I had the dubious pleasure of catching COVID recently and I'm here to report going viral is over-rated.
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Not that many people were singing the praises of infection beforehand.
But fair to say a spirit of bio-medical nonchalance had crept in once we let rip with social distancing.
The chances of catching Corona since have seemed virtually inevitable, if you eventually came out from under your rock. Which we did. Eventually.
And sure enough, once the symptoms kicked in we definitely felt like crawling back under that rock. If we could find the energy to crawl. Such was the impact.
Our COVID was defined as 'mild", which I think means we didn't die. Only call 000 if you expire seems to be the current advice and such a contrast to last year. I tell you what, though, I wouldn't like to toy with "severe". What doesn't kill you only makes you wonder if it might.
So we just wheezed, and coughed and spluttered wherever we tended to pass out for the week or so we were down.
The lounge being a popular spot. In front of the TV, where I can confirm there's not much on.
Just reports about deadly new strains of the virus. Which you hope you haven't got but which you worry you might have now that you're feeling sick and sorry for yourself and paying attention to mortality rates.
The other focus was on panadol, panadol, my kingdom for a panadol. Or failing that, an icy pole. Not that I could taste much.
The one positive I got out of COVID was loss of smell.
Prior to infection I'd been subject to phantom odours - parosmia I think they call it.
Self diagnosed by me and Dr Google and those around me who couldn't understand what I was complaining about. It was either parosmia or something more sinister - Dr Google always leaves you hanging that way.
An acrid all-consuming pong, akin to the seediest nightclub carpet you could imagine mixed with wang of ash tray crossed with maybe a hint of drop pit toilet.
Talk about smelling the roses.
My imaginary 'stench' had kicked off around the time I started getting vaccinated, leading me to wonder what the lizard people might have put in my injection.
Something tapping into my deepest, darkest regrets, I wondered - payback for a life of bad choices.
Anyhow, as soon my RAT test squeaked positive, the phantom wang mercifully disappeared.
Along with nearly all other olfactory abilities, leaving me able to wallow and swallow at the same time, but not taste, which really took the pressure off having to cook anything good.
Now that the illness storm is subsiding, the focus is on whether I have long COVID.
Could fatigue and an inability to think straight and make decisions be evidence of that? Or simply business as usual.
Time will tell, and as soon as I can start telling whether it's time to expose myself to the chances of getting COVID again, I'll crawl back out from under my rock.
