I.
Clare repeated her lateral flow test yesterday morning and was still positive. I hadn't noticed any change in the way I feel, as I've had a runny nose and a thick head since a surge in local blossoming trees a week ago but I agreed to take a test. It turned out to be positive. Automatically, this means my cataract operation can't take place for three more months. According to sister in law Ann, covid infection can leave residual inflammation in body tissue for several weeks - to be avoided when eyes are being worked on. I called St Joseph's hospital immediately to let them know. Saturday's Wriggledance show is ruled out for me. Maybe if Clare tests negative Friday and Saturday she can go. We'll see.
I attempted to register my test result with the Track 'n Trace app, but the test code it sent me was rejected. Later in the day I had a phone call from the Track and Trace call centre, and complained that the app had not worked as designed, so info I provided was entered manually. The call cut out however, as it was about to conclude and wouldn't reconnect. Had the call handling system called time out? Or did my phone signal drop because I was at the range limit of our domestic black spot signal booster? I'll never know. There was no call back and I couldn't raise the number displayed by my phone.
Anyway, I had a text message from Track and Trace ten minutes later confirming that I should self-isolate until 4th April. So that's another Sunday when I won't be able to celebrate Mass at St German's. What I can't know is when I was infected - maybe 24 hours after Clare, as we had almost no contact with each other in the time between her negative test and the onset of her symptoms and positive test. But maybe later, as we made an effort at mutual isolation. It will take whatever time it needs for our bodies to deal with the virus. I still wasn't feeling any worse than I have done over the past week, so I got on with next week's Morning Prayer video upload, in case I get too poorly to finish it off.
Over the day, the symptoms I have been living with for the past week intensified, or were over-ridden by a similar reaction to the coronavirus - the body working overtime expelling alien substances. I cooked chicken soup for lunch, the fabled 'Jewish anti-biotic'. It's certainly comforting that's for sure. In the evening I watched telly but found it hard going, so went to bed early and slept quite well.
II.
I woke up late and posted this week's video link nearly two hours later than planned. Track and Trace twice sent me a text message and and email urging me to enter the test code into the NHS covid app, although the data had been collected manually yesterday. I tried entering the code and again it was rejected. Then I thought - what if an app update has been issued and I've not been notified of this. But why the hell shouldn't an update be installed automatically anyway? - I thought, as I checked on the cluttered nagging inferno which is Google's Play Store.
Yes, there was an update, correcting a parsing error in the data input line which auto-corrected anything the user entered. Incredible! With the app updated, I tried again and the code was rejected on the basis that it was past its time expiry date. Admittedly, small print in the first text message tells you to do it quickly. Easy to overlook if you're poorly, or distracted trying to rearrange your life around a red alert. Evidently, manually input data takes time to add to the grand database of contagion, but doing so doesn't cancel the auto-generated nagging reminders to do something that's already outdated by NHS digital's own criteria. Auto-generated confusion spreading I call it.
Chicken soup again for lunch, then I returned to bed and slept uncomfortably for the rest of the day with symptoms no worse than my last bout of 'flu.
III.
Clare tested negative this morning, but is now in agony, having pulled a back muscle sneezing after poking a swab into her nostril. Sadly that rules out a trip to Bath for the Wriggledance show altogether. My head is clearer and not so congested today. The fluey aches and pains aren't so pronounced. Whether or not I'm over the worst remains to be seen, but at least I'm able to catch up on writing about the last two days, before cooking another round of chicken soup.
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