It finally happened. Three years in, COVID finally made a visit to Honey and Rice. Their cases were thankfully mild and have pretty much run their course. But man, oh, man, does it show once again how differently men and women—husbands and wives, especially—see each other “through sickness and health.”
Here’s a recap of how late February/early March played out.
Day Zero: Rice comes home shy of midnight from an invigorating Atlanta United soccer game. His voice is raspy, and he’s coughing some. He chalks it up to the excitement of Atlanta’s win as he climbs into bed and rubs his cold limbs and torso all over Honey, trying to warm up.
Day Zero-Plus: Rice’s voice remains husky, and his cough lingers. He’s extra tired, but he reminds Honey (and himself) that he’s used to going to bed earlier than midnight, so being pooped post-game night is to be expected.
Day One: Rice asks Honey to check the expiration dates on the two COVID test boxes stored in the downstairs bathroom. He tests positive and makes an appointment with his GP. “Why?” Honey asks. “Because I’m over sixty-five years old,” he says, “and I need a prescription for Paxlovid.” Oh. He sequesters himself in the upstairs master bedroom until it’s time to go to the doc. Honey’s feeling fine but follows protocol, masking up when she drives him to the doc…when she shops for some incidental groceries…when she picks up his prescription. She moves into the guest bedroom down the hall.
Day Two: Rice continues to sequester in the dark master bedroom, where he sleeps almost nonstop and has to be roused awake and reminded to eat.
Day Three: Honey continues to push food, feeling a bit like Annie Wilkes at the master bedroom door, tray in hand, a slightly evil grin on her lips. She keeps the liquids coming and the stash of fresh fruit on the dresser replenished. She’s pleased when Rice asks for a repeat of her specialty—PB&J on wheat. It’s within the parameters of her current culinary skills and his food preferences. She no longer cooks; he now eats vegan.
Day Four: Honey is pleased Rice’s appetite is returning as he makes a few more requests. Like, “For breakfast, could you bring me a cup of Basic 4 with a half-cup of almond milk?” To clarify, Honey asks, “You want the cereal in a cup?” “No,” he says. “A bowl is fine, once you measure the cereal out with a cup.” Oh. Honey marvels at so many things, like why, in the throes of COVID, does he give a sh*t about measuring his cereal? And how, for the love of all things holy, is it possible the two of them—a modern Jack Spratt and his wife--are still married?
Day Five: Rice declares he’s read that starting tomorrow, he can move about more (with a mask for Days Six through Ten) if his symptoms have subsided. Honey tells him she’s glad. She woke up with a sinus headache and just tested positive. “Do you want me to drive you to the doc?” he asks. “We’ll see,” she says. But unless she starts to internally combust, she sees no reason. She’s been vaxed and boosted up the wazoo. Willingly. But so far she feels pretty good. Why invite potential Paxlovid side effects like an altered sense of taste, diarrhea, muscle aches, or abdominal pain? Not that Honey’s saying Rice experienced any of those. (Not her place to share, she’s been told.) Besides, she’s not over sixty-five. She fights back a smirk at that thought, opts for self-care, and passes on going for the meds.
Day Six: Honey watches Rice measure his own food as she scoops herself a bowl of ice cream before heading back to her computer. “Did you have dinner?” he asks. She nods toward her bowl—her version of self-care.
Day Seven: Rice says he enjoyed his morning breakfast, avocado toast and tomato. “That’s nice,” Honey says, pondering what she’ll have. A little later, she asks him, “If I heat up some tater tots, do you want any?” “Yes,” he says. Her heart twinges a little. A smile tickles her lips. And not an Annie Wilkes-like expression this time. It’s sweet.
In moments like this, she’s encouraged. The original Jack Spratt and his wife stuck it out until death did them part, didn’t they? Granted, it’s undocumented. Still, she’s filled with hope. She and Rice just might make it that long, too…barring their supply of tater tots not run out.
Listen, y'all need to stay healthy out there, okay? Cheers ~ J
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