I told a friend recently that I felt like I was being stalked by Covid, like Trump following Hillary around the debate stage. That I had an urge to turn around and grab it and kiss it and get it over with. But, of course, this was just hyperbole. I didn’t really want to kiss it, I wanted to get, what seemed increasingly like the inevitable, over.

And so I, double vaccinated and boosted, went on about my life. I have masks in every coat and vest pocket, the way I used to have baby “binkies” and doggie poop bags. I have masks in every purse and backpack, in the glove compartments and doors of my car. They are ubiquitous. How then, you might ask, do I still show up somewhere without one? That is a story for another day.

I live in Idaho. So running against the grain and wearing a mask has become second nature. The New York Times multicolored Covid map has spouted springtime hues recently, with only Idaho and Maine remaining in Christmas red. I have been cautious, but I have been eating in restaurants, traveling to see family, and waiting, just waiting.

Well, my wait ended 10 days ago. And, since you know that Covid has not been eliminated, you know that it finally caught me. It started with these words, spoken by my husband in the pre-dawn hours, “Can you feel my forehead?” “Nope, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to do that” I thought, but I did it anyway. Years of hands on children’s heads left no doubt. He had a fever, and then he coughed and then he said he had a sore throat.

We were, at that moment, in an Airbnb at Big Sky. We had arrived after several days at Jackson Hole. Yes, perhaps complacent with our luck at avoiding the dreaded bug in Idaho, we took on Wyoming and Montana. I think that was my turning around, grabbing and kissing moment, disguised as a long awaited vacation.

Five hours later, back home, we stopped for a test, for him. I was fine. Until I wasn’t, which took about 24 hours. It’s an eerie feeling, after all the previous negative returns of the swab to hear the word “Positive”. I know that I’m lucky to have most likely contracted the kinder, gentler sibling of the big bad virus. But still, it’s Covid.

I’ve had worse flus in my life, felt more miserable, complained more bitterly. I have never, however, felt this eerie and vulnerable about a virus; the physical symptoms overshadowed by the cumulative weight of the suffering and the dead and the long haulers. The persistent, relentless fatigue is the worst of it; one of its hallmarks.

I’m feeling much better. I’m feeling relieved. I’m feeling more protected but not cocky. I have also stopped looking over my shoulder and started getting back to my life.