It was a typical Thursday ... except it wasn’t.
After my husband finished his cereal and yogurt for breakfast, he said something about not feeling well, so he went to lie down.
I had a phone interview scheduled right then, so I didn’t pay much attention.
He was perfectly fine the night before. After his work shift ended at midnight, he went out to stand in the front yard and look for the Northern Lights. Then he came inside and ate a late supper while watching a “Perry Mason” episode.
So how sick could he be?
I checked on him after an hour or two. He was still asleep.
I roused him enough to ask what hurt. He said he had a terrible headache, body aches, chills and sweats.
A couple hours later, I checked on him again and asked if he was up to working that night. He said no, so I messaged his supervisor.
But get really worried? No, I didn’t do that.
Shortly before 6 p.m., I woke him and suggested he get out of bed at least for a while so his back wouldn’t hurt.
As the evening wore on, more symptoms became obvious. He was weak and unsteady on his feet. He had nausea and no appetite. He reported diarrhea after a trip to the bathroom. And he had a dry cough. It seemed like a bad case of the flu. Was that even possible considering we got our flu shots in September?
Later that evening, we looked across the room at each other. I can’t remember which one of us brought it up first, but we finally spoke our fears out loud. Could it be the coronavirus? Should he be tested?
We were probably overreacting and would feel silly about it later. Surely, he couldn’t be positive for COVID-19.
It turns out ... he was.