After about 2½ years of mask wearing, stepping into the road to avoid people, and hand sanitising, I finally succumbed to the virus. We had both tested negative on Friday morning (we have to do a lateral flow test [LFT] before R*** can come home for a visit) so everything looked okay. I had been feeling a little off colour since waking up but put it down to simply being a summer cold.
Saturday came, and I spent most of the either dozing in the chair or in bed. I was still thinking it was a cold and nothing else. By Sunday, I was thinking that the cold was lasting longer than it should. K*** said I should do a LFT to be on the safe side and I was beginning to think it might be a good idea. Then it showed … positive … which was not too unexpected. What was unexpected was the feeling of relief. Relief that I now knew what it was. I called K*** and let her know, before calling the boss. That’s another story, which I may put in writing when the anger dies down.
Flash forward to today (Monday) and we are testing again as R***’s care home had said that he could go back as long as he tested negative. Well, nightmare time again, this time K*** tested positive. R***’s test was negative, so he was picked up around 11:00. It’s messed him up a little as cannot do any of his normal activities, has to be tested every day and his team have to go back to wearing the full PPE.
Then, at around 12ish we got a phone call from his care home. They are obliged to do a test when he arrives as a matter of course. Amazingly he tested positive. Could not believe it. So now, not only can he not do his normal activities, he is not allowed out of his flat until Tuesday.
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