Are we really just going to let people with Covid walk around and infect us?

The government is poised to end the legal requirement to self-isolate in England when you test positive for Covid a full month earlier than the planned date of 24 March. This means that if you have the virus, you could be walking around and spreading it to those around you by 24 February (at the latest) – and I’m not entirely sure who’s supposed to be celebrating.

Those who.... want Covid? Those who see it as a “big fuss over nothing”? Or perhaps those who want to wear their recovery like a twisted badge of honour, some show of immune system bravado? I simply cannot fathom why anyone in their right mind would want the thing, or (more to the point) wish to wilfully transmit the thing, given that so many of us are a) still getting it, and b) still suffering from it – badly.

And no, it may not be anywhere near as dangerous for many of us as it was when the first variant emerged in 2020, thanks to the vaccine rollout and the less fatal strains (the most recent – Omicron – has resulted in significantly fewer hospitalisations than its predecessor). Hence, presumably, the rethink on how we now manage it. But let me tell you something from experience: you still do not want Covid. Believe me. You really don’t.

I can tell you this with some confidence because I have had Covid twice in two months; first December and then again last month. I’m double-vaxxed and boosted too – yet the first bout (which I imagine was Delta) left me bed-ridden for five days straight, tossing and turning and having half-awake fever-dreams.

I couldn’t lie flat, couldn’t even keep still because my back ached so much it felt as though someone was standing on my spine in heavy walking boots. I completely lost my sense of taste and smell, and appetite. I was shallow of breath and couldn’t work – for freelancers, getting ill is a nightmare. And if you add the possibility of long Covid into the mix, then you might really find yourself in trouble.

Weirdest of all, for me personally, was the side-effect of finding myself endlessly staring into space, gazing at the wall or ceiling. I didn’t even binge-watch anything on Netflix – I couldn’t. My brain felt like a sieve with grains of sense and sand slipping out through the cracks. I barely had the energy to make conversation with my kids. I certainly couldn’t have managed the walk to school, even if I had been allowed out. That’s because I could barely walk more than a few steps without sitting down, without breathing heavily and coughing; and I didn’t get dressed for a week.

It was, to coin a cliche, no picnic: unless you mean a particularly crap picnic, in the rain, and someone’s forgotten the sandwiches – and kicked you really, really hard in the back as well.

Particulary when, six weeks later, my kids got sick – and I tested positive again. Omicron, I figure – given that I had the classically reported symptoms of a dull headache, a scratchy throat and a mild temperature. My little girl is only 10, so she’s unvaccinated and was quite unwell, even with this highly-transmissible (yet, on balance, seemingly “lighter” strain) – she was bed-bound.

And that’s the thing: yes, we’re seeing a decrease in serious hospitalisations, but Covid hasn’t gone anywhere. On Tuesday there were reports of a further 314 deaths; today (at time of writing) it’s 276. And just as my little girl was unwell, there will be plenty of adults like her: those who are more at risk because they’re unvaccinated, either by choice or by medical advice; those who are old or disabled or immuno-compromised.

So, when the health secretary Sajid Javid tweeted earlier today that we “expect to be able to end remaining restrictions – including the requirement to self-isolate – a full month early, provided positive trends in data continue. We are the freest country in Europe thanks to the strong defences we have built, We’re learning to live with Covid”, all I could think of was, why? To what end?

I hear the latest news and I don’t want to rejoice, I want to weep: for the ill and the shielding and vulnerable, for the old, the disabled; for the severe asthmatics, like my son, who’s five and on multiple steroids. In my kids’ London primary school, half the class and most of the teachers are off with it. Whole families are ill and trying to struggle through.

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It may seem like a simple solution, to simply erase absenteeism in schools and offices by wiping out the need to be absent, but it’s a fool’s errand. There’s no telling how any of us will react to Covid on a personal or individual level, until we get it. Why risk it turning out badly – not just for us, but for anyone?

I understand the aversion to self-isolation: I spent the equivalent of a month indoors without stepping out, even for a walk. It was awful, I wanted to claw at the walls to get out.

But I’d do it all over again (including the brain-numbing boredom of it) in a heartbeat to prevent other people from experiencing what I experienced – or worse. Because it’s horrible, and it’s simply not fair to pass it on like a relay baton at Sports Day. If you find yourself scoffing (or, worse: celebrating), then I have one question for you: where’s your empathy?