Monday, August 22, 2022
Issue 583: Covid Ain’t Nuthin' to Mess With
You know, I really thought we'd dodged a bullet when it came
to the plague. Miss Dorothy and I made it through the peak years of 20 and 21
unscathed. Hell, I taught in the classroom last fall and spring and didn’t even
come down with the sniffles. Did I let my guard down a little? Not in any
egregious way I don’t think, even though I was hoping my total of four
vaccine shots would be enough to keep the virus at bay.
Nevertheless, a couple of weeks ago I was sitting out in
Chaos Manor South's vaunted Batcave (my radio shack/workshop of the telescopes) and began to realize I didn’t feel worth a
crap. At first, I attributed that to allergies or just some kinda dadgum
general malaise, but I went steadily downhill from there. Mostly it was nausea,
though I recalled I’d awakened that morning with a somewhat scratchy throat: “Musta
been them leftover tacos…I ain’t coughing…this can’t be the covid 19!”
Uh-huh. As the
evening wore on, I began to feel like, well, pounded puppy poop. Even
that magical elixir, Rebel Yell, didn’t help. I sat in the den with our rascally
black cat, Thomas Aquinas, watching TV for a while, but had a hard time absorbing
what I was seeing. By the time I decided I was better off in bed, around 9pm, I
was feverish and had the chills.
Sunday night was truly rotten. I had weird dreams, if they
could even be described as “dreams;” they were more like the strange impressions
you sometimes get (well, Unk does) in that odd space between waking
and sleeping. Long night. At one point, I thought it surely must have been 4am. Nope, the clock said “11:00pm” …sigh.
Next morning, I knew it was time to do a covid test (we’d
got quite a few of the free ones the gubmint was sending out some time back).
After fumbling with the little test-tube and test strip, I waited the prescribed
15 minutes for a result. And, yep, “positive.” I really wasn’t
The good thing? Over the ensuing weeks, I never really
felt that sick. Oh, Sunday and the Monday that followed I was not feeling
great, but after that first night I was able to sleep with the aid of that
wonder drug, Nyquil. I never felt bad enough to think about ringing my physician
(a fellow amateur astronomer). I had a cough,
but my throat was never even scratchy again after that first day.
And, finally, after two long weeks I tested negative. I still have an occasional cough but feel OK. I won't sugar coat it, though: I am tired, real tired, and fuzzy headed and don't feel up to doing anything productive.
Where did I pick up my
case of the plague? Best we can determine, it probably came from the grocery
store. I haven’t been out that much otherwise. As always, I take summer off
from my teaching gig with the physics department here, and even my normally minimalist social life is currently at a low ebb. I do do my weekly foray
to Heroes, but usually sit at the bar on my lonely barstool watching the game.
Takeaways? If you haven’t had the boosters, get them. If you haven’t been vaccinated, for God’s sake, get vaccinated. I had a mild case, undoubtedly thanks to the vaccine, but it was still no fun. Final word? Same as with Harley Quinn’s crew (while I was sick I watched the whole Kaley Cuoco series again):
“Covid 19 ain’t nuthin' to f*&k
See y’all sometime next month, maybe a couple of times next
month, you never know…