Dude. I have fucking COVID.
That’s what I’ve been telling my closest friends in Portland. Which is super embarrassing because I just moved to New Orleans. Not sure if y’all know this, but Louisiana had the most cases per capita in the world at one point during the pandemic. Kinda like Portland with strip clubs. Similarly, me having COVID is likely not as surprising to my family in Florida, not because they are callous—they’ve been really sweet while I’ve been ill—but because four relatives in the Gunshine State have already had it. One died.
I can’t think of a single friend of mine in Portland who has had COVID yet, and I think it’s because the culture is a little more self-centered. Sure, people there care about the greater good; that’s why social justice activism thrives there so strongly. At the same time, the overall vibe is self-focused. Like, when I ask my good-natured, kombucha-loving, anti-vivisection comrades to hang out, it’s more often than not based on their schedule, their needs, their venue preferences. I mean, think of the self-absorbed hipsters at every coffee shop, record store, or show, just dying to be seen. Don’t pretend you haven’t done it, too. I know I have, luckily, long ago.
I caught Rona a week after moving to New Orleans. Not the warm welcome I anticipated. I was hanging out with a very self-absorbed person from the Pacific Northwest, who kept doing dumb shit like smoking weed with strangers and folks who were houseless. Nothing wrong with being houseless, I’ve lived on the streets myself, but it’s utterly asinine and totally irresponsible to suck on pipes and joints with the same population that is at the highest risk for COVID. Needless to say, I did not partake, but I observed from afar. Despite my Portland-influenced elitist disapproval, I said and did nothing. Maybe the lackadaisical vibe of NOLA got to me. Or, perhaps I didn’t want to argue with the selfish and completely oblivious. I made an assumption that this person was a super spreader, but they ended up COVID-free. I cannot believe that all I did differently was pay respects at the Día de los Muertos altar. I even stayed outside at the last venue we attended together, with our other friends who also got infected.
I was a fool among fools. Perhaps the biggest fool of them all. Not only for not keeping up my Portland social standards during COVID while in the Big Easy, but because I went out maskless. Like when I mourned with the parade at the Day of the Dead, which ironically had a memorial to COVID victims on one side. Or, at dance nights, some places checked vaccine cards, but most did not. And, I kept forgetting my mask. Sometimes, I just went with the crowd and didn’t wear it. So, trust me, I know that ultimately, I am to blame for lowering my own standards of caution and mindfulness.
Anyway, today is day four of me agonizing in bed with a throbbing headache, congestion, fever, and culminating fear of losing my ability to breathe. It’s a fun game of: is my chest tightening, or is that anxiety? At least I could take out the trash today. Feeling better than yesterday, but still mostly in bed with an unrelenting headache. Ordered wellness-type groceries (immunity boosting juices and shots) to be delivered from Whole Foods. There’s no New Seasons out here, and the regular stores have some healthwise stuff, but not like we’re used to in the City of Roses. I’m not unrealistic and will never blame people’s struggle with a healthy lifestyle or their lack of knowledge in terms of herbalism and holistic medicine for getting COVID, going to the hospital, and maybe even dying. Yes, this faulty narrative exists. No, I want nothing to do with it. On the other hand, I think my kitchen witch ways—which I learned before it was cool, before social media, and from books and oral traditions—has helped minimize my symptoms. That, and, you know, the vaccine. I was lucky enough to get access to the most effective vaccine on the market: Moderna. I’m sure that is the number one reason I’m not in the hospital right now and am instead writing this essay on my phone.
I’ll leave you with this: I wish businesses would actually check COVID vaccine cards and tests in the U.S. like they do in Canada. So many say they will/do, and so far, I’ve only seen two places in New Orleans actually do it and a few more in Portland. More often than not, in both cities, it’s a don’t ask/don’t tell situation, despite signage and hype. I get that people are concerned about their livelihoods, but is spreading this awful disease really worth a good time and some money? I’ll be making a map for New Orleans of venues, and I’ll share whether they checked my card/test status. I urge someone in Portland to do the same. Trust me; nobody wants a breakthrough case. It’s super painful and debilitating.
Having spewed all that like the thick slug that projected from my lungs this morning, I’m going to be sick of my bedroom when this week of COVID hell is over. So, I guess I better get out there and bring some of that PNW advocacy with me to the sugary heart of the South.
