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Oh, great…so the current Norovirus stomach bug that is going around, according to a medical article I perused (I do that as a certified cyberchondriac), cannot be prevented by hand sanitizer.

 

It’s that contagious. And not only can we catch it from other people, but from unwashed produce, so think about how many hands may have touched those lovely apples and ‘nanners’ you bring home from the grocery store. Let’s not even imagine the potential of buffets…

 

I write this with some alarm because, no matter how careful I am, whenever Norovirus goes around, I always seem to catch it. And it always makes its presence known the same way: an odd, sharp pain in the stomach quite late at night, which leaves me thinking:

 

1. That was weird
2. I never have a stomach ache
3. Oh, crap

 

The last consideration also being the most appropriate. For about 12 hours. And really, at that point, you may as well just take a pillow into the loo. Then when you finally come out on the other side of it, dehydrated, exhausted, and, in my case, knowing that two hours of barn chores await as impatient hooves can be heard hammering against stall doors, you can count on being shaken and lightheaded for a couple of days. Norovirus doesn’t care. Norovirus is more vicious than a Honey Badger.

 

This year, it’s war. I am NOT going to catch this sucker no matter what. I managed to avoid Covid after repeated boosters and religiously donning masks, until late last fall. Luckily, it was a relatively mild case, brought home from church, which meant congregants were less than religious about protecting thy neighbor. It’s all well and good to bring over a casserole when one feels as though one has been smushed by a garbage compactor, but I’d far rather not have caught the thing in the first place. And so this time, it’s war.

 

“Can you even feel what you’re doing?” asked the cashier at the feed store as I tried to pull out my debit card while wearing latex gloves.

 

“Oh, yes,” I said, finally freeing the thing from my wallet and distastefully punching in my pin number onto a pad that I was sure was crawling with the scourge of the earth. While I might have received bemused looks from other customers, as far as I was concerned, it was either the gloves and mask or boiling myself after returning home.

 

In the meantime, I’m not going anywhere, except for the most essential of items. Which means hay and grain. Paul doesn’t mind doing the shopping although he does mind the Karen Silkwood-esque radiation scrub-down when he returns. And, of course, Amazon delivers foodstuffs as well. Even if by ‘delivered’ one means flinging a boxful of food from a moving truck, over the gate.

 

Well, bless it, who can blame him? I suppose blow torches can be intimidating.