My good news today is that the conference that was the far end of our holiday this year has been postponed until 2021, so I no longer have to think about whether it will be safe to try to go to it, and can simply cancel the B&B bookings at this point. This saves me from any will-it-won't-it worrying, which is always the worst thing.
I think that if I knew I would get CV19, I would not be worried; I'd have something definite to be dealing with, getting stuff in order, all the necessary actions to go with something of that sort. It's uncertainty that is the killer every time.
When I was eleven I wanted wanted wanted to have a dog. I knew the dog I wanted, too: it was one in particular of a litter of Dalmatian puppies that a friend of ours had bred. For about a week I yearned, and cried at night, and was utterly miserable; finally I got up all my courage and asked my parents, and was told that no, I couldn't have him because we were moving house and it would be too unsettling for a puppy. And it stopped hurting as soon as I had a definite answer, and although I was sad I didn't have to cry about it any more either. (I got my puppy two years later when we were settled into the new house and town, and had him for many happy years until he got a new horrible disease called parvo and died almost overnight. But that was an ordinary grief, not the misery of unknowing.)
I am sorry not to be going on holiday, but glad not to be having to think about it any more.