When the Covid pandemic first appeared on the scene here in March 2020, it seemed a very dangerous thing to get. For our household, it was a bit of a nightmare. At that time, Kay was working as a medical doctor in Intensive Care in a hospital near London Gatwick airport and living at home with me. She was in daily contact with seriously ill Covid patients and wearing those high protection suits we saw so much of on the televison. However, because I have a lung condition called sarcoidosis (granulation of the lung tissue) I was considered "vulnerable", if I were to come into contact with covid and might meet a fate worse than death. I certainly at that time would not have been eligible to be put on a ventilator if my lungs needed one, because there were too few ventilators to go around and I was over the age limit ceiling for one. Kay was therefore accommodated at the expense of the NHS in the Holiday Inn Hotel at Gatwick airport for three months - all expenses paid by the NHS - to spare me. I was getting letters from the Government Health Secretary telling me I must stay at home. I spent the good part of 6 months terrified to leave the house except for the occasional walk round the block for exercise, avoiding as best I could any contact with passers-by.
Of course, in the meantime, the virus has mutated, become a little weaker and we have had been given quite a few immunisations, so it is no longer the monster it first was. It needs a host to survive and, if it were to kill us all off, it would in turn not survive itself, so it is in its best interests to co-exist with us.
I have now had Covid twice in the intervening years. The first time was in December 2022. I remember wondering what all the fuss had been about, as it was by then just a bad cold - unpleasant, yes, but nothing to write home about and over with quite quickly.
The second time was three weeks ago. I reckon I picked it up at Kay's wedding, as I went down with it about three days later. This time, it seemed worse than the first time. Less like a bad cold and more like influenza. I must have sneezed over 500 times in a matter of a few days. My throat went from scratchy to sore which then developed into a tickly cough that could not be suppressed. (I still have that 4 weeks on.) My temperature spiked to 101F for several days. I took to my bed and felt listless. Although the worst of these symptoms probably lasted just over a week, I have felt overwhelmingly tired for weeks afterwards. I have taken to having afternoon naps which is so unlike me. I even wake in the morning feeling exhausted and want to curl up and go to sleep again. I feel ancient.
Fortunately I am still alive and kicking (well barely) to tell the tale, but it is taking too long -in my impatient book- to get back to normal. Singing in my recent choir concert, I could barely reach the top notes. I do hope normal service will be resumed soon! I have heard others say this current strain is pretty nasty, so I know I am not alone. Good riddance to it. At least now I am free to go out and about in the knowledge that I am safe for a while until the next strain comes along!
courtesy of Pinterest |
2 comments:
My wife has had a cough for weeks, not covid, and tests found nothing, but she's pretty fed up with it. I've had it but not as bad. With all these things, the battle is as much mental as physical. My dormouse days are much like yours, but I have to live with that. The main thing is, we're all still here.
As far as I know, I have not had Covid despite my husband having had a light dose in 2021, I feel very fortunate.
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