When Being Positive isn't Necessarily Negative

So, I’m not sure how it happened, how I got it, or if too much trash talking can impact one’s immune system in a crummy way. But last Wednesday, after 2-days of a scratchy throat and assorted dry coughs, I awakened only to receive the positive result I wasn’t looking for. After minding my Covid-19 Ps and Qs since March 12, 2020, I swabbed and delivered two bars on the antigen Covidometer.

I was positive for whatever Covid variant is in style these days. Before and after the results and symptoms, my temperature has resisted leaving the ninety-sevens. And for the last week, I’ve averaged 9-hours of sleep and ZERO debates!

The historic news: Dr. Anthony Fauci and I were positive on the same day. And I guess if you’re gonna get Covid, you might as well share the date and experience with the top Covid guy on the globe.

And I was told to isolate once before, but I went renegade. The epic hemorrhagic nasal geyser happened just before Memorial Day weekend, 2019. Instead of a tourniquet, Kaiser chose to insert a “rocket balloon” straight up my right nostril to stop the bleeding; they also attached a snorkel-like tube to the R-balloon and taped it to the side of my face. The Doc told me to stay home and rest from Thursday to Tuesday. The next morning, I turned on ESPN and learned the Chicago Cubs traveled in costume, the lesson learned was being comfortable while being uncomfortable. For the next 3-days, I traveled the mean streets of Pasadena’s Madison Heights, armed with a smile, a snorkel, and the willingness to help my neighbors become comfortable being uncomfortable.

But I digress.

This time I’m being a good boy. I’m staying home. I’m reading books. I’m writing. And I’m enjoying my stash of Trader Joe’s frozen foods. My culinary skills amount to my walking distance to the microwave. And considering my appetite for Diner Joe’s Mac n Cheese, Joe could become an adoptive virtual uncle in the near future.

Thursday, January 16 was the highlight of my isolation stint.

The morning began with Day Two of the January 16, Select Committee hearings. The testimony convinced me, beyond a reasonable doubt, anyone can be President. So, even if you’re clinically delusional, wear makeup like a Kabuki dancer, lie like a rug, and sometimes feel like your most supportive co-worker deserves being hung by the neck until…you know; you can be president too! Oh, and if you lead a coup d’etat, you might even get away with that (my punishment of choice would be driving Highway-5 for the remainder of the perpetrator’s natural life.)

After the hearing I needed a little recovery time, so I watched the tee-to-green coverage of golf’s U. S. Open, straight outta Brookline, Mass. And if mid-week, midday televised golf coverage doesn’t at least take the Bronze, it merits a service medal for its role in the War Against Insomnia.

The main event, carried prime time, was all about life’s Toy Department. And I have super-smart friends (really!) who have no interest in sports; and that’s cool. I’ve actually met Americans who hate going to the dentist, but I’m a vigorous supporter of both the First and Twenty-Fifth Amendments.

My dad was an athlete, a coach, my mentor, and the most generous, honest, caring man I’ve ever known. Watching the Warriors compete, support one another, and share the joy of a championship the way they share the ball, took me back to the 12-year-old Peewee Pirates my dad coached back in The Day at Garvey Park. I love sports. Period. And Game Six was an anti-Covid-19 booster shot.

On Saturday, I was Covid positive again. I missed a B-day celebration for a good friend. I also missed an open house. You see, after founding a private dental practice 46-years ago, I sold it to a friend and colleague last month. And I really wanted to be there and share in the celebration with my friend, the new owner, and my family, my former co-workers.

We survived the early years, and learning the hard way, we found the value in always investing in people and knowledge. We saw the joy that comes from choosing our attitude, looking to play and have fun, and making a difference in our community. We survived a pandemic. We’ve been a family.

And who knows, if I had been Covid positive two-years ago, this might have become the essay that never happened.

Sometimes being positive means being grateful.