Nine days ago, I woke up with what I thought was an extreme hangover and cat allergies, having indulged the night before with some friends who have a cat. “A shower, a good breakfast, and a painkiller should fix all”, I thought. As the day wore on, I progressively felt more tired, and my usual remedy of Excedrin (extra strength), and water, had done nothing to alleviate my sore throat, or the splitting pain in my head. Or the pain in my shoulders. Or arms. Or legs. Or, really, my entire body. Finally, having had enough of watching Vanderpump Rules on the couch, I decided to move to my bed, where I could perhaps take a nap and sleep off whatever un-godly hangover this was.

By the afternoon, my whole body was aching, I was exhausted, but I couldn’t sleep because I was so cold, even in fuzzy sucks, under warm blankets, with my heater turned as high as it would go. I couldn’t get warm. I decided to take a hot bubble bath, as I now assumed I had some sort of chill, having spent much of the prior evening on a terraza (so as to avoid being indoors in a crowded space). When I got out of the bath, I started shaking so violently with cold, that, as I lay in bed wrapped up like a burrito, I knew something was wrong. I took a Paracetamol, and spent the rest of night waking up every hour, either with such a high fever that I was sweating, or such chills that no number of fuzzy socks would cure.

The next day, I took an at-home Covid antigens test. Negative. Probably because when one has to shove a Q-tip up one’s own nose, one does not shove it as far as one would do to, say, an enemy. My head was still pounding, my body was still aching, and I was still feverish. It was at this moment, that I was informed that the six year old boy I had just seen on Thursday, had tested positive. And then the other texts came flooding in. Four close contacts from my Masters, whom I had just seen on Friday, had also tested positive. Well, that settled it. I had Covid, and was also out €10 from a useless test.

For the next couple of days, I tried, unsuccessfully, to get a PCR test approved by my insurance (the tests are expensive here without it), just to be 100% sure. But, everyone and their grandma was also trying to get tested; hospitals have been collapsing under the sheer number of people coming in just for a test, and patients have been turned away and told to quarantine at home if they have symptoms. By Wednesday, I was in no condition to go to a clinic anyway, being that I couldn’t walk ten steps to the bathroom without feeling out of breath. The simplest task of combing my hair, or hanging up a few clothes, forced me to sit down. Not being someone who’s really ever had a problem with wasting my life away in bed, I took this as an opportunity to finally watch Little Women and Bohemian Rhapsody. I enjoyed them both!

The crippling fatigue fortunately only lasted a few days, but even now on my 10th day of quarantine, I haven’t gained all of my energy back, and am out of breath going for short walks. But, the point of this post wasn’t entirely to talk about how I caught the Omicron variant, or to bemoan the fact that I was alone for Christmas. It’s an opportunity for me to reflect on how lucky I am to have the people in my life that I do.

My ‘Spanish family’ as I like to call them, delivered Turrón and other goodies to my door a couple days before Christmas. At the same time I received the usual funny Christmas card from my dad. I stood in my kitchen, looking at these items for a moment, before promptly bursting into tears because of how loved I felt despite being completely alone for a holiday that I had been so looking forward to spending with friends. Friends have checked on me almost every day, my family sent me gifts, and on Christmas evening, my friend brought me a homemade feast for dinner. To say that I have felt overwhelmed by these actions is an understatement; the ones who have reached out have truly touched my heart and served as a dear reminder that I’m not really alone, and I’m more loved and cared for than I thought.

Tomorrow I’ll be celebrating the end of my quarantine properly, with a couple of girlfriends, somewhere, drinking wine and eating Torreznos. And that, is what I like to call the Christmas Spirit.