Illness

How snot gobblers are wonderful germ warfare machines

When one’s first parent dies it is a shocking event. And it seems to not matter how old we are when this happens. It is the first timely reminder of our own mortality. Death and Taxes really are the only certainties in wherever our lives take us. I was in Australia in 1985 on teacher exchange when my father was suddenly taken ill with aggressive gastrointestinal cancer and I barely had time to take a flight back to England to make my peace with him before he passed away. He was just 69. My mother died in 2003, although she had been suffering from dementia for a number of years before this, so for all practical purposes I had long made my peace with her and as a life long smoker at 75, she had done well to reach this milestone. By then I had been living in New Zealand since 1987 and didn’t return for her funeral. There really seemed to be no point.

Kay’s death was the removal of the final barrier between the grim reaper and me. Yes death may have visited me before either of my parents passing, but this is not the normal script and I never even bothered to read the lines.

At 73 I am recovering from a most debilitating RVS virus that has had me house bound and bed ridden for the greater part of three weeks. This is only the second illness I have suffered since before lockdown, the first being Covid in September last year. I live with an immunocompromised partner and we took precautions against Covid extremely seriously, being fully up to date with all the vaccinations and boosters. I found the anti-vax movement an insulting indictment on my view of a ‘we’ not a ‘me’ society. I have never watched Novak Djokovic again! (Me petit….NEVER!) I still wear a mask in most supermarkets or shops I visit or large performance venues. My partner is much more cautious and rarely goes anywhere where large crowds are the plat du jour.

We both caught this recent virus after a visit from our gorgeous daughter and her young boy. Both she and her partner work and the wee man goes to day care where he has become both socialised and a phenomenal germ warfare machine.

Those as old as me might possibly remember as young kids how our parents took us to measles and mumps parties, to get the disease early in life so that it wasn’t a danger later on. They were, curiously, VERY popular events in Britain in the late 50’s and early 60’s. Well that how it works out for us with the wee man. He visits, we get sick.

It’s perhaps a measure of how low this virus has taken me that I have begun to dwell on the unpalatable reality for me and lots of people in my age group. Namely that with the passing of each year, however fit, or whatever care we take to look after our health, the inevitable reality is that with each new virus comes the associated increased risk that this one will kill us!

Back in the 70’s in Britain there was a dystopian TV series called ‘Survivors’ about a post pandemic world where 99% of the population had been wiped out by the rapid spread of a deadly airborne virus. In one particular episode the titular band of survivors stumbled across a community that had survived almost intact by isolating from the rest of the country, only to be subsequently wiped out as the virus leapt from those who had natural immunity to the discover community who had none.

Covid demonstrated a number of things to us as a country, some positive, some things not so. Yes we learned that by shutting down it was possible to halt the spread of the virus. We also learned that personal hygiene and precautionary measures are essential in slowing the spread. But the reality is the virus remains, morphing from one strain to another, just like the influenza and common cold viruses. And they will continue to do so long into the future.

I was reading an article by a health professional explaining that the reason Covid, Flu strains and RVS virus has taken such a toll this winter is the result of our lack of exposure over the last two years.

What is behind all this doom and gloom musings? Nothing really except that I’ve never really taken my erstwhile good heath that seriously. I’ve taken it for granted. Now as I struggle to clear my sinuses, chest and throat of this wretched disease I wonder whether the next illness that is only just around the corner will lay me even lower than this or the Covid episode and that the remainder of my years will be spent in ever increasing episodes of drinking copious bottles of water, emptying one tissue box after the other whilst watching eternal reruns of soap operas on Neon and Netflix, with the occasional stroll around the garden or park when I can gather enough energy to make the trip.