Let Me Count The Ways

My dearest daughter Jo-Ann, how do I love you...

Do I love you more now that you were my Guardian Angel?  Do I love you more now that you nursed me back to health from COVID-19?  

The morning of Monday, March 16th you called me and you asked "What's wrong?"  I was sick enough to let you know I was not feeling well.  I confessed that during the night I had the shakes all night long.  By morning, I felt okay, showered and got ready for work.  I was earlier than usual because I was going to Restaurant Depot at 7am to get containers for our seniors' take out lunch.  I had made the decision to close the program and instead have the seniors pick up lunch from the door or from their cars.  I had sent an email to the Parking Department at 6:52 am to let them know the plans for the seniors so they would not ticket them for standing in the No Parking zone in front of the Slater Center.  Right after hitting send, I realized that I was going nowhere.  The fever was back, along with lethargy.  When you called, I was sitting at the kitchen table with a low grade temperature, but with a body that could do absolutely nothing but sit.  I don't know at what point I determined that I had COVID-19.  

That's how it started, but what happened next was a transformation of me becoming the child and you the mother.  It was not easy for you.  I was the stubborn, hard-headed person I am, doing things the way I wanted.  I went between feeling sick to feeling well enough to not listen to you.  Afterall, you were 225 miles away.  We tugged back and forth.  You wanted me to move to Maryland.  You wanted me to be near the John Hopkins Hospital.  You were concerned about me being in New York, the epicenter of the virus. You wanted to take care of me.  I stressed you out so much that best friend Roni had to intervene.  

I didn't keep copious notes.  I have text messages, messages to my doctor through the portal and notes written on the back of an envelope and the empty flip side of a document.  In one email exchange between us, I said "Love you girl.  You have been a rock for the maddah. Even dough yuh ruff soh till,"  and you responded, "You needed tough love!  Sorry I was being a bad girl.  Love you."  And that was only day two.  It came to a point where I couldn't resist anymore and you went from being my mother to becoming my nurse. 

You see Corona is vicious.  It is a sadist.  It knocks you down to submission and then brings you back up and makes you feel good. And it keeps doing that till it takes over full control.  It took away my appetite, it spiked my temperature, it gave me the shakes, it took my energy, it kept me quarantined all alone, but not alone because it was my constant companion. 

My notes tell the story of your concern.  I would take my temperature before you called.  I have my temperature listed, 6,7,8 times per day, plus the times I texted it to you, which also doesn't take into count the times you called and would wait on the phone while I took my temperature.  You called last thing at night to make sure I took your concoction, your elixir that you called "tea," a mixture of the usual Jamaican cure for everything, Wray & Nephew rum, honey, lemon and your added tea and ginger.  You forced me to ask neighbor Dwayne to get me Tylenol and had him search for Vitamins and Elderberry and soup, which he willing did.  You mailed me a package of Tylenol, Vitamins, Theraflu, Emergen-C and surprised me with sour mango strips which soothed me.  You had Amazon ship me coconut water.  You called to make an appointment for testing, even though I had called them myself the day before.  They kept you holding on the phone for an hour and you stuck it out. You called me often. You kept me company. 

There are a few things I didn't tell you about my illness.  I wouldn't let you hear me cough.  I didn't tell you that after the 15th day since I first got sick and the third day of no fever (standards by which you can get out of isolation), I was really not over it.  I had no taste for food.  I coughed one night uncontrollably.  I had low or no energy.  I vomitted one morning.  I had stomach issues, where it seemed like the food and the virus were playing tug and war in my stomach.  I didn't tell you that the morning I had the temperature of 102.9 that I also had a blood pressure reading of 156/102 and that at 4:47 a.m. on March 20th, I went back to bed with a calmness and acceptance that I would die that night from COVID-19 or high blood pressure. 

I survived.  Today is the 40th day since I got sick.  You still stay with and on me to make sure I take care of myself.  I informed you this morning that my test result came back "Not detected," and you hoorayed and "woot woot."  And we are making plans to see each other soon, soon, even if it means I wave to you from a distance, throw you a kiss and turn right back around for my return trip to New York.

Do I love you differently?  Do I love you more?  No.  My love for you cannot and will never ever change.   From day one, I loved you passionately and wholly.  What's changed is how I see you.  I hold you in wonderment.  I didn't know you had the strength.  What I found out more than anything else is that you love me.  Thank you my dearest daughter.  I count the ways.

After surviving COVID-19, I started to write, giving birth to The Corona Chronicles, my daily thoughts and musings.  I find writing therapeutic. It's my personal journey through COVID-19.  It will give insight into the suffering, but also the goodness of people.  Heather's Dawning is made up of my first (Heather) and pet (Dawn) names. It's my awakening.  Covid-19 may have knocked me down, but it also awakened my creativity.