My Covid-19 experience - or - I told you I was sick
In late January I had a not-breathing episode triggered by choking on my breakfast. Off to the hospital I went because Covid-19 still hadn’t made a name for itself on these shores. While there I had a “very high” fever (the highest I heard was 100.4F.). The coughing, which wasn’t all that different from my norm, required far deeper reaching than normal, and what it brought up was a teaspoon of phlegm about half as gooey and sticky as a fresh gummi bear. I did a dozen of them a day, spitting them out but making a mess because they were so sticky. My fever, what there was of it, broke and I was sent back here.
A daughter, who works at an upscale public high school, had the same, and she concluded that she had caught Covid-19 from one of her students. It made sense to me, and that’s why I decided I had it. And as our director of nursing was one of our two fatalities and I had met with her after my hospital visit I chose to include her death in the Legend of dropzone.
They finally began testing everybody. First they gave me a swab test, but that took too long to get back, so I failed the blood test. They sent me to the hospital where I got more tests. It was needless because my swab test results were delivered while I was in the ambulance. I came back here and got dumped in the Covid ward for a week or so. I got out yesterday and the cough ended today.