It’s B-a-a-ack
Covid, that is.
As I write this, I’m on Day 16 of what I think of as “naked Covid.” That is, the virus without treatment from a palliative drug like Paxlovid.
The journey began at a business dinner I attended on Friday, May 5 in Houston, where I spent more than an hour about 28 inches away from my dinner partner as we discussed artificial intelligence.
Clearly we need intelligence of some kind to lead us through this thicket of “post pandemic” life.
He’d flown in from California for a directors’ meeting, and—because he is a responsible person—he tested for Covid on Sunday when he returned home.
Tested positive. And notified the rest of us who had attended that dinner.
To date seven people present that night, including me, have been infected. And we have shared it with at least three others, before we knew we were contagious.
This isn’t “just a cold,” folks.
Nope. Three days of severe headache, nausea, and extreme body aches. Lower backache. Dry cough heading toward wet. Sneezing. Stuffy ears. Because of the nausea, for most of the first week I couldn’t take Tylenol for other miseries.
Long-standing drug sensitivities caused my doctor to decide against giving me Paxlovid, which might have cut the duration in half.
This morning my temperature was 98.6 for the first time and I tested negative (maybe). That “maybe” is because I couldn’t tell whether the second pink line was absent or just very, very, very faint.
If I’m negative tomorrow, I can consider returning to the world, assuming my temp doesn’t rise again.
Although I have been extremely cautious about this virus since it began, I had let down my guard during the last few months. I had stopped masking in indoor locations, although if someone coughed nearby, I would flinch or flee. I suspected those were inadequate protections, but who likes masks? I certainly don’t.
Importantly, though, my dinner companion that Friday night—who already had the virus—exhibited no signs. He didn’t sneeze or cough. He looked perfectly healthy while sharing his hidden illness with the rest of us.
What is a person supposed to do? Could I have continued to avoid this highly uncomfortable experience? How?
Like many of us, I’ve been edging toward a new normality over the past year. When I go to a restaurant, I opt for off times, when they’re not crowded; and for rooms with high ceilings. Good air circulation. If I’m to meet with volunteers, I opt for large rooms, or outdoors. I avoid small churches.
That Friday night dinner, however, was in a small, lowceilinged hotel meeting room. My choice was whether or not to attend. I made the wrong choice.
The experience of our small company confirms, however, that the percentage of Covid illness that results from extended close personal contact in small rooms can be astonishingly high. That’s even more likely when most of the people are flying in from somewhere else.
What can you do other than stay home? Maybe if I’d had my new booster back in February, I wouldn’t have caught Covid. I did ask, but the pharmacy wasn’t giving it, yet.
You can’t even be sure that getting sick will protect you. The current variants are not thought to confer much protection against re-infection.
When I can, I will certainly get the next shot. I had gone three years virus-free by being careful, and getting all the vaccinations allowed. I’ll keep doing it in the future, too.
I wish everyone would.
Readers can contact Hale at bfhale2017@gmail.com.