You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone, sang Joni Mitchell. And right now I am hoping that will be the case.
Hoping that when Covid-19 testing eventually filters down to the masses, my current concerns will prove justified.
That I was not giving in to hypochondria.
That tests provide late confirmation of what I fear is happening as I dutifully languish in self-isolation.
And, more importantly, from an admittedly selfish point of view, that I am still around to enjoy the moment.
‘See, told you so,’ I hear the body gleefully saying. ‘It was the Covid virus, not the flu.’
‘And I did listen to you,’ I snap back.
‘But you took your time,’ says body. ‘Kept going out for your daily run.’
‘The experts said exercise is good for you.’
‘Within reason, but not when you’ve almost stopped eating, your throat is sore and you’ve even given up your caffeine habit.’
Body was right. Always is. But sometimes it’s not easy to accept what he’s saying.
And that’s what was happening. I knew things weren’t right.
Checking the symptons and signs to look out for tended to be more confusing than helpful.
It is as if I have morphed into someone else; a listless, low-energy blob. A slightly sore throat (no coughing) and zero appetite. Not drinking and strange random aches certainly not caused by physical activity.
The solution (let’s hope it proves to be so) has been enforced sweating. Expelling any nasties.
Each night I slather chest and back in Vicks, turn the electric blanket up high, add a second duvet, wear an extra layer or two and slide deep under the covers.
When I wake five or six hours later I am lying in a veritable pool of water, everything around me is soaked. Hopefully, any fever has been washed away on a tide of sweat.
I certainly feel no worse and am ready to face another day, even thinking (but wisely rejecting, says the body) thoughts of at least a jog.
And so the enemy has been repelled – at least for now. I may be “high risk” but I ain’t beaten yet.
Can hardly wait to have a test to see whether I have been over-reacting, giving in to a case of hypochondria, or really been battling the rightly dreaded Covid-19.
‘You’ll be fine,’ whispers the body. ‘I’m on your side.
JUST IN CASE: A Do Not Resuscitate form has been downloaded and signed. No point in wasting resources on an old bag of bones when there are many far younger and needier to be saved.