My COVID Saga

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Covid virus

Image: Bertrand Blay - Getty Images

Like many of you, I’ve had COVID. Unlike many of you, I managed to put it off until recently. Count me part of the summer bump in cases the CDC is talking about. The vector for my contagion was a good friend who didn’t know he was a carrier and had, in fact, tested negative at home. While useful, these self-tests have their limitations. We were prepping for some hiking around Mount Rainier when this nasty virus stopped us in our tracks.

I’d flown out taking pandemic precautions, masking in the airport and on the plane, sanitizing my hands frequently, etc. I know most folks don’t mask anymore, but it can prove useful against more than the coronavirus, while also discouraging blather from those in adjacent seats. About three days after my arrival and the night before our planned trek, I tossed and turned with wildly bizarre dreams and body aches. By morning, I felt plenty awful, as did my buddy. The usual symptomatic suspects emerged: headache, low grade fever, chills, fatigue and, worst of all, a ridiculously sore throat. Swallowing felt like razor blades.

We turned tail and left Rainier, heading to the nearest urgent care center. The PCR test ensued, and twenty minutes later the physician assistant returned with the bad news. She offered me Paxlovid, and strongly encouraged it, given my age. Inquiring about side effects, she said an awful metallic taste in the mouth and, perhaps, diarrhea. Noting my frown, she stated, “Beats hospitalization or death.” Hard to argue that.

Agony of Contagion

Retreating to my friend’s home, which was mercifully vacant of family, we took our medicine and hoped for the best. It’s hard to describe the rest of that first night. Absent the gory details, suffice it to say I slept little and pretty much writhed in agony. Amidst this contagion, it occurred to me that, like many folks, I had downplayed COVID’s potential for wreaking havoc on one’s person. We humans habituate rapidly to new abnormals (been there, done that), and readily slide into “not me, not now” or, even if me and now, “not bad” thinking. That night cured me of this delusion. I realize some who contract this pestilence get off easily, but others end up deathly ill or even dead. After all, it has killed millions worldwide. Up until my bout with COVID, I’d errantly assumed I would fall on the no-big-deal end of the bell-shaped curve. Not so.

Make no mistake. The Paxlovid turned the tide, but that took several very miserable days. Fitful sleep occupied most of my time, and, while awake, I struggled to hydrate and eat. Nothing tasted good and swallowing was no picnic. The crazy dreams kept coming, my temp was a roller coaster, and the dreadful sore throat eventually devolved into a hacking cough. An old phrase from my Catholic upbringing kept echoing in my brain: “Lord, would that this cup could pass from my hands.”

I’m largely recovered now, but, like many, the return to health proved a two steps up and one back affair. There were good days, followed by discouraging poor ones, but the overall trajectory was up. Knock on wood, I seem to have dodged the dreaded long COVID, but an occasional cough and general malaise revisit me, albeit very infrequently.

I share this cautionary tale not for sympathy (well, perhaps a little), but as a warning. Except for those who get off lightly, COVID remains a formidable adversary. I was vaccinated and boosted, thankfully, but that doesn’t spare all of us the physical gauntlet this nasty little microbe imposes, just its worst outcomes. Battling this foe feels a bit like entering the boxing ring with a hand tied behind one’s back. In facing this threat, we should remind ourselves of what the referees always say to the pugilists before they have at it. “Protect yourselves at all times.”

Please do. 

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