The disappointment of this 2nd streak makes me sicker than the virus itself.

While the online participants work in breakout rooms, I rush downstairs from my home office for a self-test. I nearly trip over the stacked materials for the three-day Leadership Experience at the Waverly House tomorrow and cough once more. 

Routinely I stir the cotton swab through the liquid and smile at the thought of making the now standard announcement tomorrow after such a cough, " I tested, it's just a common cold. The participants return to the main session as I let three drops flow into the tester.

In conversation with the group, out of the corner of my eye I see a faint second streak emerging. It can't be true, can it? I resolutely push aside the test and thereby the thought of what this means to focus fully on this session. It is literally and figuratively two to twelve when I finish. The second mark is still not very sharp but also cannot be denied.  

Hoping this self-test is incorrect, I determinedly tear open a second one. I torture myself by pushing the cotton swab, just to be sure, just a little deeper inside and spinning it around more often, until it brings tears into my eyes. Shit, I mumble upon seeing the second mark coming up. I swallow away my frustration and call colleague Claudia, with whom I was supposed to do this three-day session, with the bad news.  

'I'm not going to do it alone,' she says frankly and clearly.
'Even if I just join the one-on-one coaching online? 'I can easily do that because I feel fine,' I try. 
But no, we always work on location with two coaches in a small group and it doesn't feel fair to either of us to this group to do otherwise.

'Would you be comfortable if one of our freelance colleagues could?' I ask her. Maybe this is the moment that has to come someday. Leaving 'my baby' to others. It feels like a premature birth full of risks, with the nursery not being ready yet being the least of the problems. 
'Yes,' Claudia replies. On the way to the GGD, the last colleague calls back; unfortunately, he too cannot attend. 

'How strange that it's so sensitive, I hardly felt any resistance' says the employee hidden behind plastic apron, mask and glasses in surprise. I pinch my sore nose and mutter that I probably just got a little too enthusiastic with that second swab myself. But I need the recovery certificate for overseas. 

Back home, I settle down with a blanket, pillows and phone on the comfy sofa bed in my study as if I were really sick. I know I am lucky that the symptoms are so mild, but feel deathly unhappy.

'Oh dear, I just have to pay the hired staff and the dietary shopping is already done,' stammered the always pleasantly chatty Candice from our location when I call her. 
'It is as it is,' I say, 'you are always so sweet, compassionate and flexible, but you're also allowed to stay businesslike, so I'll see the invoice show up.' I buy off a little of my unjustified but explicit feelings of guilt by sending her flowers.

The four participants react with disappointment and disparity. 'Happy to be with you after all', 'nice online coaching tomorrow' and 'expanding the freelance pool does not seem a luxury, I am applying for it'. One of them is so disappointed that she doubts whether she wants to join. I decide to give her the choice later. We work intensively together in a small group, which requires a resounding yes from all participants. 

This makes me sicker than the Corona itself

Having felt and expressed this in all six phone calls, I move grumpily to my desk to puzzle out alternative dates. After I finish the plate of hot food served at the door, I see for dessert that everyone can go on the alternate date in January. 

That night I toss and turn on the sofa bed as I hear hubby snoring on the other side of the wall. It feels like there is a band around my head and I am hoarse. Still, some mild Corona symptoms? Or the effect of disappointment, calling and arranging? I find my place and fall into a deep sleep at the thought that this f*cking virus in me won't get beyond disappointment because I took responsibility.

 

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