The Darling Buds of May
Dear reader, answer me this: how is it the middle of May? Taking a quick peek at my last blog post and realising I haven’t written in over six months was a shock. Time for an update, I thought. I’ve also had a number of lovely readers emailing in over the past few months so felt the blog could do with a little revitalisation.
Life-wise, I started a new job in December. As a 12-month contract, I hummed and hawed about whether to leap from the relative security of a permanent role (and all the critical illness cover that provided) to a new challenge with a really well-regarded company. Biting the proverbial bullet, I accepted and started a fully remote role at the end of 2021. So far, so good. Until March, when we were invited down to our London-based HQ. London: the land of Partygate, no masks and a 1-in-16 chance of getting COVID. It’ll be fine, I told myself. I’ll strap on a N65 mask and avoid people as much as possible.
COVID. It’s such a bugger, isn’t it? Continuing to rumble on in the background, like an insidious bad smell which the majority of the population seems to blithely ignore. Walking out into Gatwick’s arrivals lounge, it was as though the lockdowns of 2020/2021 were a mere figment of my imagination. No social distancing, no masks, no hygeine principles from a fair few oddballs coughing without even considering covering their mouths. Nah, COVID is non-existant in London now, innit?
Roll on two flights, three meals out in busy pubs, two Gatwick express rides and five days later, and I’m left staring at the depressingly vibrant double red line of a lateral flow after waking up with a blocked nose and sore throat. Rather than drowing in panic, as I thought I would be, I actually felt a bit… relieved. I’d finally caught it. Time to see how my body coped.
And coped it did, actually, pretty well. Not so well at getting rid of the postive lines, right enough (day 13 and I was still technically infected, albeit very faintly), but otherwise – with the help of antivirals – I managed to survive reasonably unscathed. I was tired on walks for a good few weeks after, and a little breathless, but I worked throughout my isolation and generally felt much better after day 3 or 4.
But – and there’s always a ‘but’, isn’t there, especially with anything where my immune system is concerned – three weeks later at my follow-up bloods, I find that my ALT has shot up to over 100. Apparently this is common post-infection, for reasons unknown, and my consultant didn’t want to jump the gun in terms of medicating. After a few weeks, it has retreated back to 70ish. Hallelujah! Praise be to the gods of ALT!
Obviously not everyone will be so lucky. I know that, and I know I’m incredibly fortunate. But prior to infection, I had genuinely reached a point where I felt that I didn’t want to put my life on hold any longer in fear of getting COVID. Shoot me up with as many vaccines as possible and pour the antivirals down my throat (with difficulty; they’re huge). I’ll take the reasonable precautions (washing hands, staying clear of sniffling Simons), but I also want to live. I want to experience as much of life as I can, while I can. I want to hear new accents and try random food in quirky restaurants and get knackered cycling my bike up to a new viewpoint. I want to demolish a double scoop serving of Ben & Jerry’s cookie dough before the adverts have even finished at the cinema. I want to plug my earphones in on a train and pretend I’m in a music video. I want to watch George Ezra as the sun sets at an outdoor festival and be permanently on the lookout for kamikazee beer cups flying overhead (ok, maybe I’d settle for no beer spillages. Doesn’t help the wig situation).
Talking of making the most of life, part of the reason I’ve been virtually silent on this blog of late is because I’ve been bashing away – slowly but surely – at a novel that I really (really, really!) hope will get published someday (though I know how competitive the market is, and as such I’m trying to keep realistic expectations). Without giving too much away, think Bridget Jones with a liver condition. I’ll keep you updated, but it’s on its fourth redraft with an agent, so fingers crossed! If nobody takes it up, perhaps I’ll just serialise it on here…
And on that note, I’m away to do a spot of reading.
Take care, and hope you are all well.
Kirsty x
