It got us in the end

I am definitely on the mend because this morning I was composing a blog post in my head, even before I switched on the light.

Dave did not have flu, he had Covid. And he gave it to me. After 2 years and 9 months of being careful and avoiding it, wearing masks long after most other people had given up, and even with both of us vaccinated up to the eyeballs, it got us in the end. And it’s ironic that it was Dave the recluse who brought it home, though it really was not his fault.

He is better now and looking after me.

Some friends have told me breezily since vaccination arrived - “Oh, it’s just like having a bad cold” but that’s not what it’s been like at Hepworth Towers.  Neither of us can remember feeling as awful. Perhaps this latest strain is particularly nasty.

The first sleepless night it felt as though I had two brains - one if I turned on my left side and one for my right side; the second sleepless night it felt as though my throat which had been stuffed full of razor blades in the day time was now in danger of closing up altogether. Dave said he was lying awake at the same stage planning to get a plastic tube from the shed and shoving it down his throat as a DIY tracheotomy.

It feels unseemly to complain about how horrid it has been when so many people are in the middle of a winter of privation, but I have found it very comforting to tell Dave precisely how I’m feeling and for him to understand and sympathise. And to have our three ‘children’ ring up and listen to complaints and be sympathetic has also been a solace. Reciting symptoms and complaining is not in the least bit admirable. But you know me.

Dave and story have got me through. A Quaker friend, an emeritus professor of HRD, told me that when he was ill and unable to sleep he would read my books. My story solution has been watching reruns of Downton Abbey on my iPad in bed. I have now watched so many that I hate Lady Mary even more than I did originally, I am wondering what on earth Anna saw in Bates (still - la coeur a ses raisons que la raison ne connait pas)

 

and I am even sick of the Downton Abbey incidental music - the dark scenes and the hopeful. Most of all though, I am sick of the fact that no one ever laughs.

Yesterday I was sick of everything - I even turned over my beautiful pandemic patchwork quilt because I couldn’t stand the bright colours. 🙄🙄🙄

But last night I ate a proper tea, and then I had a good night's sleep, so although my head is still full of snot and I am very deaf because of it, I might get up and get dressed and see if I can paint.

That French quote above made me get out my copy of Men Women and Dogs by James Thurber and leafing through the cartoons has made me laugh. I should remember this and get it off the shelf the next time I’m ill. Here for your enjoyment are a few more. Please forgive the quality of the images: the paper in the book is thin and cartoons show through from the other side.

If those don't amuse you, try this Gary Larsson one my brother sent me this week:

Onward and upward. Perhaps by Monday I will feel strong enough to think about  the tree.

p.s.  if you find out about my new blog posts on Twitter, you need to now I may soon be moving to Mastodon. I will keep you informed.