MY COVID: The Paths Not Taken

 
    *** Painting by Denise Penizzoto

By Doug Holder

In May of 2023, I was a participant in an international poetry festival at the U/Mass Lowell Campus, in Lowell, MA. Many of the poets and writers there were from South America, and it was a pleasure to meet, read, and talk with many of these folks. In May we were confident that the dreaded virus was not a threat. The reports from the media indicated that the numbers had greatly diminished.

During this festival, many of the panels, etc... took place indoors-- and for a number of hours. Many of the participants were without masks--and I was one of them.

Two days after the said event, I woke up with muscle aches and flu-like symptoms. I tested my myself and the line was brazenly, bright red. This was a  straight-no-chaser moment. I was a home for the virus. Friends left food at my door, etc... but I  live basically alone with my cat Klezmer. People told me to take Paxlovid--but I brushed them aside. I thought, " I can sweat this out, like other times when I was sick." But those other times were when I was younger--not a 68 year old man--who should know better.

So as it turned out this saga turned into an elongated " Long Day's Journey into Night." I was feverish, experiencing chills, cold sweats-- coughed up copious amounts of phlegm, I lost a lot of weight in a short time, damp tissues surrounded me on my bed -- I looked like something out of a Lucien Freud nightmare.

One night I was fitfully sleeping, I woke up, and there was a gaudy man in a cheap polyester sports jacket. He looked like some snake oil salesman from the Twilight Zone or a "Crazy Eddie" ad. And he was real as day. His thinning hair seemed to slicked down on his scalp by a wave of Vitalis. He said with a cracked smile  through a TV screen of sorts, " Elegant and Eternal, Elegant and Eternal" What was he pitching? A boat ride to hell? Elegant coffins? I shot up from my pillow and there he was again--in my frightened face, " Elegant and Eternal, Elegant and Eternal. " I got up shaking. I  took a shot of whiskey to stabilize myself--then went back to bed.

Later that night, I found myself in vivid dream. It was a pastoral scene, walking with my late wife Dianne, flowers abounded, the air perfumed-- a hint of music was in the background. I was incredibly happy--and I did not want to leave. Just as I decided to stay, my cat jumped up on me, and woke me up from this dream. I guess he knew something was wrong. Cats are that way.

I finally recovered, but it took me most of the month of May.  Since then, I have thought about this incident a lot --and the two paths that were offered to me.