Frankly, I Wouldn’t Recommend Getting Covid

Over the last year or so, I’d begun to come to the conclusion that – perhaps as a result of having dengue twice – I might have a decent amount of immunity to Covid.

The plague is rife in Indonesia and systematically under-reported. The health minister recently accused unspecified regions of reducing testing to acquire green zone status, while one citizen science project suggested deaths were at least three times higher than the official numbers, and a recent seroprevalence study found that, in September and November, Bali’s official case numbers were out by a factor of 53.

Cases among the foreign community on Bali rarely appear in the official figures, let alone get passed to tracing — I know, personally, of more than ten cases which never seemed to be recorded, and, ironically, the only case which tracers did follow up was a false positive. A good friend knew two foreigners who died of Covid: neither troubled the rosy official statistics. In fact, when the travelling Covid doc who’s working 16 hours a day testing foreigners at home endeavoured to report some of his weekly caseload (usually around 12 to 15 positives) to the authorities for follow-up, the powers-that-be weren’t interested.

All of which is to say that, after three close encounters with folk who tested positive soon after, and three weeks’ dutiful self-isolation, plus god knows how many encounters with folk who opted not to test, were asymptomatic or neglected to call me, not to mention quite a lot of social kissing and mask-off restaurant/bar socialising, I was feeling fairly bullish about dodging the plague. Then I started to feel tired.

My eleventh swab test of the pandemic and, as the fluid dropped onto the test strip, it lit up like a Christmas tree. “Yep,” he said. “It’s positive.”

Initially, I have to say, Covid felt like nothing. I was a little tired, so I had a nap— but I hadn’t slept brilliantly the night before. I had what felt like the beginnings of a sore throat, which I put down to napping with the air-conditioning on. And so I duly went ahead with the evening meet-up I was planning.

The next morning, I woke up feeling tired, and the sore throat was definitely A THING. Thinking it wise to test before heading off to yoga, and potentially infecting class and teacher and closing the studio in a one-woman super-spreader event, I messaged the Covid doctor. My eleventh swab test of the pandemic and, as the fluid dropped onto the test strip, it lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Yep,” he said. “It’s positive.”

He recommended rest, Vitamin C, Vitamin D and zinc. I retrieved my pulse oximeter from the last person in my circle who’d had Covid, who kindly donated a small can of oxygen and recommended a Chinese medicine, then stocked up on vitamins and paracetamol from the HaloDoc motorbike delivery pharmacy and ordered the Chinese meds on Tokopedia. And then I started the WhatsApp of shame, messaging everyone with whom I might have been in contact while infectious, plus cancelling all engagements for the next 10 days.

Another friend with whom I’d been on a very jolly day out that weekend had the same symptoms, enabling us to establish the likely source of the infection. And so… I waited.

This sorry state of affairs, replete with daytime naps and defined by an absolute inability to focus on anything, continued on and off for a full two weeks.

As places to get a mild dose of Covid goes, Bali has many advantages, at least for the privileged. A huge range of delicious food options are available on GoFood at a swipe; the HaloDoc pharmacy app delivers within the hour; and plenty of doctors do house calls.

By about day five, still with no symptoms but brain fog, a persistent sore throat and a need to sleep a lot, I was feeling quite bullish about my prospects. Despite a friend’s recommendation of rest, I was doggedly doing small quantities of exercise twice a day, and feeling good about that – not really noticing that 40 minutes’ gentle exercise and perhaps an hour or two tending emails and completing the little work I hadn’t deferred tended to be the sum total of my daily activity.

By about day eight, I was very tired of the sore throat, which woke me up in the night, and generally ready to get well again. On day ten, the plague doctor returned and confirmed me negative for Covid, and in celebration of my newfound freedom I had a reasonably active day. The next day, ignoring the fact that my legs, after walking 5,000 steps, ached as though I’d been hiking in the Himalayas, was positively action-packed: I did some work, took a taxi for lunch with a friend, and joined a family group chat.

On day 12, I struggled to get out of bed. Legs ached, throat ached, my brain was fogged, and I was absolutely knackered. This sorry state of affairs, replete with daytime naps and defined by an absolute inability to focus on anything, continued on and off for a full two weeks, although the sore throat did disappear on day 15.

I am sorry to report that, while roughly 80% of folk with Covid report reduced appetite, this very much did not apply to me. I did, however, find the consequences of drinking wine almost unbearable.

Is this long Covid, I hear you cry? Well, as far as I can tell, it’s not. It’s just a pretty standard case of mild Covid.

If there’s one recommendation I’d give anyone who has mild Covid – and I’m very grateful I only had mild Covid – it is to take it easy. My natural tendency is to power through things – and, given I’d successfully lost a lot of weight and gained a tonne of fitness, I didn’t want to neutralise those gains (although I did give the diet a rest).

To be honest, I only really recovered after a week of reduced physical activity and it’s only now, six full weeks after testing positive, that I am sleeping a sane amount and feel ready to attempt my old exercise schedule. (And, boy, has my fitness fallen back!)

Is this long Covid, I hear you cry? Well, as far as I can tell, it’s not. It’s just a pretty standard case of mild Covid. While some people I know who’ve had it have been back on their feet within a week, friends have reported not feeling back to themselves for “some weeks”; the NHS guidance says that “most people recover after a few days *or weeks*”; and the list of long Covid symptoms all seem rather more dramatic than “feel a bit feeble and can’t really exercise”.

But, despite being the sort of mild case I’d expect as someone of a healthy weight, under 50, with no relevant pre-existing conditions, Covid was unpleasant. Dealing with isolation and the subsequent social limits imposed by fatigue has been draining; I’m way behind on a personal project I’ve been working on; I’ve lost a stack of income through delaying projects and failing to chase new business; and, of course, there’s the magical possibility of longer-term health issues that can occur even with mild cases.

I’ll be getting vaxxed in a few days, and, while no vaccine is 100% effective, I’d firmly recommend others do likewise.

Image by torstensimon from Pixabay