COVID CRIPPLE

 

Covid Cripple

 

So I got Covid. Not heroically, frantically fighting in the trenches of our hospital ED, treating masses of febrile Frenchies, but passively, somewhere between our benign village of La Creche and Nice via Paris. Was it from my fellow passengers in the Bla Bla car to Paris where my homemade cotton mask didn’t fit particularly well and kept slipping off my nose? Or was it that very early start in Paris walking past stale and drunken partygoers in front of Moulin Rouge on my way to the metro? Or my Oui Go TGV train to Nice via Marseilles where you imagine every surface to be crawling with Covid and the odd cough from fellow passengers enough to keep you on edge? Or was it simply in Nice where the postponed Tour de France bike race was in town and fans flocked to the finish and idled between pebbled beaches, comfy cafes and tourist attractions? I will never know, but know now that maybe more diligent, effective mask usage and hand gel may have made a difference because getting Covid-19, even if you remain reasonably well, has far reaching implications for yourself and many others too.

Travelling through two red zones certainly cannot be wise. But an offer from my uncle and aunt to visit them near Nice, my daughter Margot being down there after hiking in the Alps, an opportunity to catch up with friends and, of course, the lure of the TDF, had me booking tickets and packing my bag.  I’m bullet proof anyway. I’m surely not going to become one of those 10 000/day statistics.

The holiday started well; warm Mediterranean sunshine, azure blue sea lapping lazily onto colourful, towel clad beaches, salad Niçoise and crisp Chardonnay, and TDF, on the big beachside screen and then live. The rest of the week blurred into a haze of summer holiday treats with sumptuous meals served up by my aunt Anne, exploring the magnificent sights of Nice, basking on beaches and swimming in the warm, satin sea and a challenging Via Ferrata that left us trembling and exhilarated!

Wonderful time with my uncle and aunt and other friends was precious but would later have implications. On our penultimate day I went on a reasonably tough, hilly run with Margot and remember feeling a bit fatigued and thirsty, but then it was hot, and Margot was going strongly. Later that day we lunched with a friend and I definitely felt fatigued, so that a relaxing afternoon on the beach was much appreciated. That evening a slightly sore throat prompted me to attempt to get a Covid swab via the on-line system, but the earliest appointment was for the following Monday.

The next day I felt much better and set off with my uncle Richard and Margot for a brisk walk up the hills near their beautiful home in Vence. A relaxing afternoon, pizzas at the beach and a quick flight home to Nantes that evening.  Ilda and Zara were there to meet us and drive the hour trip back home.

I was up at 06.00 the next morning ready for work and my sore throat had returned, so decided not to do my usual 15km ride and opted to take the car. I called my boss outlining my symptoms and suggested that maybe I remain in my car, have a Covid swab and when negative, start work.  He, thinking my risk negligible, asked me to start work and get one of the nurses to swab me in the ED. This I did, but feeling a little anxious about possibly being positive, kept my distance from the patients and had a nurse sample, what felt like, my brainstem!

There were a few delays and my colleagues insisted that I join them for lunch.  I was just sitting down to a sumptuous Boeuf Bourguignonne when I took the call. A somewhat rattled nurse on the end of the line, “Sandy, tu est positif.” I was quite shocked and on breaking this news to my poor colleagues they were visibly horrified, seemed to draw back and distance themselves, and I was advised to confine myself for a week.

So began my tango with Covid.  Although the illness was reasonable with a lot of the usual flu-like ailments like extreme fatigue ( I think that I slept for 3 days), sore throat, myalgias, anosmia and loss of taste, it was the implications for everyone else that were the most debilitating.

Fortunately we have an annexe which we use for our Air B&B guests, so Margot (being a prime contact) and I, were promptly secreted into there to isolate. Our contact with Ilda and Zara had been brief but nonetheless Ilda missed a number of days of her new job and Zara staid home from school missing crucial days of the start of her school year, until they, and Margot, tested negative later in the week.

I made calls to everyone I could think of that I’d had contact with and let them know the bad news and was hounded by the Covid-cops who do all the tracking and give you stern warnings about isolation and legislation. Fortunately, the two weeks had just been reduced to one in France.

Unfortunately, my uncle Richard got infected. Although he has staid out of hospital, he has been quite ill with fevers and a bad cough and the illness seems to have lingered.

Back at work now, my colleagues have been welcoming and sympathetic, but some still seem to keep their distance. Other than some intermittent chest tightness and a dry cough, I seem to be fully recovered and am cycling to work again as autumn eases in and a second sort of lockdown looms.