Mondays with Mike: My COVID-19 diary, part 2

Two days ago, I walked a mile. Without falling. Or wheezing. Yahoo!

Luna picked a tough time for her first job.

I did get a little dizzy early on, but took baby steps and pushed through it. The dizzy spells have been the most troubling leftovers from my time with COVID-19. No, that’s not true. The fatigue has been the worst. I tell Beth that the first thing I want to do when I wake up in the morning is go to sleep. The headaches and nausea spells have almost completely subsided. I finally have my appetite back. The foggy brain comes and goes, but it’s kind of terrifying when it comes. I’m told that’s OK, that if I know I’m foggy brained, that’s a good sign.

When I was 30, I smoked a pack of cigarettes a day and was under a lot of stress for a variety of reasons. I got the flu, which morphed into pneumonia, a case serious enough that back then in 1987, I started getting questions about my drug use and sex life. I had a temperature of 104 for three days, and the menu of antibiotics just bounced off me. Then one day, it broke. In all I was in the hospital seven days. Gus was a year old, and family members had, thank goodness, come down to help. It took some time to get back to speed.

This COVID 19 episode was worse. Much worse.

Reports from friends who also have had the virus, along with news pieces I’ve read, indicate that my long road back to wholeness is relatively common. But the menu of misery visited on the infected takes a demonic variety of forms.

Also clear is that we still don’t really know a lot about the virus, the likelihood of it mutating, if (likely) and how long (who knows?) I’ll have any immunity.

I’ve applied to be a plasma donor—scientists are experimenting with infusions of blood that have antibodies in sick people, plus they want blood from people who’ve been infected to study in general. Waiting to hear if I make the grade.

I’m also going to donate what money and time I can to critical political races.

If the verdict on immunity is I likely have it, I’ll be working the polls come November.

Meantime, I have a lot to live for. Being cooped up with Beth has been a joy after being cooped up in the hospital. We watch TCM and Two-and-a-Half-Men reruns and Trevor Noah and last night “Last Dance,” which was a helluva a lot of fun. I cooked for the first time in weeks and remembered why I love it. After years of not having a drop of any kind of soda, I’m ingesting full-sugar Coke like it’s…coke. (Don’t tell the president–he’ll start touting it as a cure.) There’s a 7-11 downstairs when I run out, and I have a lot of masks and gloves. Printers Row Wine Shop is open! And if smarter heads do prevail, we’ll eventually be able to visit our son Gus in his group home again, safely.

Most of all, I’m gonna live healthy. (Well, mostly.) I’ve got a lot to do.