In the not-too-distant past, I took a bucket of Covid square in the face and, like so many others, I was a tad ill. Fortunately, it happened during the vaccine rollout, and I’d already had my first shot. However, complications arose, leading to my very first ambulance ride – with blue lights flashing and everything.

In the early days of the outbreak, before words like epidemic, pandemic or even outbreak, dominated every screen and news channel, the atmosphere within my life bubble felt surreal. There were too many unknowns, and even the known unknowns were not very reliable.

It’ll never reach the UK. Governments plan for this sort of thing. They’ve got to close the ports now, right? How many dead? They’re storeing bodies in trucks? So it’s not like the flu? It’s worse than the flu? How does a fictional nightmare escape into the real world? What if it gets here? What if the country shuts down? What if there’s no cure?

Despite having read a lot of apocalypse books. I never thought I’d witness it happen. Those around me were equally stunned at this unstoppable and unrelenting virus that swept across continents leaving death and misery in its wake.

The Tesco Glance

In that moment, at home, when I boldly stated we needed to hit the local supermarket and stock up on stuff, I felt a strange sense of detachment. Had I uttered those words? Were we genuinely setting out on a stockpiling expedition? Where does the line between paranoia and preparedness become blurred? What if the shops emptied, leaving us hungry? We’d soon be thinking yeah, we should’ve gone to Tesco.

Just before the world ran out of toilet paper, hand cleanser and face masks, we hurried up and down the aisles in our local Tesco, feeling a little foolish at raising our t-shirts to cover the nose and mouth. We tried to act calm and chilled, this is our weekly shop, no big deal, no worries, everything’s fine. It wasn’t busy, but there was an atmosphere. Unpleasant. Edgy. Other shoppers appeared to have reached the same conclusion – we need to do this now because tomorrow the shelves will be empty. Indeed, within days there were aisles devoid of toilet tissue across the UK.

I passed by a guy in a green jacket and jeans. He carried a basket. He clocked my trolley. The silent exchange between our eyes conveyed more than words.

You’re here because…?

Yeah, scary huh?

Very. Think I need to get a trolley.

Good idea. Good luck.

You too.

A faint nod and we parted ways. One or both of us could soon be in serious trouble. Those intense five seconds of silent communication were terrifying. It’s funny what our brains choose to remember.

Furlough & Silence

People I worked with voiced concerns about how the retail sector could keep functioning. What if there’s more staff off ill than able to work? What if customers stay away for fear of catching Covid? A lot of us were furloughed. Being diabetic I had an increased chance of complications if I caught the virus.

So I stayed home. I watched the news. I played video games. Read a lot. At first it was like an impromptu holiday – no work, plenty of stuff to do at home, make the most of the time given. I started learning British Sign Language. I know my alphabet and a few signs; hello, thanks, yes, and guinea pig food (thanks to Mr Tumble). I still practice my alphabet but not much else. I should really get back into that.

Soon the days began to blend together. I hadn’t set any framework to keep myself occupied and winged it from day to day. Looking back, what I found the most unnerving was the silence in the street outside. I live on a main route, always busy with traffic, and suddenly it was empty. No cars. No cyclists. No people. It didn’t take much imagination to ponder if everyone was gone, with just us left.

Then the NHS clapping began. That was nice. Every evening people would stand at their front doors and clap and cheer in support and celebration for every brave nurse and doctor up against extreme circumstances. I heard it gave them a bit of a boost, knowing they were appreciated. At the same time it seemed like a self-soothing exercise, those isolated at home hearing the sound of other people in the neighbourhood, reminding one another they weren’t alone.

Shots & Masks

When the vaccine came I queued like all good Brits and got my shots. Felt a bit ick for a day or two after. Furlough ended. I masked up and went back to work. Most of the public were wary. Some were stupid with it – getting too close on purpose just to get a rise out of others. Or they refused to wear masks for religious or medical reasons, or wore them only to protect their chins. Maybe humans should step aside, let another smart species have a go, dolphins maybe, or crows. Or fungus.

