I had an awful 24 hours, and I have to admit it. It pretty much sucks.

You can learn from anything, but what I earned from Covid is that I did not want to be coughing almost nonstop for another 24 hours.

There was no moment to be comfortable or feel even slightly human. I wouldn’t blame Maria if she rushed screaming out of the house.

I thought my ribs would crack and ran out of breath and felt nauseous again and again. There are no great lessons besides remembering to remind me of those who had it much worse and died brutal deaths in a country struggling with the idea of community and compassion.

Around noon, the coughing slowed to gagging only once or twice an hour; that significantly improved my disposition. I talked to my nurse practitioner, Amy Aldredge,  by video, and she was, as usual, both empathetic and helpful.

She doesn’t like many medications; she wants to give the body a chance to heal by herself before prescribing expensive and chemical things, and can’t be moved by hacking coughs, or whining.

Since she has always been right through several dramas we navigated together, I do what she says, mumbling later to myself. She’s pretty remarkable.

She did describe Plaxlovid, an antiviral therapy consisting of two different pills packed together in a three-pill dose that lasts a week, twice a day.

It does not, Amy says, cure Covid or make it disappear; it strengthens the immune system so that it doesn’t get worse, especially in cases like mine, a 75-year-old man with heart disease and diabetes.

I told her I was a pitiless mess, a dirty rag just out of the mud. But I know myself, I am getting better. That, she said, is what matters.

According to the life insurance companies, I’m supposed to be dead already, so I’ve already beaten the estimator’s odds. They call plaxovid the Covid “rebound” medication; it’s supposed to help Covid suffers come bounding back. And the symptoms will recur for a while after the pills stop. Oh, Good, something to look forward to.

There is an advantage to having chronic conditions when Covid comes calling. The nurses get on the phone, the doctors call you back quickly, and you get what you want unless you ask Amy for anti-histamines.

I haven’t felt a huge change yet, but my cough was easing up before this new miracle drug and acted up every 15 minutes. I feel like I have some broken ribs again and am starting to breathe normally again.

Bending over is a mistake. Reaching my toes is beyond my imagination.

I haven’t slept in a while, and I’m looking forward to getting to bed early tonight.

I am not in a romantic or spiritual mood. The idea of writing a lot gives me a headache. No chronic illness has ever done that.

Let’s see what these new pills can do. I am still exhausted but not quite the zombie I was yesterday and this morning. I could barely get dressed by myself.

Maria continues to improve every day but is not yet herself.

She is a lot stronger than I am, but not too strong. I feel like Frankenstein, staggering around, tripping over things, and dropping glasses and dishes. Let’s face it; I’m just not much help or able to stand upright much of the time.

I thought my going out to get the mail, a heroic effort,  triggered an hour-long nap. Even the dogs are getting bored with me; I am no fun having or being around.

I’ve taken showers faithfully but can’t get over the idea that I smell bad. Maria says I’m hallucinating. That, too. We each think the other is snapping at us. Sometimes, it’s true.

And I have no decisions to make. The answer is always no; I can’t be out for at least five days, discuss that, or go anywhere. I am off the clock. Everybody is telling me to rest. I’m trying to learn what that is.

I can’t say Covid is much fun or even exciting. It’s kind of monotonically awful’ I’ve used up four boxes of tissues already, but it is liberating. I can’t go anywhere or do anything for a while, which is refreshing, quiet, and contemplative.

The Angels are giving me Convid so that I will rest and reflect on my life and my flaws.

I’m doing that. But I feel that Amy is right, my body is righting for me, and I feel more robust and transparent if I leave it alone.

Tomorrow, I might wake up feeling half-human for the first time in a few days. That will be a delight.

For now, coughing and hacking have come back, and my typing is starting to look like a serial killer’s note or Dyslexia. More later, tonight or tomorrow. Pardon the typos; you’ll miss them when I’m gone.