I got the phone call, Monday night.
My daughter’s voice on the other end seemed a little anxious.
The conversation started with the usual, “Hi, mom, what are you up to?”
“Well, I’m semi conscious on the couch,” I replied, “drifting in and out of sleep enough to kind of get the drift of the movie I’m supposed to be watching.”
“Do you have any COVID symptoms?” she asked.
“No,” I said, hesitantly. “Should I?”
Of course, after hearing her words, I immediately swallowed and my throat hurt a little and suddenly, for some reason, I could feel a nagging headache coming on, starting at the base of my neck.
I had been at the littlest grandson’s hockey game, Sunday. It was a stressful game for me, the grandma, sitting in the stands, outwardly calm as you please as they fired shot after shot on the poor, innocent child who was, of all places, in the net.
They had made him goalie, for heaven sakes.
His equipment was bigger than him, but still he stood there, stoic, and brave. Unfortunately, as he stood there being stoic and brave, the puck went whizzing by him more often than naught and by the time he figured out how to maneuver himself and his stick around from one side of the net to the other, he was too late, the nasty deed was done.
The puck was in the net.
“Where are his defensemen?” I moaned. “He has had twice as many shots on him as the other goalie,” I mutter to my daughter, the littlest grandsons’ mother.
“Mom, it’s alright,” she said to me. “Chill! He will be fine.”
“I’m not worried about him,” I muttered. “It’s me, I do believe I’m having heart palpations every time they shoot the puck at the goalie. Our goalie.
My daughter, far less dramatic than me, just shook her head.
“He’ll be fine,” she repeated.
In the end, we both ignored the final score that showed up on the score board and she invited me back to her house for coffee.
And that is when it happened.
All the kids were there, and I hugged them all, even the 13-year-old. Not because he wanted me to. In fact, I’m sure he would prefer that I did not, being thirteen and all.
No, I simply hugged him because I could. And, if the truth be known, he hugged me back.
And I was pleased.
But now his mom tells me he has tested positive for COVID which means I could easily get it, as well.
And then his grandpa could get it and on and on.
And that would not be good.
I decided I had better give myself one of those at home rapid COVID tests.
And so, I did. It was not the most pleasant experience. The worst part was, of course, thinking about it. The second worse thing was trying to read the instructions. I insisted my husband sit there and bear witness to everything I did, just so I had a witness that I was doing it all correctly.
The other second worse part was waiting for the results.
The fifteen minutes to wait to confirm a positive or negative test seemed to stretch on endlessly as I checked and re-checked the little line.
Finally, the timer beeped.
Negative. I did not have COVID.
And so, I cheered a silent cheer and moved on with my day.
Yes, hockey is alive and well in Alberta and, in fact, throughout our nation.
Unfortunately, so is COVID-19.
Treena Mielke is a Central Alberta writer. She lives in Sylvan Lake with her family.