This whole pandemic thing is starting to freak me out and it’s exceeding the level of my coping skills.
The grocery panic is a little surreal but I’m staying relatively positive about that. Instead of it adding to my anxiety, I’m looking at the random selection of food items as a fun new game.
Where the fun stops is when it comes to thinking of my husband getting Covid-19, though. His immune system is so compromised that I’m not sure he would survive it. On the other hand, though, I’m not entirely convinced that he doesn’t already have it right now. He’s had a bad cough (like horrifically bad) since Saturday and was running a mild fever—though his normal body temp runs low. It’s hard to know if his illness is due to Covid or just a bad garden-variety cold that his body couldn’t fight off.
My worst-case scenario all along in him taking this new job was what if he dies before the life insurance kicks in mid-May? I would be completely and totally fucked. I have two months’ rent in savings but I would have to find a full-time job before that ran out. And I probably couldn’t afford to stay in the house I’m in, which would mean scrambling to move. Neither of my two oldest kids are working right now and it looks like we’re heading into a recession.
But that’s the worst-case scenario. I’m hoping and praying that what he has right now is just a cold, not Covid. That he’ll make it through okay until he’s eligible for life insurance at least and hopefully much longer.
But I tell you: this whole pandemic has turned my whole world upside down because I feel like he’s so fragile. I just want to wrap him in a bubble and keep him safe so I can keep him here with me no matter what.