Friends, I feel it my duty to share the story of how my family was recently attacked, and I apologize in advance for the drama. The faint of heart might want to skim from here on out — squint to get the gist so you can protect yourself. That’s all I care about.
The thing is, there’s a local menace in our community. She’s hiding out in plain sight like some innocuous white van, but she’s on the prowl, folks, hunting her next victims.
What’s more, and I hate to sound like a conspiracy theorist, but I think she has agents all over town working for her, too — millions of minions trying to take up residence in our noses and lungs so they can bring us to our collective knees.
Yeah, I’m talking about Miss Corona Vy Russ.
She got my family good last week and we didn’t even see it coming. Like a deliverer of a high five to the face, that tiny powerhouse packs an unsuspecting punch.
I’m quadruple-plus vaccinated at this point, but Miss Rona doesn’t even care. She’s a ruthless beast barreling down the wrong side of the freeway with bloodshot eyes, a smile and way over the .05 limit for alcohol on her breath.
Sis has no manners.
The incident started with some light fatigue on a Monday afternoon, but my wife, Elenor, and I didn’t think too much of it. We’re in our late 30s, work fulltime and have a young child. Tired is the new black.
Even when our kiddo’s lip puffed up like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade float (Angelina Jolie would have been impressed by the volume), we only started to become suspicious when the tried-and-true Benadryl remedy didn’t do diddly-squat.
Then the aches. That’s when I knew who we were dealing with, and the fear set in. We have COVID-19. All three of us. At the same time.
My adrenal glands were pumping their juices with a frequency that felt like hell on earth.
Time slowed. Breathing was hard.
I keep trying to find a way to continue this story in lighthearted satire, but at this point levity escapes me. The raw truth is that with ambulances and hospital time and what appeared to be a mini-seizure or stroke (though was probably just dehydration and low carbon dioxide in my blood), I don’t have any jokes.
I just have a sense of reverence and respect for the destructive capacity of this virus that morphs faster than we can adjust to it.
I admit to having eased my precautions against this known killer. Hypervigilance is a state of being that’s hard to maintain, but I think our necessity for it has returned. The number of cases and hospitalizations are increasing and state officials are working to avoid what they’re calling a “tripledemic,” as three respiratory illnesses — COVID-19, the flu and RSV — are slated to rise.
There is a real threat among us and I can’t shake my sincere worry.
Even for those who experience mild symptoms, the potential for long-lasting effects begs increased caution. And listen, I get it, we all wish the coronavirus could be butt of jokes we laugh at because we don’t have to fear it as much anymore. It’s just not.
This thief has stolen lives, time, resources and our sense of safety. She is a threat to our livelihood, our economy, our ability to care for the infermed and give our kiddos normal education.
So please take care, dear readers. Be safe out there.
Marina Gomberg is a professional communicator, a practicing optimist and a lover of love. She lives in Salt Lake City with her wife, Elenor Gomberg, their son, Harvey, and their dogs, Mr. Noodle and Gorgonzola. You can reach Marina at mgomberg@sltrib.com.
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