Today just felt too good to be true. My son had recovered from his stomach flu. We got his covid test in the morning. Negative. Great. I drop him off at the daycare. I hit the office. First some brief update meetings with a PhD researcher, then some email. Around 10am I get to what I planned for today; commenting on a manuscript that I’m very excited about. It’s an experiment that I designed and executed together with another PhD earlier this year, the first one we did completely together. Writing up the story feels like a breakthrough for both, and I’m proud that we got it off the ground. The more I read, the happier I get. I really like what I read. But then, around 3pm, I develop a headache, one that becomes gradually worse. By 4.30pm I call it a day. I pack my things and leave.
By the time I open my front door, no more than ten minutes later, I feel dizzy and lightly nauseous. Fuck. I greet my family, and I feel like I’m hit by a freight train.
I feel sick to the bone. Literally. My bones hurt throughout my body.
What got my son one week ago, now reached me. He vomited on me so many times that it was miraculous that I stayed fit. This motherfucker had a solid one-week incubation time.
Let’s see how long this one will hang around…