Kindness

Before I write about illness, I want to say something about kindness. I wouldn't have got through the last few months of Covid in lockdown without it, and it's still remarkable to me how kind people have been. I feel lucky. Neighbours who I didn't know before who have done my shopping, picked up prescriptions, taken me to the doctor, checked how I was doing. The friend who brought me soup and left it on my doorstep every day, who for weeks brought me meals to reheat because I couldn't stand up for long enough to cook. Friends who came and stood outside the window to talk through the glass when I was twice in isolation. Who have come to visit with gifts from their gardens. Who have sent cards, flowers and food. Who have simply showed up and smiled. My family, who have been there whenever I needed, with support of all sorts. The paramedics and GP who put themselves at risk of infection and came into my home to assess me. The doctor who literally went out of his way to get the right antibiotic, the neighbour who lent  me a new thermometer, the physios running free post-covid recovery online classes. Thank you. I'll have forgotten too many specifics – ah, short term memory loss is one fun feature of this virus – but not the incredible power of human kindness. That'll stick.

Mild

Mild. Even the word sounds gentle, with its soft consonants. Unthreatening. Covid would be mild for most. I hung on to the word. Reassuring, a comfort blanket. Mild is a sniffly cold, a sore tummy, a light haze of headache. That sort of thing.

Don't be fooled. What started out as mild Covid-19 back in March soon escalated for me. Thankfully – and I am so thankful for this – not to hospital admission level. More of that in another post. But Covid mild is not in the same league as even a seasonal flu.

Does mild cover an illness that lasts 102 days – and counting? Having to crawl along the floor to get water because I was too weak to stand? A heart pounding as if I'd been running a 10K, but all I'd done was lie down and breathe? Hallucinations, rashes, blinding headaches, pain all over my body, memory loss, days of sleeping for 12 hours? 

It seems that coronavirus is not simply either mild or severe in the sense that the initial public messaging suggested. There's a version somewhere in-between that causes debilitating symptoms that drag on and on. I have no idea why, nor is there any official medical guidance yet. The government has been slow to address this issue.

Mild, this illness is not. Mysterious, that's the only certainty I have.

100 days of Covid-19

At the start of the year, I was planning a rare trip to Singapore to visit friends this June. 'But I'll wait to book the flights,' I naively said in January, as the country started to impose restrictions. 'I'll just see what happens with this coronavirus thing'. We both thought it would blow over. Of course, we all know what actually happened. And here I am, 100 days after falling ill with suspected Covid-19, still not feeling better but inching forward along the path to recovery. The closest I've got to Singapore is watching Michael Portillo in his pastel outfit touring on TV. Sadly, I've got to know Covid-19 rather better. Another friend suggested blogging about it might be therapeutic. Maybe it'll also be helpful for others who have the virus. Because it turns out this is not simply a seven-day illness for lots of people. Here goes.