OYSTERHOOD is reclusiveness or solitude, or an overwhelming desire to stay at home.

— @HaggardHawks

842 days since I wrote the last Operation Oysterhood post. More than four and a half years since the beginning of the Covid-19 pandemic. Unlike millions around the world, I have been exceptionally lucky: despite enormous fear, repeated exposure, numerous scares, I have never tested positive for Covid-19. Until today.

I survived the pandemic, the lockdown, managed to save Karavan Press and navigated other major crises. Towards the end of last year, I was tired, but optimistic and full of ideas.

But, 2024 has been an extremely difficult year in all kinds of ways: I lost two of my Furry Family members – beloved Glinka and Mozart – under horrific circumstances right in the beginning of the year. The third, gorgeous Salieri, at seventeen, had to have a serious operation. Grief-stricken, I fell ill and my mind refused to function for quite a while. The accumulated work-related backlog eventually required twelve- to sixteen-hour work days to catch up and meet impossible deadlines. In the middle of this, just about everything was breaking down: Topolino, a water pipe, the garage, the gate, the fridge, the washing machine, etc. I felt like a disaster magnet.

On the literary front, success hit – unexpectedly and in full force – and brought another set of challenges with it that continue to require careful steering, especially on the cashflow front. It is amazing to have such troubles, and I am thrilled that Karavan Press books are selling well, winning prizes and have to be continuously reprinted, but it has not been easy to manage the demand. Karavan Press still operates with very limited resources.

Yet, all the books were published on time for all the festivals and launches, and in the end, I managed to catch up with most of the work, stabalise the financial crisis and adjust the schedule to deal with the rest of the year. People have been patient and kind. I felt ready for the second half of the year.

The recent storms managed to unsettle it all again. After a weekend away in the beginning of July, I arrived home to three serious roof leaks, a partly collapsed ceiling in my study and other water damage (including wet books and papers). Professional attempts to repair the damage during breaks in the relentless weather failed dismally. I was assured that the provisional fix would keep me safe and dry through the rest of the winter. Only a few days later (last week Thursday), I woke up to an actual waterfall in my study – in the exactly same spot that had been professionally ‘repaired’. I reported it immediately, but to no reaction. So, knowing how busy everyone in the roof-repair business had been and how tough it was to get anyone to assist right now, I simply took a big plastic cover and secured it on top of my roof myself (I looked like a real drenched szczurek after that excursion). Since then, it has kept the spot dry throughout all the rains. I meant to find someone else to help me to fix it all properly, but it is nearly impossible to function when your home is dripping and collapsing on your head. The waterfall broke my spirits, and the next day in the afternoon, I also started feeling under the weather (!).

I was sure that the flu got me – all the symptoms pointed that way – and have been in bed since Saturday morning, gradually recovering. Yesterday, I finally felt that there was hope. The only people who visited me were my love (bringing groceries, flowers and eye smiles – we were both wise enough to wear masks, keep our distance and limit the visits to a few minutes) and a friend, who also brought soup and eye smiles and stayed only a short while. But she also brought Covid-19 antigen tests – just in case, she said.

I spoke to my doctor this afternoon – there is no doubt: I have been suffering through the latest manifestation of Covid-19. Two positive antigen tests confirm the diagnosis. Luckily, I have been isolating so far anyway and should be safe to leave the house without posing a danger to others on Friday latest – if I am symptom-free, but I am already definitely heading that way. Intuitively, I knew I had to take care of myself, rest, get well, and I cancelled all my work and social appointments for this entire time – I did not think that I had Covid-19, but the pandemic taught me how to protect myself and others as much as it is possible when it comes to all such viruses. And I am glad that I listened to my intuition, and my body. As my Italian friend used to say: your body never lies. My body has been saying: it’s all too much, I am not coping, please rest.

I am listening.

I am casting spells for a calm rest of this rough year.

And I am hoping for more patience and kindness. I feel quite vulnerable right now. I have been fearing this diagnosis for four and a half years. It has arrived and I am not taking it for granted.