Well, Faustketeers, I’m sick. No, it’s probably not our friend COVID-19, but this is a hell of a time to come down with any kind of flu.
Here’s what’s been going on here at the Fausthaus over the past two weeks. First, the Faustspaus started coughing, along with some other normal cold symptoms. No fever. A few days later, I was coughing too. He’s gotten better, but for me it’s been getting progressively worse. Starting late Tuesday, early Wednesday, I’ve been running a low grade fever that fluctuates between the high 100s and low 101s. Head and body aches and severe fatigue. Today, I’m flat fucking out.
The key difference between the celebrity coronavirus and what’s currently partying inside my head and chest is that I have what is known as a “wet” or productive cough, along with thickly gunked up sinuses. COVID-19 causes a dry cough and difficultly breathing, which is not anything like what’s going on with me. Yet, anyway.
That being said, I have had pneumonia twice recently and as a result, my lungs are a little fragile. I have no idea if having a normal flu means that you have an OCCUPIED sign on you like an airplane bathroom and COVID-19 just has to hold it or find someone that’s available, or if it makes you like a party house where the parents are in Europe and no one is checking to see whether any one kid is really cool enough to have been invited.
Thing is, nobody I know has been able to get tested for COVID-19. Not even people with perfectly matching symptoms. Unless you have traveled recently, had contact with a confirmed positive case, or are a celebrity, athlete or politician, you are shit out of luck. So even if I do get it, I probably won’t know it.
Meanwhile, I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing. Drinking plenty of fluids. Resting. Watching vintage monster movies. Googling vintage sleaze paperbacks that feature sexy nurses.
I’m also going hardcore on the quarantine protocol. The Fausthaus is on full lockdown. I have plenty of supplies and won’t be going anywhere any time soon.
I’m actually really glad that Django’s cancer treatment has been delayed, but because my friends are fucking awesome, I do have help transporting him to and from the hospital if I’m still sick by the end of the month. And having him with me on the couch is really the best medicine.
Stay frosty out there, Faustketeers. And wash your fucking hands.