Fine, but lingering
I suppose a newsletter that started to chronicle the pandemic should have a few more details of what it’s like to actually catch it. It’s been almost a month, and I’m still sick, and I hate it. Chronicle recorded.
I feel fine, but once I start a conversation, or if I don’t sleep enough, or walk too far, suddenly I’m coughing up a lung. If I can never hike again, I will be utterly heartbroken, so I’m trying to stay home, sleep in, skip exercising—all the things I couldn’t do when I first caught the virus in Scotland.
It’s frustrating that if I slip up at all, the cough seems to return. It’s like I’m hovering at 80% recovered. It’s a sneaky disease. When it was most contagious, and just lingering in my throat, it didn’t feel so bad. I tried to do some outdoor activities, and walked to a lighthouse. Walking back, uphill, my lungs felt fine and healthy, although I coughed and spit—but I think with that heavy breathing, the virus fell from my throat to my lungs. The next day, I tried a hike and it felt like drowning. The coughs started coming from my lungs. So yes, I had read my body correctly that the sore throat was almost finished, but here was a new infection from the same disease. From there it hit my stomach, and no doubt from the lungs toured the heart and kidneys.
I tested negative in a week, and somehow Giovanna never got it. (And she said I was silly to sleep in a mask.) But I’m still coughing my lungs up, desperate to know what to do to make it stop. I had a little trouble breathing when I walked to the store the other day. My lungs felt like even if I filled them with air, it wouldn’t fully absorb. The lungs are probably inflamed, like asthma. So my morning walk is now just around the block.
I want to emphasize that my health is good. It’s just that I want to be done with this, and my health seems to be hovering at like 85%. I’m intentionally babying this.
Otherwise, life is great. The peppers got huge while I was gone, thanks to Mike’s care. The house is very quiet, as Robby moved out and Mike has been housesitting. I’m not sure I’ve spent much time in this place alone. I talk to myself, out loud, an old habit from when the chainsaw would drown out whatever I was muttering. Speaking works just fine, until I talk to a neighbor and start coughing through sentences.
