A letter from Romania

Jimmy Buffett is usually right. It was my “own damn fault.”

Nine days ago, on Monday, November 1, I joined 16,000 others in Romania who tested positive for COVID 19. Romania is smack-dab in the middle of its 4th wave, with 500 deaths every day in this country of 19 million. When our Romanian doctor texted us the positive diagnosis, I was shocked. How could this be? I am vaccinated and wear a mask. “I know this is somebody’s fault,” sings Jimmy early on in Margaritaville. And I thought the same thing. In this country where 63% are not vaccinated, blame was easy to find.

It is likely I got COVID on our trip to Cluj and Suceava I wrote about in What we learned on the slow train to Suceava. Yes, I know what you are thinking, about the train and about what we learned. “Sigh”.

At first, Jimmy agrees with others that “a woman’s to blame.” On the Timișoara to Cluj train, there was a young woman and child sans mask. But there were also the three male maskless loggers who got on the Cluj to Suceava train and hung around about 20 feet from us for a few stops. Eventually Buffet gives up the search for blame and accepts, and repeats, its “my own damn fault.” In the song, this wisdom came from a therapist.

For me, it arose from Rebecca.

“You’ve been wearing that cloth mask that really doesn’t protect you.” And “I’ve been telling you that for more than a year now.” This was a Margaritaville-moment for me. For months, whether in the USA or in Romania, Rebecca has worn masks that fit snugly and, like many others, she wears them whenever she is close to others she does not know. In doing this, she is protecting herself, me and others. I have always been sloppy with masks, settling for the comfortable cloth one, often letting it slide down below my nose, and rarely wearing it outside. All the while feeling smug with my two vaccination jabs and half-hearted masking. In doing this, I am neither protecting myself, her or others.

When I opened the refrigerator door this morning and stuck my nose on the bottom door shelf searching for that nauseating smell that I had for a month tried to get rid of – and for the first time in eight days – I caught just a whiff of it. Still mildly disgusting, but now beautiful.

I’ve had no fever for five days. My other symptoms, fatigue and congestion, were mild and are gone as well. I spent one day in bed and mostly tried to manage the symptoms and stay out of Rebecca’s way. The first symptom to appear was congestion, then fatigue and fever, with loss of smell not until the 4th day, one day after I was diagnosed. If smell had been first, I would have gone to to the doctor sooner. We even joked about the refrigerator test.

When we found out I had COVID, we talked about me going to a hotel. Since it was likely I could have infected Rebecca before diagnosis we decided to manage it in our apartment with two bedrooms and two bathrooms. My 14 days of quarantine will be up on Friday.

Pfizer did its duty. It kept me alive and out of the hospital. A Timișoara testing center staff provided efficient and fast service. A neighborhood doctor recommended by a University of West colleague dispensed excellent care. And soon I will get a Romanian resident’s permit and will be able to get the 3rd shot.

Most important, thus far Rebecca has dodged the bullet.

No thanks to me because “it was my own damn fault.”