It has been two or three weeks since I’ve managed to write and post anything. To all of those who’ve missed my offerings, I apologize… to both of you. I have an excuse though. The dog ate my homework. Uh, umm,  I mean, I’ve been sick.

On Christmas Day we had our son and grandson over for dinner. On Boxing Day we had another son, daughter and son-in-law over for dinner, as we carefully separated the anti-vax portion of the family from the Covid-terrified group. On the following morning, December 27th at 04:30, I awoke with a burning sensation on my throat. Oh shit!

The first thing I did when I got up later that morning was to text my daughter and tell her not to come for breakfast. I do believe I heard tires screaming from the other end of Port Elgin as they decamped for safer ground.

Then I planted myself in my La-Z-Boy and prepared to wait it out. If you have to be sick, it’s a good week for it right? World juniors on TV, lots of hockey to watch. And it’s just a cold. I’ve survived many, many colds in my life. This one comes with a deep harsh cough. My wife listens to it for half the morning and then says, sympathetically “That’s it. I’m sleeping in the spare room”.

Day two – Tuesday. I’m supposed to play hockey this morning, but my throat feels like I’m trying to swallow a piece of barbed wire as I eat my grapefruit. To be honest, I’ve never actually tried to swallow a chunk of barbed wire, so that might be ruled a flight of fancy by those interested only in literal truth. But my goddamn throat really hurts. I’m forced to beg off from my hockey group. Oddly, nobody tries to make me change my mind.

To relieve the minds of those who’ve dined with us recently, I head out to get a Covid PCR test done. Results will be available in four to five days, I’m told. I note with grim dissatisfaction that the test time appears to correspond nicely with the end of the effectiveness period for the anti-viral drugs that have been developed. In other words, by the time we confirm I have Covid, it will be too late to take any effective treatment. Damn Omicron! I’m not really worried though. I had my booster on the 17th, so I seriously doubt that this is Covid. It’s some other nasty little bastard bug.

Day three – I’m still planted in my LA-Z-Boy. The world juniors have been cancelled. The NHL schedule is a guessing game. I’m watching a Harry Potter movie marathon. Honest to God, it got so bad that I PVR’d one of them so I wouldn’t miss out. And that Lord Voldemort – man, he pisses me off!

Meanwhile that little cold has settled in and become something vicious.  I cough and cough and cough some more. I sleep about two hours at a time, and then wake up to cough for a while. Karin, my good wife, is doing her best to look after me. She wonders what I might want to eat. The answer is almost anything as long as I don’t have to do the work. Despite the fact that my throat still feels like raw hamburger (another untested flight of fancy), I haven’t lost my appetite. When I lose my appetite, you should probably call my family and tell them that the end is near.

I’m probably packing on weight like a prime porker. The fact that the counters are laden with Christmas cookies and chocolates which I can use as comfort foods doesn’t help. Nothing tastes really great, but meals and snacks break up the day nicely, and lots of tea and coffee seems to help.

Day five – I actually slept decently well last night, and the persistent low level headache and muscle aches seem to have disappeared. I think I’m feeling better! I’ve turned the corner! I’m getting better!

Day six – Jokes on me! I’m not feeling better. Who was I kidding? I spent most of last night wide awake and begging for sleep. Every time I started to drift off, I started another round of coughing and woke myself up again. I look in the mirror this morning and I nearly call the cops. Staring back at me is a pasty-faced criminal visage, grey hair falling limp and dank across my forehead, my sparse facial hair grown grizzly, and deep, dark hollows under my eyes. The only good news is that the bags under my eyes, large enough to pack lunch in, are shaped perfectly Nike swooshes. Yes, I think. Just do it!

Day seven – My Covid results are in, and they’re negative. My throat is still very sore, and it occurs to me that this is very unusual. It’s normal for me to have a sore throat for the first day or two of a cold, and then it goes away and the cold either settles deep in my chest for a bout of bronchitis, or it turns into the dripping runny nose sniffles (or sometimes both). But normally the sore throat doesn’t really last much past the incubation stage. And with that realization, I diagnose a very throat specific problem. This is strep throat. Why didn’t I think of that before?

I go to the hospital seeking confirmation of my diagnosis of strep throat. I really, really, want it to be strep throat. If it’s strep throat, you get a round of antibiotics and they cure you. But no, the doctor says it’s just a virus. “The normal trajectory for virus infection is that it will last two to six weeks” he informs me. Six weeks? Six weeks?!!! I’ve already watched all the freakin’ Harry Potter movies. What am I supposed to do for another five weeks? Thank God the NFL has a full spate of games for Sunday.

Twenty years ago, Dr. Von Heymann would prescribe antibiotics for my frequent bouts of bronchitis. “It starts as a virus” he said, “but it sets up a condition where bacteria flourish”. And you know what? Virus or not, those antibiotics worked. He’d also prescribe a codeine-based cough syrup. I only ever took it at bed-time because I couldn’t risk acting any dopier than normal during daytime hours. But because of that codeine syrup, I would sleep soundly, and I think that helped. I’m not saying that the medical experts are wrong. I understand that over-use of antibiotics has created super-bugs and we don’t want to make any more of them. And yes, there’s an opioid epidemic, and doctors are going to be cautious about prescribing stuff like that. But you know what? It was better being sick back in the day.

Day eight is a lot of TV and reading on my iPad and doing killer Sudokus. My eyes are a little sore and watering when I put my electronic devices down and head to bed after taking some Neocitran to help me sleep.

Day nine, Tuesday – I have slept reasonably soundly, and I wake up and open my eye. Singular. Only one eye opens. My left eye receives the invitation to join us and enjoy the daylight, but it refuses. It’s stuck closed with a gooey yellow crust in the eye-lids. Great! Just what I wanted. Pink-eye!

Day ten – I call Telehealth Ontario to ask whether there’s any point on seeing a doctor about the conjunctivitis. If they conclude it’s a virus, they’re not going to prescribe anything, are they? I’m informed that call volume is exceptionally high and I’m invited to leave a call-back number, which I do. We’re in the middle of a pandemic, and cases are shooting through the roof. I’m not surprised that the health system is over-burdened and I take the lack of consultation with patience and understanding. F*#**!

Day twelve – Friday. My eye is clearing up. My throat doesn’t hurt much. I’m getting better. Still got that cough though. Hard pounding, relentless coughing that makes my head ache. 

Day 13 – Saturday – Telehealth Ontario calls back, but I miss the call. The pink eye is gone anyway, so I don’t bother to call them back.

Today is day 18, I think. I have decent energy, and my throat doesn’t hurt. I still have a bit of a cough, but then I always have a chronic cough and it’s settling down. I think we’re done. I’ve survived again. Never a moment’s doubt.  What have I learned? I’ve learned, to my bitter disappointment, that Neocitran is a better producer of sleep than Scotch. I’ve learned that Covid is not the only virus in our universe. And I’ve learned that Snape killed Dumbledore but somehow is still a good guy. I don’t get that last part really – I still think he was a slimy piece of crap.