I’m one of those guys who never caught Covid-19, until I caught it. On my return flight from a holiday to Italy this past October, I felt funny but chalked it up to 16 hours in the air and all the “fun” of being stuffed in an airplane seat all that time. Two days later, I fished out one of those Covid test kits the government sent out and, bingo, “positive.” This coming after five (count them 5) vaccine shots seemed unfair, but considering my age, I thought I’d better do something about it more therapeutic than slapping on a mask.
I called my doctor, and the nurse told me I’d be “over the hump” in five days. I didn’t have any real symptoms other than feeling a little sicky, but it bothered me when after going “over the hump,” I still tested positive. So, I called my daughter Ingrid, whose family had gone through numerous bouts of Covid and she said to hang on and the sick feeling would go away. And, to quit taking the tests every day. “You’re going to be positive for a while to come even though you’re no longer infectious.”
So, I’ve gone back into the public and even took the mask off. But there seems to be a moral issue here when the test says I still have Covid weeks after I got off the plane, but Ingrid says I don’t. I started to complain about my sad situation until I thought back only a couple of years before this disease was sort of “downgraded” when the social and economic impact was anything but trivial… back when the media told us every night how many people had died from this thing the previous day.
When the year 2022 dawned and it looked like coin-op was “over the hump” and the locks were taken from the location front doors, we rejoiced. And when the general public got back into the restaurants, bars, arcades and FECs with a gusto felt only by people who had been grounded by the government for a good, long piece of time, we rejoiced even more. And now that the “pandemic” continues to slide from today’s news into contemporary history, along comes someone like me to complain about his butt stuck in an airplane seat followed by a nearly symptom-free visit from the dreaded virus.
Okay, I have exercised my American birthright to bitch and moan. Now you can read about IAAPA.
