My Coronavirus Diary.

The first 12 hours: The itchy and scratchy show

It started with the simplest of symptoms: an ever so slightly scratchy throat. The kind you get after a good night’s sleep in your own bed (a bit of open-mouth breathing, anyone?). Or that perennial hayfeverish itchiness that we Perthonians know well. Who knew that Covid was hiding slyly amongst these all-too familiar red herrings?

I’d returned from interstate the day prior. I promptly and diligently undertook my government-manded RAT upon arrival: a distinct negative, which came as no surprise because I had zero symptoms, not even a whisper of a one.

But then the sniffly nose entered the scene. And was that a bit of pressure forming behind my eyes? Maybe, probably and almost certainly. I’d spent time with two close family members with “cold or flu-like” symptoms: one, who’d had the ’rona earlier this year, returned a negative RAT, and the other a negative PCR, so we confidently determined it to be a common cold (remember those?). Clearly I, too, was developing said common cold.

So I took another RAT to be sure: negative, which was reassuringly positive at the time.

The second 24 hours: I’ve got chills…and they’re multiplying

And then it hit. Chills chillier than Patagonia on a bad day. My teeth were chattering involuntarily. Nothing – not a thing – could warm me. Suffocation became a real risk, not due to breathing challenges, but due to the weight of a doona, two duvets and two blankets. And. Still. So. Cold. Too. Cold. Unbearably so. “Do I call for an ambulance?” was on high rotation in my brain.

Somehow, logic kicked in and I knew I needed Panadol. The major problem was that I was in my bedroom and they were in my bathroom. It took all my mental strength to force myself out of bed to get them.

I’ve lost the sense of time by now – like those delirious in-flight moments where you’re somewhere in or between a myriad of timezones and you realise that time genuinely is an abstract concept. The difference being that you feel time is running out – is my will up to date, for instance? I mean, how is it actually possible to go from being fit and healthy one moment to drowning under a wave of viral toxins?

And, please help me because I am still so, so cold.

And the next 12 hours: Give me fever

As they say, be careful what you wish for: the burning started … and it would not stop. My body was drenched in sweat, my pyjamas were sodden and my bedlinen soaked. With a fever hotter than Hades, I was burning up.

I needed water, yet had no energy to get up and refill my glass. Again, somehow logic kicked in and I forced myself out of my burning bed. I don’t know how much water I drank, but it wasn’t enough to ease the fever.

Day three: I will survive!

Ba-bing! And here we are: a whole new day. No chills, no fever. Was all this just a dream? A nightmare?

I sprung out of bed. My first instinct – ahead, even, of making a coffee – was to wash my sheets, which I did with alacrity.

I’m alive. I survived. All I have as mementoes of these last few hours (or was it days?) is a sore throat and a blocked nose; oh, and a slight cough. I’m looking sideways – has anyone else noticed I dodged a bullet?

The euphoria is just what I needed.

The brain fog less so: the confused and confounding emails, the overthinking of puffballs, the complete inability to know what day of the week it is and – when remembered – to shrug with insouciance because, like, so what does that matter anyway given that, yes indeed, I survived.

Day four: The (wo)man who fell to earth

It hit with a thud: me landing in reality. I’m sick, quite sick. I could barely sleep last night, although the upside was in becoming acutely familiar with the route from bedside to toilet-side. I suppose an upset tummy was always going to feature somewhere after three days of violent upheaval in one’s body.

And work. I’m one of the fortunate ones: awesome employer, great manager, fabulous colleagues. But, sheesh, how long can you really take away from your desk? The answer is as long as you need. Again, I’m one of the fortunate ones, I know.

This was not a productive day. I wanted to cry – and cry I did.

Days five and six: All by myself

I’ve always been a list-writer and a list-adherer.

I’m feeling well in the kind of “soldier on” sort of way: if I’d popped a cold and flu tab, I’d be buzzing. It’s a long weekend and I am still in iso. Buzzing is not the vibe I’m going for.

So I do what I do best – write that list, then move through it one valiant and triumphant tick at a time.

Those household chores I’d been putting off for years stood no chance against my iron will. Done, done and dusted.

Two days of motoring through a to-do list all by yourself is somehow deeply rewarding at this point. At any point, really.

And I ask myself if I ever want this to end. The answer, of course, is “Yes, please and soon” – there’s only so much homehandiness one can take.

Day seven: I want to break free

I’ve had enough now, thanks. Is my throat more sore? More scratchy? But wait, I don’t have a cough. Although my nose is still a little bit blocked, it’s not runny.

My symptoms tracker is of little use once I realise that it’s all subjective. A few days ago I was elated, yet today the glacial pace of my improvement is somehow getting me down.

I wonder what I could do to expedite my recovery. Googling only adds to the confusion and helplessness. Laptop open and touch-typing skills at the ready, I launch a thousand shopping websites and add a better life to my cart stat.

Day eight: I’m coming out

My first port was the ocean. Sunshine, salt water and a walk on the sand. Nothing seems quite as revitalising as a swim in the cool ocean to clear the slightly persistent blocked nose and sore throat (will this ever end, I ask myself).

This was a scary time: that the impacts of covid came on so suddenly and seriously still frightens me.

Of course, I know I’m one of the lucky ones. I live in a country with a robust health system, free and freely-available vaccines and testing, and reliable information and communications flow. My personal situation meant that my home was a sanctuary in which I could isolate and recover, nurtured by family and friends, albeit from a safe distance. And my employer is both understanding and supportive.

I have a lot for which I am grateful. Most of all, I’m grateful for the power of medical science – I have every confidence that the vaccines were life-changing for me, and perhaps even life-saving.

#coronavirus #vaccinessavelifes #covid19 #gratitude