Testing 1...2...3

It was inevitable, I suppose.

The dreaded disease called Covid-19 has finally oozed its way through the compromised strongholds of my humble dwellings. Up until now, I’ve managed to deftly skirt the much ballyhooed and spurious assassin with relative ease…nary a sniffle since its nefarious inception. Ah, but on this day, evil was afoot. I could sense it….a dreadful ominous feeling….a portent of the coming storm.

Prior to this I’ve had my ass totally kicked by sickly unwelcome party crashers on 2 separate occasions. One where I wanted to die. The other where I thought I died. The former being an uninvited and utterly despicable flu bug that pummeled me into a bed-ridden lifeless lump of chalky ground chuck for a solid 10 day stretch. The latter - while sporting a 105 degree temperature - rendered me a bit tipsy, i.e. totally unconscious, albeit for just a few seconds, while I was doing my best impersonation of a 2 week old flacid piece of celery at the edge of the bed. Interestingly - but not surprisingly, given the current enlightenment - my medically trained wife was back on the phone with the doctor in charge of “my care” who has up to this point been stating quite emphatically: “It’s just a virus. He’ll get through it.” My wife - being far more astute than I and certainly more coherent at this juncture - insisted that she was full of doo-doo….BS, as it were. For all intents and purposes she demanded an in-person evaluation of yours truly. Lucky for me. Long story short, turns out that I had pneumonia AND an adorable case of sepsis to boot. Needless to say, I’m still relatively vertical, but no thanks to the medical establishment. Moving on….

By this point - a couple of days into this latest sticky wicket - I’m achy from head to toe, violently hacking up nebulous globs of brackish mucus and in the throngs of a sore throat of MAMMOTH proportions. I couldn’t/didn’t eat for days. Even the tiniest sip of water was torment. I lost 11 pounds in 3 days. Seriously….this was bad.

I managed a telehealth appointment with my doc, but unfortunately he was not available, so I was left to tangle with one of the resident nurse practitioners who have never been of much benefit to me. I’ll spare you the details.

I managed to lift my tattered, frazzled voice just enough to briefly clarify my symptoms to the nurse. She replied rather sheepishly:

“Do you want to get tested?”

I, being “The Perpetual Wiseass That Never Sleeps”, responded with: “Tested for what?”

“Covid,” she replied. “most people experiencing sore throats test positive for Covid.”

I politely declined. (What difference is it going to make?)

I opined that my sore throat was so severe that I hadn’t eaten for days, but judging from her blank stare this didn’t seem to move her in the least. She wasn’t keen on treating me with any meds at this point, but after some prodding, she begrudgingly capitulated and prescribed a Z-Pac…probably to shut me up, if nothing else.

As the Z-Pac was doing its thing, my wife asked me if I wanted her to pick up a Covid test at the grocery store. I gave her the obligatory side-eye and surely dropped an expletive deletive or two (I can never be sure or be held accountable for anything said or done during these brief “white-out moments”), but eventually thought: “What the hell? It’s cheap and it would be interesting to see the result.” So, sure…I got the stupid test and to no surprise the beast rang up positive….and in record time. My fate was sealed almost immediately. BOOM! I’m sure I could have stuck the thing in a Crenshaw melon and got the same result, but I digress.

Sadly, the bugaboos responsible for my sore throat were succeeding in their relentless pursuit of its ultimate target…my abject misery. Every pain medication in my possession might have just as well been Tic Tacs or Jolly Ranchers. I reached out to the nurse to inform her of the positive test and, more importantly, the incessant despotic razor wired sore throat, but she declined to prescribe stronger pain killers. (Thanks Sunshine, I’ll remember you at Christmas.) She did, however call in a new prescription for me: Paxlovid.

Paxlovid….let’s see: Oh goody….it’s FDA approved! “If taken within 5 days of symptoms, Paxlovid reduced the risk of severe Covid-19 by 86%.” Nice….86%, you say? Where have I heard such confident and glowing statistics before?…. Oh that’s right:

Okay…how many bullshit balloons were gloriously lifted into the air via this steaming pantload? How many can you spot?

Pantload #2: “The Speed of Science”

Well, dang it…..which is it?!

Regardless, I was sorely disappointed that my highly trained professional caregiver didn’t make me aware of the potential side effects of said wonder drug. As much as I wanted to respond back with: “Can you prescribe anything less risky……like, maybe a napalm smoothie?” I thought better of it.

So, there it sits….on the pharmacy shelf, no doubt numbered, tracked and monitored by CDC sniffers and Pfizer operatives. Heads will roll. It’s been nice knowing you.