A faint double red line appears quickly in the test window, confirming the inevitable. Two years, three vaccine shots and countless negative tests into the pandemic, my body’s defences have at last been broken. The pandemic has become personal.
It’s beautiful May again, and the windows are open to let in a gentle breeze. Upstairs I doze off to a soothing mixtape of birdsong, Radio 4 and the stray sounds of other people’s lives.
By day three, the fever has gone. The morning is gloriously light and the street trees are at peak-green. I want to re-join the world! But by the time I get out into the garden my enthusiasm’s gone flat, my energy dissipated. I’m desperately tired and there’s no quick fix.
The route to recovery is jolting and uneven. I’m told to rest but I’m a poor patient, grumpy and frustrated by my slow improvement. But as the days progress I find moments of stillness outdoors, distracted by the small-scale life of the garden. That plump strutting blackbird with its cheery inquisitive air; the pretty lilac butterfly hurrying past. And such a dazzlingly perfect white rose! Maytime is optimistic, and I’m getting better.
Lucy's London Blog 