Rumours of my impending demise, mostly started by me, it must be added, appear to have been slightly, if not wildly, exaggerated. Covid early last week. a life-threatening … er … cough late last week and I thought my number might be up. My partner, alarmed by my apparently deteriorating condition, suggested I contact the GP for advice, so in keeping with The New Way Of Doing Things I sent an on-line notification to the medical centre, seeking said advice. Within two hours I had my reply. These are not the exact words, but you get the drift: “DON’T WASTE OUR TIME WITH CRAP LIKE THIS. MAN UP AND ASK THE PHARMACIST NEXT DOOR. NOW FUCK OFF.”
All right. My condition isn’t deteriorating at all. I’m still knackered post Covid and post Jet Lag and I’ve still got an horrendous cough, which could wake the dead, so I guess their advice is pretty sound and the odds are I will survive this dramatic near death episode, but I suppose it is a useful reminder to not get ill.
I appreciate that there may well be more urgent cases out there than mine and that the local pharmacist knows a thing or two about flogging drugs – it’s how he makes his living, after all – but I am none too confident in their ability to get things right.
A few weeks ago, I collected a prescription for my partner and as well as the drugs she required were some drugs to relieve constipation which were for someone else – the elderly lady in front of me, I reckon – which I duly returned. I hope they were passed on to the correct recipient, although I can’t help thinking the pharmacist thought I deserved them for being so full of shit. BOOM! BOOM!
In truth, I never thought I was dying with this Covid malarkey, or this bloody endless cough I have had since, but that’s how many of us are with various illnesses and conditions, isn’t it? I went through my early life believing I was indestructible and somehow immune to everything that might kill me – hell, I once believed if I worked hard enough, I could fly – so it has come as a bit of a surprise that actually i’m not immune from bloody anything, let alone Covid and the subsequent crap that’s hanging around. Rather than being convince of my permanence, I’m now looking out for the next thing that could kill me. What a life.
So, I’m not dead yet, well done me. Best enjoy the time I have left isn’t the most optimistic take, but it’s spot on.
