A few weeks ago, I tested positive to COVID for the third time. It was a nasty strain and I went down like a sack of sh*t – achy, feverish, exhausted, constant headache, the whole thing. I sent a pic of my positive RAT, with its telltale two lines, to a male friend.
"Oh noooo," he texted back. "Hopefully it’s not too bad and you feel better soon."
Feeling sorry for myself and perhaps wanting even more sympathy – I'm a giant baby when it comes to illness – I went to the platform beloved by all attention-seekers: Instagram.
Opening up my Stories, I posted the pic of my positive RAT with the caption "I thought we were done with this whole thing". I added an exasperated-looking emoji for good measure. Tired and sick, I retreated to bed, put my phone on Do Not Disturb and fell into a feverish sleep.
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An hour later I woke up and blearily reached for my phone to see what time it was. I was surprised to see 43 new messages on WhatsApp, not to mention a bunch on Instagram as well.
"Congrats!" one of the messages, sent by a female ex-colleague, read.
"OMG," said another, from a girl I'd gone to high school with.
Over on WhatsApp, my Mum's Group chat was popping off. This was unusual: we had our babies back in 2020, and the other four mums in the group are onto their second kids now, so it's not a chat that sees a lot of action these days.