Antibodies

Back in January, I felt really bad.

Part of it was lingering guilt from eating too much of the coconut cream pie at Christmas, but mostly it felt like a colony of sloths had moved into my chest and head.

Coughing, headache, lots of congestion, muscle aches and an overwhelming sense of tiredness.

(I might mention here that these references to COVID-like symptoms are what we in the writing community refer to as “fore-shadowing,” the almost subliminal dropping of information that becomes important later.

(As the reader, you’ll tuck these bits away in your mind without realizing it until later in the story, when - Wham! There’s a punch line that makes it all make sense.)

Things got so bad that I had to sleep on the living room couch. Propping my pillow on the couch arm allowed me to have enough angle to breathe. Otherwise, it was too much of a struggle to sleep, adding to the tiredness.

A couple of nights of that and off I went to see the doc. He said I had some kind of upper respiratory thing going on, but not to worry. He was about to give me a steroid shot and an antibiotic and one or the other would knock it out. I asked if I was contagious and he said: “no.”

A bit later, a nurse came in, gave me a shot in the butt, patted me on the shoulder and wished me well.

A couple of days went by, then three and four, then a week.

No improvement.

So, off again to the doc, who apologized, but said I apparently had a stubborn virus. He ordered a shot of an even stronger steroid and, sure enough, I could feel it flexing its muscles as the nurse shot it into my hip. This bad boy meant business.

Again, the nurse patted my shoulder and wished me well.

Two or three days went by and I gradually started to get better and, finally, after about two weeks of feeling bad, I started to mend.

Not long after that, I started hearing about a virus headed our way from China. It sounded like anything but a good time and I thought: “I sure don’t want that.”

Since then, I have felt fairly good for a person of my age, work schedule, diet and sleeping habits. My back hurt some, but that’s been about it.

A couple of weeks ago I was playing music when the banjo picker mentioned that a mutual friend had a similar experience about the same time I did.

Same set of symptoms, same outcome. Some time ago, the banjo picker said, the friend had the occasion to get a test for the COVID antibodies.

He’d had the virus, the results showed, but the only time he’d been sick was back in January.

(Wham!)

That put me to wondering. Was that what happened to me? Had I gotten a bootleg copy of COVID before it was supposed to be in the country? And: might it be possible that I now had the King’s X from future infections?

Future immunity sounded really appealing. In fact, I built an entire scenario in my head based on my previously having had COVID without realizing it.

Even though I couldn’t give or get COVID, now, assuming that’s actually how it works, I would graciously continue to wear a mask and not flaunt my status.

I recently had to get a COVID test because a member of our household had been exposed to an active case. I was negative, the doc said. Heeding his words, I have tried to think more uplifting thoughts recently and maintain a positive outlook.

While I was in the office, I asked to have the test for COVID antibodies.

The lady drew a vial of blood and said I would get a call when the results were in, which turned out to be over the weekend, quicker than I had expected.

“We’re calling to let you know the serology test was negative,” said the voice on the other end.

“You mean, no antibodies?”

“Right.”

The crashing sound you might have heard about that time was my future immunity hitting the tile floor.

Dang it. My one super power and now it’s gone.

(Wham!)