We are still not sure how it happened.
It could have been on a Friday talking to friends, a Saturday morning display of Penny’s pictures at a local gathering or a Saturday night dinner out with friends.
Then again, it might have been earlier in the week, or when we went to the Sox game with a close friend on Sunday. Later we ate downtown, two corned beef sandwiches for them and a pastrami for me.
Penny, who at times might think of traveling to New York for a good corned beef, could not finish hers. Not hungry she said. She said she was tired and coughing kept her from sleeping well that night. Next morning we found out why when she took the test kit from the linen closet and confirmed her suspicion.
It was COVID-19.
Monday morning, we drove to the hospital where the diagnosis was confirmed. I tested negative. Perhaps two other bouts with COVID-19 or the seven vaccine shots I had since 2021 made me immune, I thought. I was scheduled for another shot on the first of the month. Maybe next week or sooner or later, I thought.
Alas, on Wednesday morning I tested positive. I told her I was surprised. Penny was not. She looked at me as if one would look at someone who would not wear shoes in a snowstorm.
I too had COVID-19.
The doctor prescribed medication and told me to stay home.
Well, there went our busy week.
I was going to speak at the Rotary Club on Thursday about Edward R. Murrow’s contribution to American journalism. The next day I would talk about the early history of Park Forest to the Civic Leadership Academy. Penny always has a full schedule of meetings and lunches which she hates to miss.
When she posted the news online, she got more than 130 sympathetic responses. I emailed four people who told me to get better.
The rest of the week was spent taking medicine, drinking water and grumbling. Penny claims I earned an advanced degree in complaining.
This is my third bout with COVID-19. None of them was a serious case. But this time I wondered if I were the rodent in a nasty kind of cat and mouse game, with a large menacing paw taking swipes at me every now and then. Sooner or later, I began to think.
We are five years away from the threat of a global epidemic. We survived the menacing years when the word itself — COVID — produced terror and fear.
In the intervening year both medications and vaccines have limited the scope but has not stopped COVID-19 deaths. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention claims that in the last five-plus years, more than 1.2 million deaths were COVID-19 related, either as the underlying or contributing factors.
Like most of us, I only seem to pay attention when something bites and when I can’t bite back. But, as usual, we make sure our annual “geezer” flu and pneumonia shots are up to date. And yes, I will not wait for that cat called COVID-19 to take another swipe at me.
I believe in vaccines. I grew up on Chicago’s Near West Side in the early 1950s, an era in which polio ravaged the community and where a weary and worried mothers network sounded alarms about the fallen youngsters, day by day, week by week.
On April 12, 1955, the results of an effective polio vaccine developed by Dr. Jonas Salk was front page news. It worked.
In 2024, there were no reported cases of polio in the United States. Thank you Dr. Salk. In gratitude, Dr. Sabin.
I disregard these modern voodoo witch doctors who decry vaccines. I will always take my chances with a needle as opposed to rolling the dice of life. I want to be around when the Cubs play the Sox in the World Series.
Maybe.
Jerry Shnay is a freelance columnist for the Daily Southtown.
