what having Covid means to me. First, I'm not very worrried about how sick I'll be with this infection, right now, these few days. I was finally able to get my Covid booster 2 weeks ago, so it should be mild. I'm young, I'm fairly healthy, I will probably not feel all that sick. So far I feel a bit tired and have a runny nose and the occasionaly cough, it's not even the worst I've felt over the last two months from other illnesses. That's not a concern. What worries me is the potential to have passed it to others, to other people who are not as healthy as me, not vaccinated, not able to fight it off so well. My partner and my young child are top of my list of concern, neither are vaccinated because they have been perpetually sick and so it was not advisable for them to get the jab. I'm concerned for elderly parents, and in-laws who are immune-compromised, friends with underlying conditions. The many friends who themselves are at low-risk but whose elderly parents and other family members decidedly are high-risk. Most I have not seen in person recently, but those people are my main reason for taking the precautions I do, all the time. And because while I may not be in direct contact with these more vulnerable people this week, I can't know that the person I stand next to in the shop queue, or who I might inadvertently cough towards on the bus, that they are not more vulnerable, or going home to someone who is. It's about caring for other people, especially those who might be at higher risk than me. This seems obvious to me, and the humane thing to do. But others don't seem to see it that way.
And the other concern is the long-term consequences. Known and unknown. But which I would like to avoid, for me and others. Having seen friends disabled by long Covid, having experienced some of its effects myself and for loved ones, I want to avoid that. And reduce the risk of it happening, if I can. But what can we do. Onwards into 2024.
I feel the personal loss bound up in larger losses, the grief of thousands, and of individuals. In Israel and Palestine, in Ukraine, in all the other conflicts, the deaths from hunger and disease, the other kind of grief from Parnell Square, the violence, the murders. For the planet as another COP begins, overseen by the head of an oil company in an oil-rich countr. The grief for us all. It makes this personal loss much harder.
I know my grief is 'normal'. I know many others go through similar, have gone through similar, very recently, very similarly. I have the good people and the people I love and who love me around. Everyone and everything is not lost. I know it is in some way ok and will be ok even though it is also not ok. Nothing like ok. I am grieving too for the past, for the things not done, the time wasted, the losses inflicted on me and that I gave away. I am grieving the present, what isn't here, who isn't here, the absence in my now. And I am grieving the future I will not have, the futures other people I love will not have, that can never be, that I wanted and wished for and looked forward to and lived in the presumption of. I am grieving in three tenses. I am not ready to use the past tense.
The world is without an incredible voice. Rest in power, rest in peace Sinéad O'Connor.
Video of Sinéad O’Connor singing for 50 years of Amnesty International, at Sean MacBride House in Dublin, Ireland, on 10th December 2011. Click to play the video.
Photos and video of Sinéad O’Connor singing for Amnesty, in Dublin, 2011.