This is a fictional story. All names, places, and viruses are used fictitiously. Resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, past or present, are intentional.
***
Due Date: 125 days away
She texted me back a photo of the ultrasound.
“Hey, I can actually get pictures on my phone now!”
“Yay!”
For a couple months there, my messenger app wouldn’t let me receive photos or group texts. I switched my default app the day before, hoping it would help. It felt like it was time to get my act together.
Healthy baby. Working phone. Yaying wife. All good.
I didn’t ask more until I got home…
“So, what did the doctor say?”
“They basically told me to think of myself as an 80-year-old woman.”
I didn’t see that coming. She’d stopped coloring her hair but could still pass for 25, especially on appointment days with her makeup on.
“I’m not supposed to be around anyone. Not supposed to go outside. No grocery shopping. Nothing.”
Wow. So first the governor. Then the doctors. I plopped down on the other couch as she continued.
“And it sounds like they want me to start going – I’m not sure – twice a week? That doesn’t sound right. I’m confused.”
“What do you mean? What did they say?”
“I don’t know, Ben.” She clicked down through the options on the TV. “They wanted me to come in once a week to see the high risk doctor, and then once—”
“We probably just need to call them.” I waited for her reaction.
“You can call them,” she laughed. “I’ll ask when I go in next week.”
“Why are they bringing you in more often anyway? She’s still measuring big?”
Liz typed a show into the search on the TV. I didn’t recognize it.
“They said I can’t bring Shepherd anymore. So there’s that too.”
I had to let that one process for a second.
“Do you think you could take the time off for lunch?” she said.
I stretched out on the couch facing the show that was loading up, the show I didn’t recognize. “Probably not. We’re still, what? Four months out?”
“About 18 weeks.”
I had the time, but I didn’t want to use it on partial days. It would make it rough at work trying to schedule around it.
“We’ll figure it out,” I said. “I’ll get with Chris.”
We started whatever show it was. I didn’t stick around long. I finished the dishes listening to a Joe Rogan podcast.
Later as we closed everything down for the night, I told Liz we’d be okay.
“It’s all starting to feel real, though, isn’t it?” I said.
“Tuesday was the last day I was around anyone. That’s when I’m counting from. We’ve been self-quarantining for three days.”
“The memes are already getting intense.”
