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I wanted to believe that the silver lining to our household being exposed to the novel coronavirus is that we’d be armed with some kind of superhero powers that would keep us free from future bouts of the virus, free from parental fretting. But now as a new school year approaches, and as my household has gotten to know this virus in ways we wish we hadn’t, the optimism has waned.That when it comes to the coronavirus, there are often more questions — more worries and gray areas — than there are concrete answers or anything resembling a sense of peace.In the spring, I wrote in this column about what happened as our family of six came to terms with my covid-19 diagnosis. After my diagnosis, my husband and I worked like crazy to keep our four kids away from me in our New York City apartment, in the hopes they’d remain covid-free. (This may not sound like a big deal — but if you are a parent of a 21st-century teen or tween, you know that when your child is too weak to take an interest in Fortnite, there’s something wrong.)He’s a typical teenage boy who likes to remind his parents just how uncool we are, and he’d been the only one of our kids who hadn’t snuggled with me in the days before my diagnosis, who waved away my attempts at hugs. Instead, our oldest — the one who’d had no underlying health conditions, who loves Little League and all kinds of sports — was the one most affected by it. At each visit, before his blood is drawn and spit samples are collected, he’s asked questions about how he’s feeling.
