Not COVID, but no joke
When a person gets a respiratory illness these days, it’s still good news to find out it isn’t COVID-19.
And it’s good these days for me that when I have a respiratory virus, I don’t have a set work/class schedule that I would feel guilty about abandoning while I recover.
As I write this Monday, I’ve been sick for a week: horrible congestion, violent coughing, sleeplessness, constant sneezing, body aches, runny nose, watery eyes, general fatigue.
Even though catching COVID is not as life-threatening as it was a couple years ago, thanks to medical advancements and lesser-virulent strains of the virus circulating, it can still be fatal for someone like yours truly, who is 64 and has suffered from asthma during his life.
When I started feeling like crap on a stick, I took a home COVID test. Since I didn’t trust how I’d applied the test, I did another. Both were negative. That was a relief.
But the symptoms kept getting worse. I would have a couple hours of relative relief, then I would be hit again by a freight train … of mucus. Early in my illness, I made it through a meeting about a part-time tutoring job I’m starting, but just barely.
I wanted to get well soon so I could attend a banquet in the Imperial Valley over the weekend, where my wife was being honored by the local Martin Luther King Jr. Commemorative Committee for her career of service to the community. That was the goal. Unfortunately, the illness had a goal of kicking my butt.
So I went to the local medical walk-in clinic, which is a 30-second walk from my house. The first nurse practitioner I saw was cold, remote and pretty much said I just needed to tough it out for a week or two. She said she could get me some prescription cough syrup if I insisted, but she seemed to think I might want to score some of that Purple Drank so I could go to New Orleans and share it with my homey Lil Wayne. So I passed on the Drank.
I went home with nothing more than a negative flu test, a diagnosis of a bad cold and a recommendation for some good over-the-counter cold/ flu medications. I tried those medications, but my illness only got worse. By Friday, the day we were supposed to drive to the Valley for my wife’s event, I was a zombie – if zombies coughed constantly and half-watched crime TV programs all day.
I stayed home and she went without me, much to my chagrin and embarrassment. I walked back to the walk-in clinic later that day. This time a different NP was more attentive. I flunked COVID and flu tests again, and after she examined me, she said I either had a really bad cold or our latest nasty virus in our virus-plagued world, respiratory syncytial virus, better known as RSV, which could stand for Really Snotty Victims. The NP said tests are done for RSV for people over age 2, so I knew I qualified for the test only emotionally. She prescribed cough-suppressant pills. (Sorry, no Purple Drank again, Wayne.)
When my wife returned on Sunday, we went out to lunch, but that lasted for about 10 minutes before a coughing fit drove me, and my mouthful of spewing Chinese dumplings, out the front door. My wife asked for the meal to be transformed into a to-go. The restaurant staff hastily complied, having seen enough of Gagging Man Who Ruins the Meals of Others.
Still, I think I may be on the slow road to recovery, though nights and mornings are still full of hacking and boogers. I’m functioning at a 70% or so level and starting to try to make up for a lost week.
COVID may be deadly, but RSV, if that’s what I have, is something to sneeze and cough at … for day after day after day.