The above, for those under the age of 40, is a still from the film Monty Python and the Holy Grail. In the scene a cart is being pulled around a medieval village taking away those killed by the plague. One man tries to put an old man on the cart who is clearly still alive. This is made obvious by the fact that he says: “I’m not dead.” It’s a very funny film and a very funny scene.
To coin that same phrase from that very film I would just like to say…
“I’m not dead“
I may have been quiet since my last post way back in April but I am still alive. Despite Covid 19’s attempts to put me on the cart. There are even 2 drafts (unpublished obviously) that prove I did mean to write more but, it all came to nought. This time it’s different. This time I will finish my post. This time I will fill you in on how I failed to die.
After a week of feeling rough, watching a lot of mindless TV and having Mrs P closely monitor me to check she didn’t need to call the man with the cart, I got, wait for it… worse. I experienced some very odd symptoms; permanent headache; mild nausea; passing out while lying down!; having my whole body start to ‘fizz’ – that word incidentally does not do the sensation justice but, is as close to a description as I can get – and being unable to think straight (maybe that is normal?). I was worried. I called 111 (NHS helpline). They told me to go straight to hospital , do not pass go, do not collect £200.
I was dropped off by a rather concerned Mrs P at about 11am. She was not allowed to accompany me. 6 hours later she was, unsurprisingly, wondering where I was. So was I. I had been seen by a doctor and told to sit in the waiting room especially for those who may have Covid19, where incidentally there is little or no phone signal. Now, I love the NHS but, in the waiting room I was mostly alone; mostly curled up in a ball and completely ignored. For 6 hours. I’m pretty sure I passed out twice, but was too ‘out of it’ to go ask for help. Eventually I managed to get up the energy to ask what was happening and shortly after I was taken through to the consulting area. Seen by a doctor and told I was going to be admitted to a ward. I think this was because they didn’t have room for me to be sitting around cluttering up the place. I was also tested for Covid 19, which involves a nurse dressed up as an astronaut shoving a 7 foot long cotton bud 5 feet up your nasal passage until she is scratching the furthest reaches of the inside of your skull.
I had by this time managed to get a message to Mrs P to put her mind at rest. I was briefly wheeled off and admitted to a ward where they fed me and gave me a drink. I was finally released back into the care of Mrs P at about 10pm. 11 hours after I had arrived.
I spent the next week or so being phoned daily by the hospital ( I still think they are great) to check my blood/oxygen levels with the promise that, if the reading went below 94%, I had to return to hospital immediately. I once reached the dreaded 93%, but convinced them that I wasn’t too short of breath and would just get in the way. I asked them to call back in 30 minutes by which time my reading had gone back up to 95%.
Anyway, long story short…
“I’m getting better.”
That’s another quote from the same scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail by the way. [Spoiler alert] It doesn’t do him any good. He ends up on the cart. We all end upon the cart eventually.
For your information, I tested positive for Covid 19 on April 29th. As a result of which I wasn’t allowed to go to my poor old Mom’s funeral. At no point have I had a cough or a high temperature. Oh, and Mrs P has been very worried.
In my next post, should you return and should I survive long enough to write it, I will tell you why I have been so quiet on the blogging front for nearly 3 months and how, even now, nearly 11 weeks later, I am still struggling to return to full fitness. Don’t feel sorry for me though. The following picture shows that things ain’t too bad, they never are.