To the friendly question “How was your holiday?” I can give a rather rare answer this year: “Disappointing.” You see the other immediately shrink back, because with these kinds of questions people are geared to fully automatic positivism.
Sure, I can hide my misfortune, but there’s something comforting about serving your troubles carefully, with the required short silences for dramatic effect. Here we go.
My vacation was only a few days old when I, together with my wife, received something I had never received before: corona. Only now? For three quarters of the Dutch population, it is an almost forgotten, kind of neglected cold that only kills you if you are very unlucky. I can now testify that corona can grab you by the throat even in the most beautiful weather in July.
For two years we had avoided the virus very carefully, we thought we were almost untouchable after we received a new booster at the end of March. When a dear friend passed away in mid-July, we had no hesitation: we should not miss the funeral service. Even when we walked around there among hundreds of people, we did not feel burdened. There followed a follow-up in a Brabant café where the sadness could be somewhat drunk. Should be able to.
But it couldn’t. Three days later my wife started coughing suspiciously (that word still exists), followed a day later. The rest is so predictable that I can suffice with a few keywords: positive self-tests, fever, isolation. Physically it wasn’t that bad, but psychologically something started to gnaw when you looked outside and saw all those people in light clothing enjoying the beautiful weather. We became those TB patients you see in old pictures in Switzerland staring at the snowy mountains from the lounge chairs at their sanatorium.
It was little consolation that Joe Biden also got corona at the same time. He immediately reacted horribly optimistically (“People, I’m fine, thanks for your concern”), saying that he could continue to carry out all his duties in seclusion. He had been given an antiviral drug that immediately made me jealous (“Certainly only for the seniors”), until ten days later he suddenly tested positive again and had to go into isolation again. It would have to do with how that drug works. Justice!
Meanwhile, I sat at home anxiously bent over my own tests. Again and again the hope for a favorable result, but after a few minutes the hated second line turns red again. Against your better judgement, you try to minimize the discoloration – is this still red or is it more pink? – although the instructions for use allow no hesitation: “Any slight discoloration of the test line area (T) should be construed as a positive test result. A positive test result means you are very likely to be infected with Covid-19.”
They are texts that do not belong in a holiday. They make you realize that the only one that never goes on vacation is called Covid-19. In a broader sense, this also applies to death itself, but we already knew about that. Covid-19 is more of a measly harbinger of death, the assistant of the big mafia boss, who bites you that you have to watch your step.
A version of this article also appeared in the newspaper of August 10, 2022