San Antonio Express-News (Sunday)
In this time, COVID and fear can tag anyone
Last Saturday morning, a childhood friend who I’d exchanged texts with a day earlier died unexpectedly. She’d had a cough for a few days, and within hours of her passing, there was speculation the cause was the coronavirus.
But the autopsy revealed she had a blood clot in her leg that went to her heart.
News of death arrives with COVID-19 lurking in the shadows, waiting to be dismissed or indicted as responsible. A cough or fever is no longer the minor concern of a cold but a legitimate fear of the virus.
Coughs in public, masked or foolishly unmasked, earn quick glances.
Because it affects people differently and the tests for it aren’t always reliable, COVID-19 is insidious in the way it works its way into our bodies and our psyches. It’s playing a game of tag with us, but many of us don’t know if we’re “it.”
In early May, fatigue began weighing down on me. Soon, all I could do for two weeks was lie down.
During that time, I had no appetite, was dizzy, my fingers and toes were stiff and sore, and I didn’t want to get up or turn over because of the pain in my arms and legs.
Editorial Page Editor Josh Brodesky suggested first what was on other minds, including mine: “I think you’ve got coronavirus.”
I didn’t have breathing problems, coughs, a sore throat or a fever. But what I felt is something unlike anything I’ve experienced.
During the two most intense weeks, the fatigue felt like a slab of heavy metal. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I could have better slept. I slept more than usual but, mostly, the fatigue kept me awake so I could fully appreciate its power.
I didn’t run a fever, but my mind was feverish and noisy with a cacophony of sounds and fastshifting kaleidoscope of images.
The two most distinct and recurring images were bizarre.
Repeatedly, I saw San Antonio Spurs guard Rod Strickland throw his infamous behind-thehead pass in Game 7 of the 1990 Western Conference semifinals against the Portland Trailblazers. The score was tied with seconds left, and Strickland’s turnover led to Portland winning the game and series.
Like most Spurs fans who have banished that play from our memories, I hadn’t thought of it in decades, but now I was seeing it on a loop.
Also strange was that out of a din of voices, there was one I clearly identified. That of U.S. Sen. Tim Kaine.
Recognizing the voice of the good senator from Virginia is nerdish, but what’s disappointing is that when I needed a voice to calm me — Barack Obama giving an uplifting speech or Alicia Keys singing anything — it was the voice of Tim Kaine that emerged.
For two weeks I didn’t read, write, watch TV or listen to music. I missed two consecutive columns.
Because I rarely get sick and never had the flu, I didn’t take what I was going through as seriously as I should have. Worried family and friends sent more calls and texts than I could handle. People like Josh and his children, and Carmen Tafolla left care packages on the porch, and another friend sent an oximeter to measure my oxygen level.
Normal oxygen levels should be 94 to 100. Mine was consistently 88 to 94, but when people called to see what it was, I told them it was around 95.
Express-News Publisher Mark Medici called and pleaded with me to go to the emergency room, volunteering to send an ambulance to my house. He was persuasive and, without saying so at the time, knew I wasn’t being honest about the oximeter readings. But I resisted.
A COVID-19 test I’d taken came back negative. The next day, I went to see my doctor. A blood test showed something had gotten into me since my April 27 physical and was going after my thyroid system. A subsequent test showed I had Cytomegalovirus. Mononucleosis.
One morning I awoke, realizing my fingers and toes no longer hurt. The next day, I didn’t have to lie down. It would be a few more days before I could concentrate enough to read, a little longer before I could write.
I still have fatigue and vertigo. I don’t assume I had COVID-19. I have friends who did with nightmarish experiences.
Not assuming I had it keeps me vigilant at home, masked when I must leave, and mindful that COVID-19 can tag anyone to be “it.”