Pandemic Motherhood Diary, Entry 12: A Storm was Coming. It was COVID.

All week long, the news had forewarned us a storm was coming that Thursday. Little did we know the storm my family was getting came in the form of a positive COVID test. After months and months of working and returning home just fine, my husband tested positive. 

I immediately shut down. Not because I was without words. I had plenty of them, but none of them were going to be helpful at the moment. Instead, I tried to suppress my outrage and my fear. I immediately took a test, and it was negative. Because of reality, we have always talked about our isolation plans. He went into the other room in the house without hesitation. It was the first night our toddler had gone to bed without daddy putting him to sleep. 

Our toddler noticed the change right away. He didn’t understand why daddy wasn’t able to play with him. At one point, he even cried outside the door. I comforted him, knowing he couldn’t fully understand what was happening. To give our son some sense of his presence in the same room with us, we stayed on the phone with each other for hours. These moments were hard, but it was only the beginning. 

Saturday evening, I noticed my usually bouncy toddler wasn’t active. He was lying head down on the sofa and quiet while his kiddie shows played. I called his name, and he rose slowly with droopy eyes. Something was wrong. My husband left his isolation, masked, of course, and immediately drove him to urgent care. With a 104.1 temperature, we were told he just had a fever. They were wrong. His fever rose again in the middle of the night, and vomiting soon followed. Thankfully, I was already awake and was able to lift him up to keep him from choking. Once his temperature rose the following day, much higher than before, it was off to the emergency room. It was there he was diagnosed with COVID. 

Getting the news that it was COVID was not a relief. I was teary-eyed while trying to play with my smiling baby. Our two-year-old having COVID broke my spirit. I also knew this meant the baby and I needed to leave. My husband and I emotionally agreed to the temporary arrangement. He would take more time off to care for our big boy. I packed and headed to the nearest hotel. The baby cried the entire way there, causing me to call my husband in tears. 

We had one solo evening at the hotel that almost felt like a halt to all of the bad news. My toddler was home with daddy, with a normal temperature, while playing with his toys in the bathtub. He was going to be okay. We were going to be okay. At least, that’s what I hoped.

The next morning my entire body was in pain. It felt like my bones didn’t fit into my skin. Baby K was fussy without end and vomited randomly. Deep down, I knew we were sick too. I called my husband to let him know that I was checking out before I was too weak to drive myself or hold our baby. Fast forward to an urgent care visit, a 104 temperature for me and 107 for my child. We tested positive too.

At this point, all I felt was anger. I was angry at the world we live in. Angry, it hit home like a wrecking ball after all this time. Angry that work expected my sick husband to return after a weekend and two days. I was angry just watching our two small kids crying and battling the one thing I hoped they would never deal with. But here we are. My entire family….ill with COVID.

This is the latest in our series of “Pandemic Motherhood Diaries” posts. Read the last one here.

Melissa Menny is an author with a Bachelor of Arts degree in Journalism. She is a poet and a writer in all aspects. When she is not working, she enjoys painting, music, and spending time with her husband and two sons.