Five, maybe six, even eight,  things happened this afternoon to snap me out of my Covid torpor and stop the coughing.

First, I put on a pair of shorts for the first time in decades.

I have this notion that old men should not wear shorts in public, but I thought it was okay inside the house when I was sick. It felt better than those denim pants I’ve been wearing this hot summer. I still won’t wear the shorts outdoors, but I really like wearing them inside.

I finally beat down that Covid cough that has been tormenting me for days.

Honestly, Open Heart Surgery was easier than this; I was home and working after three days. No coughing.

I started taking the anti-viral drug Plaxlovid I was prescribed Monday and went to war against the virus; I could feel the battle in my guts. Five more days of it.

I went rogue and concocted a cocktail mix of my own: Tussin for Diabetics, NyQuil, Mucinex DM, Raw Honey, and Licorice Tea with Honey. (No need to share this with my primary caregiver.) Together, they did the job. I dried up and stopped coughing and sneezing.

Then, I said goodbye to the spirit or ghost of Edgar Allen Poe, who visited me last night during a bout of dementia, and we talked poetry and misery. I thanked him for his service and waved goodbye. Stay in touch, I said, as he melted away. Nice guy but a bit of a downer.

I was still in a bit of a fog when I got this message on my from Pauline, who scolded me for teaching my meditation class at the Mansion while I might have been contagious.  She accused me of being selfish. I’ve been writing online for decades, but the meanness and stupidity of people can still rile me up, and today, that was a good thing.

I’m sorry I called her an asshole with a computer, but I stopped coughing immediately. Who does she think cared for those poor people during the pandemic, the Tooth Fairy? There is a warped gene inside of me that has always loved battling trolls, even before they were called trolls.

 

We always called them assholes, but that seemed crude, and it is.

Pauline wrote me this note: “I sure hope you didn’t infect the people at the Mansion. You were contagious last time you went there. Why are you like this? So self-centered.”

Calling Pauline names perked me right up and lifted my spirits, along with my antihistamine cocktail.

But thinking of all those nurses and caregivers who risked their lives to help during the pandemic pissed me off about Pauline’s loopy and unusually ignorant message, even by the very low standards of social media.  I stopped coughing, I owe her something for that.

The coughing was so severe I threw up several times, and every time I take a breath my ribs scream out.

Maria and I have eaten nothing but soup for days. Eat light, said the nurse practitioner, my body has enough to do without digesting heavy food. I couldn’t eat more if I tried. Mostly, lentil soup with beans.

I went for a short walk. When I went outside, a beautiful butterfly awaited me in the garden. She seemed to be waiting for me, inviting me to come along while she searched for pollen. We have plenty of that.

And I stood and watched while she went from flower to flower, soaking up the pollen in our garden. She was close and didn’t mind me pointing the camera at her, and I was fascinated and got the shot I wanted.

Something about this butterfly lifted me up and got the juices flowing.

The coughing got much worse when I lay down, and so I slept downstairs last night in a living room chair, Maria slept next to me on the sofa.

The thing about my cocktail is that it dehydrates me for hours; I just dry up. So I have to drink even more fluids to stay healthy. It’s a Catch-22, in some ways. But I couldn’t stand the doughing anymore.

She wouldn’t sleep upstairs without me. It was a long, wild night and that’s when Edgar All Poe showed up and my head was full of fireworks and sparks, and things got wild in my head. It was the cocktail, I’m sure, along with Covid.

Once in a while, I get a close look inside my head; it is not a pretty sight. But there was a lot of color and light last night, and I thank the flowers for that.

When the butterfly flew away, I got a beautiful photograph of a begonia, and I felt things were beginning to turn my way. I’m told I’m not out of the woods yet. Maria and I are taking turns being exhausted and sleeping half the day, like the older barn cats.

But with the coughing gone, I feel I’m definitely turning a corner. I’m getting the itch to write again and to take pictures. I haven’t used the Leicas in several days and I miss them. Thanks again for the nice notes and the support.

Someone on the blog called Pauline a bitch; thanks, friend. Sometimes, I guess, I just have to be an asshole.