Virus couldn’t be outrun in the long run

Virus couldn’t be outrun in the long run

What now seems to have been inevitable has finally come to pass, and I have joined the worldwide legion of folks who have come down with COVID. Feeling lucky to have made it this far down the road before the virus finally caught up with me, my own suffering was very likely minimized by good treatments now available. Be that as it may, for a few days I was sicker than I have ever been. I never had the classic symptoms like a loss of taste or smell, but I did get a full-throttle dose of extreme aches and pains.

Interestingly, after an initial onslaught earmarked by a skull-splitting headache, the pain seemed to purposefully migrate around my entire body to resurrect every injury I’ve ever had: the thumb I broke in a bike race 20 years ago, the knuckles I constantly bashed working in a machine shop in high school, the knee I hyperextended in a sandlot football game in junior high, heck, even the first set of stitches I got in the top of my head way back in grade school.

Every one of those spots seemed to flare with pain like it just happened. It’s as if my life was flashing before my eyes — but just the dumb, klutzy stuff. I took that as a sign that I was probably going to make it. I’d like to believe no one goes out on a highlight reel of their own low points.

While Kristin and I had to keep our distance during my quarantine period, I was not entirely alone through my endless hours of fever dreams as constant vigil was kept at the door of my room by a very concerned dog and two inexplicably interested cats.

Our mutt, Frankie, who now enjoys full “child” status in the family, rarely allows either of us out of his sight. He knows our habits and mannerisms even better than we know his, and when Kristin and I didn’t head into the same room at bedtime, his tell-tale eyebrows were alternately arching and falling like a pair of battling caterpillars. He camped outside my door — a decidedly awkward, high-traffic area given its position between my bed and the bathroom — like a sad, furry sentinel.

The cats circled nearby, wondering what all the fuss was about. When I would leave the bedroom, stepping over the dog to get to the bathroom, one or both of the cats would invariably squirt past me to hide out in the room until I was fully asleep, then proceed to do annoying cat things like knock things off of shelves or viciously attack my foot as it twitched under the sheets. As cats aren’t long on compassion, it’s likely they were simply waiting for me to succumb.

On occasion, Kristin would poke her head into the room just to make sure I was still alive. Her mask, along with the backlighting from the bathroom, had a very “spaceman visits George McFly” feel to it. I’m positive this inspired several of my countless, sweat-drenched nightmares throughout the whole episode.

Two full days and nights in bed and I’ve rallied enough to mash out these words. Things seem to be looking up. I’m guessing Frankie will be as thankful as Kristin and me once life gets back to normal. The cats will just have to get over it.

Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John at

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