“Hold my beer. I need to cry.” I told Kris as I handed him my Ratsherrn pilsner (my favorite Hamburg brew) on Thursday night. All week I’d been battling an awful cold and my emotions were at an all-time high, thanks to an abundance of feelings and insecurities which always make their way to me at the end of the month. We were in a particularly difficult, albeit kind and productive, discussion about the future, our differing thoughts on Hamburg (spoiler alert: I love it here), and what we’d learned as a reunited couple over the past couple of months and, better yet, as quarantine buddies.

To be fair, we make a great post-travel quaranteam. We plan meals, workouts, and coffee breaks around my work schedule and avoid the TV as much as possible. Unfortunately for Kris, I get the luxury of having a full-time job to keep me busy all day, and due to the pandemic, he currently has the opposite of a full-time job. Nevertheless, we were pretty excited to be released from quarantine after getting our Coronavirus tests on Friday, after which Kris planned to leave Hamburg to spend some time with his family, and we agreed to take it from there.

Well wouldn’t you know, 2021 called and said, “Hold my beer, Hughes.” And Friday morning, before we grabbed our bikes to head to the testing center, I realized something very strange: I couldn’t smell the perfume I dabbed all over my wrists. Granted, I had a very stuffy nose, so I figured I’d try smelling something stronger. Reaching for scented candles, strong cups of coffee, and just about everything in sight with a smell, I furiously tried to detect something, anything resembling an odor. Nothing.

Wouldn’t you know, one hour later I was staring at an email with big, red letters screaming “POSITIV.”

My first reaction was disbelief. We’ve been so careful! In the past three weeks, I’ve received 3 tests, diligently worn masks and sanitized everything, and tried my darndest to keep my distance from everyone besides my close family.

Disbelief gave way to a mix of panic, guilt, and utter fear, as I biked home, my mind running wild with the health authorities I needed to call and family members I needed to alert. Was my cold actually the coronavirus all along? Or was I now adding this dreaded sickness on top of my currently weakened immune system? When did I pick this up if I haven’t seen anyone or touched anything in the past week besides a cup of coffee at the Lisbon airport?

It’s safe to say I unintentionally freaked myself out by reading an article in the New York Times last week about people who have never regained their sense of smell or taste after having coronavirus. Reading profile after profile of people leading sad existences filled with weight loss and literally no pleasure from a great gooey cheese was perhaps not the best way to fill my time on the plane back to Europe. And it’s true. Making coffee in the morning no longer comes with that lush scent of steaming arabica beans, vodka tastes like nothing (either that or I made the best gimlet of my life the other night), and eating is just really, really lame. On the plus side, there’s no need to make extravagant meals! Anything will do.

So yes, I’m here to tell you that I’m that girl. In case you’re one of those people thinking this was all fake news and real people aren’t getting this thing: I have coronavirus. I’m really sick. Last night in particular was rough. I can’t taste or smell. And I’m just wishing, hoping, and praying that it doesn’t get worse.

But all of this, times one thousand, is still much better than how many others have fared over the past 11 months. It’s my goal to remain as healthy as possible so I can avoid having to go to the doctor (three cheers for great German health insurance!) and draining the time from the frontline workers who are saving the lives of people much more at risk. But just think- I was a person with a regular cold and, up until Friday morning, had no symptoms indicative of being positive. Imagine who I could have touched, seen, or interacted with if it hadn’t been for the mandatory quarantine in Germany?

This could be anyone.

And can infect anyone.

Please wear a mask.

In all of this, I haven’t forgotten that I’m lucky. I got to see my family for Christmas. It was my decision to travel and, if you didn’t know this by now, I’m a person who likes rules, so the masks were plentiful and the distance was abundant. (Except at the Lisbon airport… I couldn’t believe how crowded it was and how difficult it was to maintain any sense of distance!) And while we’re on the subject of luck, I’m so happy that I have this now, in my own, relatively spacious apartment, instead of in my old, crowded flat share. Oh, and I have a built-in nurse to boot, even if he is intent on keeping his distance (Kris tested negative) and might soon turn into a bottle of hand sanitizer.

For some reason, the universe wanted us to stick it out together for the next two weeks. And while I know everything happens for a reason, this start to 2021 is definitely not what I was envisioning. I guess my favorite humdinger of a word, Perspective, now rings more true than ever before. “Hold my beer. I need to cry.” now seems pathetically dramatic compared to the events that have unfolded over the past 72 hours.

And to top it all off, the beer now tastes like soda water. So I’ll be spending the next 14 days marinating on the perspective of this situation, sharing quarantine stories, and cooking up a lot of food that is utterly flavorless.

Cheers 2021.

It’s only up from here!

(P.S. It’s safe to say those Christmas cards will now be delayed… again. Thanks for your flexibility here, friends. I’m doing the best I can.)

"Hold My Beer. I Need to Cry."

Please wear a mask.

Cheers 2021.

It’s only up from here!