As soon as my home office and holiday were approved, guess what came knocking on the door? Covid. Again.
This was the second time I got sick with it. Friday was my last day of work, and on Saturday morning we left Budapest for Mosonmagyaróvár. By Saturday evening, I was already feeling pretty awful.
On Sunday morning, I took a self-test and there it was: positive. So much for spending the week going for walks and enjoying my holiday. Instead, I spent most of it in bed and in quarantine.
Before long, the whole family was infected too. We were all dealing with some combination of coughing, body aches and headaches.
What surprised me most was how long it dragged on. I am used to getting a cold or flu, feeling miserable for a few days and then gradually bouncing back. This time, almost a week later, I was still aching, still coughing and still getting a sore throat in the evenings.
Thankfully, none of us seemed to be seriously ill. The symptoms were manageable, but the illness itself was stubborn. That was the part I found most frustrating — waking up each day expecting to feel noticeably better and realising I was still not quite there yet.
So yes, my second round with Covid was less dramatic than it could have been, but definitely longer and more exhausting than I expected.
And there went my holiday. 😑