waning hours of Day 4 with the virus
Nov. 30th, 2021 11:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ffloStill pretty mild! I napped, kinda chilly under lots of covers, most of the evening. Glands still swollen, headache maybe a smidge worse, bit of a sore throat. Can still smell. Have a nice bottle of Trader Joe's apple cider handwash via which to check that. The stuff smells great, and leaves a lingering scent I like on my hands.
Decided to go ahead and unscreen my infection talk here. What the heck. Not many folks look here, and there's no shame in succumbing in this fashion (I keep telling myself).
I should get my pulse oximeter and start keeping it handy, just in case, with how easy it's been for me to lose things lately, inside the house. Turns out it was kind of bad timing, emptying lots of stuff from a closet over my break, with all the clutter that's still sitting around from moving things for this summer's window installation and this fall's stove arrival.
The latest word on the monoclonal option is that the shortage is with available personnel to do the infusions, not with the drugs themselves. And in that area I'm disadvantaged, in triage, for haivng gotten vaccinated. Someone unvaccinated with the same risk factors as me is in a more dangerous position, and would be favored for treatment. This actually makes sense to me, but there's an element of irritation about it for me. I think it's only natural for those taking precautions and rooting for science to be frustrated (to say the least) with the anti-cooperators, however sympathetic we may or may not be toward them.
My brother texted that his experience of the disease---before vaccinations---was mild symptoms for 7 days and then 5 really bad days, then mostly snapping out of it, suddenly, except for lingering low energy. Seems logical for me to prepare to be at least semi-incapacitated with major fatigue. Yet trying not to worry ahead of the facts.
I'm watching a combination of great "TV" and trash TV now. The trash is a show called Below Deck, with a whopping 9 seasons of reality voyeurism, if I somehow want to stick with it that long.
The good is finally starting in on Walkabout, off the DVR. Haven't seen it since discovering Australian films in college---when I somehow didn't connect that it was already around 15 years old at that point. Do you know it? Two kids making their way through the outback, after a shocking opening I won't spoil for you. They aren't yet at the point at which they meet an aboriginal teenager, doing his walkabout. But I'm remembering what I liked about the movie. And enjoying it in spurts. Hope it doesn't turn out to have much squicky cutural other-y gawking when we meet the "native" kid.
It does put me in mind of my old pal Terri, my movie-discovering buddy back in those days. Picnic at Hanging Rock, Breaker Morant, Gallipoli. Sorta wish we were in touch. But it didn't stick the last time we tried. I did go see her and take her with me to the poetry festival in New Jersey a few years back. She's an interesting soul. Her own poetry and the little movie about her don't tell the full story of her family, though, even such as I'm aware of it, and there's something upsetting about that. The confessional revelations and celebrations that sidestep some real bad shit. It's a challenging thing, having that knowledge, and feeling like I'm standing by while this fantasy alternate reality is "out there".
I know it's not my business really. For me it's a crunchy cruxy thing that pings me badly.
Well, back to some trashy or not trashy TV for a little, and then a night to wake up from and see how I'm feeling after.
Decided to go ahead and unscreen my infection talk here. What the heck. Not many folks look here, and there's no shame in succumbing in this fashion (I keep telling myself).
I should get my pulse oximeter and start keeping it handy, just in case, with how easy it's been for me to lose things lately, inside the house. Turns out it was kind of bad timing, emptying lots of stuff from a closet over my break, with all the clutter that's still sitting around from moving things for this summer's window installation and this fall's stove arrival.
The latest word on the monoclonal option is that the shortage is with available personnel to do the infusions, not with the drugs themselves. And in that area I'm disadvantaged, in triage, for haivng gotten vaccinated. Someone unvaccinated with the same risk factors as me is in a more dangerous position, and would be favored for treatment. This actually makes sense to me, but there's an element of irritation about it for me. I think it's only natural for those taking precautions and rooting for science to be frustrated (to say the least) with the anti-cooperators, however sympathetic we may or may not be toward them.
My brother texted that his experience of the disease---before vaccinations---was mild symptoms for 7 days and then 5 really bad days, then mostly snapping out of it, suddenly, except for lingering low energy. Seems logical for me to prepare to be at least semi-incapacitated with major fatigue. Yet trying not to worry ahead of the facts.
I'm watching a combination of great "TV" and trash TV now. The trash is a show called Below Deck, with a whopping 9 seasons of reality voyeurism, if I somehow want to stick with it that long.
The good is finally starting in on Walkabout, off the DVR. Haven't seen it since discovering Australian films in college---when I somehow didn't connect that it was already around 15 years old at that point. Do you know it? Two kids making their way through the outback, after a shocking opening I won't spoil for you. They aren't yet at the point at which they meet an aboriginal teenager, doing his walkabout. But I'm remembering what I liked about the movie. And enjoying it in spurts. Hope it doesn't turn out to have much squicky cutural other-y gawking when we meet the "native" kid.
It does put me in mind of my old pal Terri, my movie-discovering buddy back in those days. Picnic at Hanging Rock, Breaker Morant, Gallipoli. Sorta wish we were in touch. But it didn't stick the last time we tried. I did go see her and take her with me to the poetry festival in New Jersey a few years back. She's an interesting soul. Her own poetry and the little movie about her don't tell the full story of her family, though, even such as I'm aware of it, and there's something upsetting about that. The confessional revelations and celebrations that sidestep some real bad shit. It's a challenging thing, having that knowledge, and feeling like I'm standing by while this fantasy alternate reality is "out there".
I know it's not my business really. For me it's a crunchy cruxy thing that pings me badly.
Well, back to some trashy or not trashy TV for a little, and then a night to wake up from and see how I'm feeling after.
