Covid Plus

I had intended today to post a blog more akin to those I used to post. I'd stopped a few months back and only written book reviews because I'd read that a blog post is considered a publication--and if I ever wanted to adapt a blog for publication--and that publication eliminated any submission that had been published--then I could not submit the adapted version.  I have seen, lately, some publications that do NOT consider blog posts publications, so--here goes. 

My intention was to write some, not necessarily sequential, thoughts about COVID.  And I still will but there will be an addendum.  

Regarding COVID:

A pox on the administration that poo poohed this in the early months of 2020, and the neanderthal supporters like the current governor of Arkansas, and present lobotomized governor of South Dakota, and the various sycophants who've boosted the earning of knee pad companies because of how they groveled and grovel in support of the president at that time.

I have been vaccinated and boostered three times. Last week I won the COVID lottery and I had symptoms.  Not benign symptoms.  It was probably no worse than when I have had a bad case of the flu. However, as I have now traveled over seventy times around the track, and also because I am aware as is anyone who has not Rip Van Winkled through the last three years, that people have in fact perished because of COVID, I was more than just a cranky camper.

The doc I saw on Monday predicted, very accurately, what would transpire.  I got better at almost the precise rate as he informed me would be the recovery pace.  I am now two days safe for society if I was ever safe for society in the first place.  The only thing that has lingered is a cough which today has nearly dissipated entirely.

So, my takeaways.  You can get it, even if boostered.  If you get it and are vaccinated you will likely not kick.  I don't know how to be "careful" not to get it.  I have not been "careful" but I don't know if I had been careful if I would have not gotten it. My best guess is that I got it after joining a local Y and using their steam room. That would seem to be a swell place for a virus to hang, but I don't know. Could have gotten it purchasing chicken breasts, baked potatoes, and little chocolate doughnuts that I enjoy snorting.  I could have gotten it knocking back a beer at a sports bar mid afternoon on New Year's eve. Could have gotten it chatting with the mailperson.  Therefore, while I was singing a different tune a week ago today when I could not sing at all having the worst sore throat of my existence, I think today that sequestering yourself is NOT the way to go.  I have enjoyed life, to the extent that I enjoy life, for the past year. Taken trains, gone to ball games, stayed at hotels, gone on airplanes.  I could have NOT done these things and maybe reduced my chances of spending last weekend thinking about my Will, but then I would have missed out on some very good times. The value of staying alive is to have good times, but if you preclude good times because you are concerned with getting the virus, then some good time has  been lost. Look, I am not going back to the Y and and will not spend a half hour shvitzing in the steam bath. And when I use the elliptical I will try to find a bike away from others.  And I will mask up on the train and planes.  But if I'm invited to dinner, I'm going, and will stop off for a beer and a shot on the way home if someone else is driving.

The addendum is a metaphor. I will preface this by writing that I once was a very good athlete. In almost all sports, I picked up the game and could compete with regulars in not much time. However since 2013 I have had a host of injuries that have affected my ability to compete and in some cases undermined claims of athletic prowess. And one of those events/injuries that undermine claims of athleticism happened today.  

We come in through a side door. There, on the inside of the door are a host of shoes in what amounts to a mudroom.  Not technically a mudroom, more like an anteroom that serves as a mud room.  Anyway when we come in from walking we put our wet shoes near the door.  Today, I noticed that no fewer than five of my shoes, five pair, were right there by the doorway--an accident waiting to happen. So I gathered the ten shoes in my hands and went to bring them upstairs and put them where they belong.  There is a banister along the left side of the stairs, but I had no appendage available to grab the banister as my two were otherwise engaged.  I got to the top of the stairs and I had a sensation I've had before when carrying up laundry.  I felt as if I needed to regain my balance because I was leaning backwards. I have to think this has happened thirty times.  Always I regain my balance. Not a big deal.  

This time I did not regain my balance and I fell backwards down the stairs.  I could not grab the banister and felt myself rapidly going backwards.  I slammed into the wall at the base of the stairs that protrudes and contains the light switch. Very hard.  Very hard. I thought I had done serious damage.

I did not. Miraculously after, no doubt, waking all those in the 12453 zip code,  I was able to get up.  Major league pain in my pain but it was a miracle that I did not snap my neck or land on my spine.  Immediately thereafter I was able to move my left hand above my head. (Four hours later not so easy).  I feel blessed.

And there is a metaphor here. How many times in our life do we fall.  This was up there with another for me as the worst.  In both cases, I emerged with relatively minor injuries. We all fall down. Our life, metaphorically, consists of tumbles and bruises no matter how carefully we navigate. I do think there are ways to go up the stairs that allow one to grab a bannister. So there are ways to be careful. I don't ride bikes for example because I think they are, for me at least, not the best mode of transportation or exercise. 

But our life is a tumble, and we catch breaks and make breaks or don't catch breaks or don't make breaks.

Happy new year to all. Seize the day (and the bannister).  A buddy of mine turned 74 on new years day. We--he, I, and others--zoom regularly and I asked him after his birthday how it felt to be 74. The first thing he said to me was "Fuck you." Apparently, the milestone did not bring joy to his heart. Someone else asked why he was so sour. His answer: "How long is the damn runway?"

Fact is we don't know.