Last Friday night, Erev Shabbat, I had a very different experience. I know that it is something that many of you do each week when husbands go to shul on Friday night or after the seuda, or on Shabbat, but not I. I actually decided to read The Jewish Link. (Quite a newspaper.) The reason that I generally do not peruse The Link on Shabbat is because I have the great honor of reading it each Wednesday afternoon and evening, as one of my hats at The Link is being a copy editor, which means that I go through every word of the paper from beginning to end. From the headlines to the Sports Star of the Week to the table of contents, I check it all.
Last Monday as I drove back from Montreal and felt more and more sick I assumed that I had a flu. At the urging of my daughters I made an appointment with my primary care physician for the next day. Shortly thereafter they called me and suggested that I take a COVID test. Guess who had COVID?? Me. That began my journey of feeling lousier and lousier each day while taking the prescribed dosage of Paxlovid.
The dosage is to take the medicine twice a day, and each dose is three pills. As you all know, my beloved Mordechai never leaves my mind, but this medicine was a glaring reminder of who he was and all that he had taught me. For those who have already taken these monster pills, I can only describe each one as the size of an elephant. (Three of them twice a day.) When we married I could never take pills and certainly not this size. He taught me the way to put them in my mouth and just drink them down, 1, 2, 3. Thanks, honey! I was prepared that the pills might leave an unpleasant taste in my mouth (sort of metallic). I was not sure what that meant, as I never made a habit of eating metal. WELL, let me warn everyone that this disgusting taste is beyond what can be described. When our kids use the word “gross” in order to explain what something is like I can only say that this is the height of GROSSNESS, and it never goes away the entire time that you are taking the meds.
At this point, just last evening, I finished the course of meds and guess what—hardly a taste!
I feel pretty crummy: no strength, constant coughing and muscle pain, but I hope that soon this will all be behind me. One bonus of this illness is that I have no appetite. So annoyed that the scale in our bedroom is broken.
On my mind throughout this time has been the devastation of being alone. My Florence Nightingale, which is what we used to call each other, is no more. No one to make sure that I am OK, to bring me a drink, to get me a magazine. I am spoiled, as that is what we always did for each other. B”H I have amazing children who scurry into my home and leave care packages in my kitchen (most of which have not been eaten) and are forever calling to “just check in.” The worry of “what if,” which privately sat in my mind with no one to share. Each day as I would check my oxygen count I was nervous.
Another reminder of keeping those in mind who are totally alone. We need to be diligent to never forget them. Despite the way I feel I keep reminding myself of how fortunate I am that hopefully this is something I will recover from. We all know of someone who didn’t survive this scourge. At this moment I am thinking of their families. May Hashem grant us the ability to be grateful and remember how much worse things could be.
Nina glick can be reached at [email protected].
