04/22/2022
By Kate Stone Lombardi
Earlier this week, I mentioned to my daughter that I thought I had Covid “Brain Frog.” Irritated with my slip, I corrected myself. “I mean, “Bran Fog,” I said. Sigh.
Week two in the Covid Slog. We order Kleenex by the case. Full disclosure – I still feel like crap. But funnily enough, I began a Covid novel this week – one that had long been on my “to read” list. It is set in March 2020. The author clearly did her research and the emails from the medical resident at NY Presbyterian to his girlfriend sound like the interviews doctors were giving back then. And boy, do they bring me back.
“Every day, treatment changes. Today we’re giving hydroxychloroquine. Tomorrow: whoops, no we’re not. Today we’re trying Remdesivir, but antibiotics are out. One attending is pushing Lipitor, because it lowers inflammation. Another’s trying Lasix, used for heart failure patients, to help remove fluid from around Covid lungs. Some docs think ibuprofen is doing more harm than good, although no one knows why, so they’re giving Tylenol for fever instead. Everyone wants to know if convalescent plasma helps, but we don’t have enough of it to know….”
Refrigerated trucks – makeshift morgues – sit outside the hospitals as patient after patient dies.
So while my Brain Frog is real and this virus is a drag, Oh my God. I’m vaccinated. I’m boosted. There are treatments. I am SO GRATEFUL to medical science.
It’s almost enough to make a woman stop whining about her current discomfort.