As history shows, the world moved on and normality levels increased. Maybe not entirely to the standard normal model, but like so many seem to enjoy saying; “hey man I guess this is the new normal.” Do people still say that? I’m sure some on TikTok were saying that at one point.

And so, after all the panic, fear and unprecedented upheaval, toilet paper returned to the shelves, and we could load up with as much hand sanitizer as we could drink. You know, that stuff is effective against 99.9% of all germs. We could have just had a shotglass of that stuff right at the start, problem solved, right? Just kidding. We all know that injecting bleach would have been the way to go, right Don? Muppet.

A couple of people at work had Covid, and said it was akin to a severe bout of flu – left them in bed for days, snotty, aching, headache, no taste, no energy. I was glad I never got it. Throughout the pandemic I was reminded of the time I had a serious chest infection around Christmas 2015. That was awful. I became a shuffling, wheezing zombie. I wrote about it, click this thing to check it out – My Zombie Christmas.

That Sideways Feeling

One day near the end of a cold and miserable March 2022 something crept up on me. I didn’t have a cold exactly, but knew it was in the post. I recognised the signs. You feel slightly off-centre, your focus shifts, like a TV channel in the old days where the signal isn’t very strong and there’s static fuzzing over your favourite show.

Oh man. that sideways feeling had arrived.

I was reasonably sure it wasn’t Covid. I’d escaped it. The whole thing had come and gone. It was all in the past where it belonged. But still, out came the testing kit. I jabbed the spongy stick at the back of my throat until I gagged, then shoved it up my hooter to make my brain itch. I put the thing in the other thing, swished it around and dropped some mucusy liquid on the testing strip. And then I waited, feeling sideways.

There it was. 2 lines. Stupid parasitic Covid had hitched a ride on my immune system. Wonderful. Isn’t that just spit on your neck fantastic! Juuuuuust great. Thanks Covid, you dirty little barstud.

I don’t remember why I was off work only for a few days. Maybe I didn’t feel ill enough to stay in bed and thought I could cope with it being just a bad cold. After all, the rules had changed, and workplaces were to treat it like a normal cold – no need for that ten-day isolation period. Pop some pills, put on a brave smile and head back down the mine.

I remember regretting it on my first day back. Halfway through the day and things began to slide and then shoot down the shitter. Fast. Mr Covid and his family of arseholes were merely settling in, making themselves at home, preparing to explore.

My appetite had vanished, replaced by a thug kicking the inside of my skull. Then a weird restless lethargy set in. I was thirsty but could only sip water, anything more would make me retch. I wheezed and coughed a lot. It was as if two or three or maybe even eighteen zombie Christmas’s had all come at once. Stupidly I forgot the Sick Day Rules for diabetics and didn’t take my medication.

I couldn’t even talk in complete sentences. What a dick.

Over the next three to four days things got worse. Someone nearby asked if I wanted an ambulance. No. I’m fine. It’ll pass. It’s just Covid. I’ll probably feel a bit better tomorrow. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully. But then doubts crept in. What if I didn’t get better? What if things got worse? What if, despite having the vaccine and boosters, the virus ignored all that and ate me alive anyway?

The following afternoon, still no better and worsening by the hour, I finally nodded. Breathless and faint to the point of almost losing consciousness. Yes. Please call them. Something’s wrong. All of a sudden I hated myself. I shouldn’t be this weak. I’m a big strong guy – dependable, trustworthy, stoic. Did I really need emergency medical care? I wasn’t that bad, was I? No one else I know was this bad with their Covid. Why had I waited so long to ask for help? Did I need help? Yes. No. Well, not in the same way someone having a heart attack, or a huge car crash would. What the hell was wrong with me? Was this it? The way I go out? Was this how countless other people had thought and felt when they neared the end of their Covid struggle?

I spoke to someone on the phone at 999. I could barely talk, just a whisper, which hurt. How could whispering hurt? How was it possible to go from being a somewhat normal person to a weakened, ghostlike shell in just a few days? I answered their questions and then waited. Something would happen one way or another.

Not until that chilly evening in March had I ever contemplated or faced the end of my own existence.

And then the paramedics arrived.

The story will continue.

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(I’m back btw. Hi.)