Think about this: it's not uncommon for me to lose my turtle, my darling 28 year pet turtle, in my mess. She loves it in fact. Loves to hide under clothing and empty bags. Thats why she's a keeper.
But I digress. My latest Long Covid symptom is head splitting headaches and brain fog. Or is that splitting headaches? Brain fog does strange things. It makes up new words and completely forgets old words. I forget the names of people I have known for decades. I went to the doctor's office and the nurse asked me:
"Who are you here to see?" Damn I could not remember my doctor's name.
It was embarrassing. The other people in line stared at me with that blank annoyance face you get in NYC. It's the quiet face but they want to kill you. You know that one?
Later on the same day or was it another day?....
Later that week because it really wasn't the same day I don't think, I was walking down my street and I saw a neighbor who I have known for 25 years and her daughter and a couple more folks from the block.
As is customary they waved to me and said,
"Hi! How are you??" And then they froze remembering that my son had told them I had "the Long Covid" and their faces fell.
"STAY AWAY!!!" they shouted to me. They made crosses with their two index fingers on their outstretched forearms pointing in my direction. I saw several crosses aiming straight at my body (that's an old rock song, I think).
I have told people more than thrice that I had COVID nine weeks ago and I am no longer contagious.
Does not matter.
So I hollered my customary "Hi!!" to them from two houses away (about 40 feet on the city sidewalk). Then, in so doing, I realized I had forgotten the name of the daughter. My mind was a blank. I looked at her puzzled and confessed. Another embarrassing public moment. But no matter.
She just laughed and said, "Of course you forgot my name! You have COVID!"
Then, there was fresh terror on the faces of the other three.
"No." I replied. I have Long Covid, not COVID.
Does not matter. As long as people hear the word Covid they jump back 20 feet.
"STAY AWAY!!!"
I'm used to it at this point, the emotional abandonment I feel and sometimes from people I care about. I don't blame them. I would probably act the same way. "Would I?"
Too tired to care.
So I went home and I unloaded a few things I had purchased for my dinner. Then, I went to look for my receipt because I wanted to compare the prices of this new store today with the one where I usually shop.
This is my Long Covid "brain gym" moment du jour, comparing numerals and words on a small piece of white paper. I don't feel so guilty skipping my doctor recommended Sudoko puzzle for the day.
But I couldn't find my receipt. I looked everywhere in the kitchen. And I couldn't find it. I really couldn't. I did a little circle around my house trying to focus with intent to see where the receipt was. No receipt. No window open. No breeze blew it away.
Then something dawned on me. The receipt was also with my "change". And my "change" was 50 bucks! I needed to find that receipt because I really wanted to find my money! Around and around the house I went. Nothing.
For 30 minutes I circled around aimlessly. I was not so annoyed. Just my new, listless wandering state in which I find myself these days. But I was trying to focus with intent.
"I feel apathetic," I keep telling my friends, "I feel like I care about nothing."
Then I remembered something another neighbor had once told me long ago. The husband of the one who was outside earlier.
"If you are ever looking for something in a house, always check the fridge," he had said. He was a retired NYC Police Officer and that was their motto.
So I found my way back to the fridge: the original crime scene. When I opened the door there was my "change" and the receipt lying oddly next to the Oat Milk and the overpriced chickpea spicy carrot veggie bites. The whole scene looked like a semi-interesting, semi-laughable still-life photograph. Or a weird refrigerator ad. I did not get my cell phone to take the photograph. I did not care enough.
I really think Long Covid has turned my brain to mush. A few weeks ago I kept repeating to anyone who would listen, "My brain feels like a marshmallow."
Now my headache is too strong to feel the marshmallow. I truly hope there will be some artistic benefit to all this suffering and not just a bunch of banal humiliations.
I wonder what is next: Finding my house keys in the Magic Pot? My paintbrush in the mayonnaise?
(Go to Herstory 4)
