I had trouble getting out of bed.
My sinuses were all blocked up and I could feel that the pressure was only going to get worse. I couldn’t breathe out of my nose and those of you who know me know that I can’t stand [being] a mouth breather.
It was the day of my kindergartner’s big field trip to the children’s museum and I had signed up to go. I told my husband that he’d have to go instead because I wasn’t going to make it; I felt like death warmed over.
He left the house with my son and headed to school. I got up with my daughter and started getting ready for the day, which included taking a full dose of sudafed. My mind was reeling, and the sudafed made it reel even faster. I was really sad that I’d be missing the field trip, and I was frustrated about feeling so awful.
Once I started moving around and ate breakfast and ruminated some more, I called my husband. When he picked up, I could hear a whole lot of excited little kid screaming in the background.
“I’m feeling a bit better and I want to come! I think I can make it. Am I too late?” The school was just two blocks away.
“Are you sure? You still have time, if we switch now.”
“Tell the teacher that I’m coming. I’ll be ready to leave the house when you get here. Thanks!”
I grabbed my jacket and the lunch I had made for myself the night before. I kissed my daughter goodbye and then ran out the door as soon as I saw my husband coming. I huffed it to the school and waved to my kid’s teacher.
“Glad you could make it,” she said with a smile.
“I rallied the troops…and I’m on a lot of cold medication.”
We went on a bus full (very full) of very excited, very loud kindergartners and parent chaperones. I was in charge of my son and two other sweet boys and we spent the day negotiating how much time to spend in which area of the museum, because we needed to stay together.
Kids were running everywhere, touching everything.
I took pictures of my son with a group of kids climbing on play structures, splashing in water exhibits, sharing mounds of clay whose only purpose was to be shaped into robots of various sorts.
I was struggling to concentrate, as my head had that stuck-in-a-fishbowl feeling and I felt exhausted.
I was standing in the main entryway, waiting for the boys to decide where to go next, and my watch buzzed.
I glanced at my wrist and saw an alert from NPR.
“The WHO has declared the Coronavirus a global pandemic,” read the headline.
I looked up at the pandemonium around me and thought, oh shit.
It was March 11, 2020.