I’ve been around Covid and written about the virus for a year without catching it – until now

The fever was scorching. Woozy and out of breath, I struggled to get to the kitchen to refill my water bottle. But the next thing I remembered, I was lying on my back on linoleum with a sharp pain at the back of my skull. It took me a few minutes to realise that I had passed out and whacked my head against the floor.

I had no idea how hard I had fallen or how long I had lost consciousness. But I deduced there was no point in going to the hospital. Even if I had suffered a concussion, the doctor would just tell me to take it easy for a couple weeks, which is what I was doing anyway working through a tough bout with Covid-19.

For more than a year, I had managed to avoid contracting the coronavirus, even as I regularly travelled for work or family obligations and attended occasional social events.

When it hit, I was home on a Sunday morning. First came the slight, rough cough. Then flashes of pain and aches. Then the suspicions. Did I have coronavirus? Just a cold?

Next came a call to a clinic, which agreed to send over a nurse to have me tested. The positive response came later that night. I began messaging all those I had come into contact with over the last week. Maybe they should get tested too, I warned.

Monday morning the sore throat turned into a fever, and a crippling sense of exhaustion. The doorbell rang. Two friendly people from the Istanbul local government to check in on me and hand me some free antiviral medicine and urge me to stay home for 10 days.

By Tuesday morning I was in bad shape, and after whacking my head against the floor, I struggled through a long, feverish sleep. I remember thinking I could understand why people die from this virus.

But when I woke up early that evening I could already sense the worst was over. In the ensuing days, friends who had Covid helped me through recovery, and I am so grateful. I settled into a rhythm of massive amounts of paracetamol, vitamin D, water and herbal tea. The fever lingered but eventually faded, though the sore throat got so bad at one point I could barely talk or eat, and morphed into a bronchial cough that lasted weeks.

After being around Covid and writing about Covid for more than a year, I sought to draw some profound lessons about life from the experience of having Covid. Perhaps there was a silver lining. But I have found none. It doesn’t teach us anything about the fragility of life, the human condition or even anything particularly interesting about the indifference of the universe. It is a dangerous pestilence, and little more – and you should avoid it like the plague it is.

Yours,

Borzou Daragahi

International correspondent