Potions, pills and persistence

In which we survive a 7 day lickdown with our 35kg "puppy"

November started well enough, continuing my rehab work on my cardiovascular fitness (successful - including a thoroughly satisfying foray into the hills), speech therapy (some small gains) and occasional exasperating attempts at a return to eating food (not successful - yet).

Progress was rudely interrupted by a dose of The Covid, for Maree & I. We are on the mend now. Mia was spared altogether, seemingly immune to the virus. No one, however, was spared the 7 day at-home lickdown, immediately instituted by Fred. Our dutifully sanitised household surfaces were systematically pawed, slobbered on or chewed by our 35kg furry force of nature. At times, it was hard to know whether to laugh, cry or just cough, but it was also comforting to think that no known virus could survive this onslaught of enthusiasm. And we were grateful for it.

There’s no such thing as isolation, when you have the companionship of Fred. He had us right where he wanted us.

Antiviral medicine also helped. I was fortunate to be quickly prescribed the tried and true medicine Paxlovid. Each day’s dose was treasured in a gold and regal-blue foil package of two cryptically labelled pills. Their names, “Nirmatrelvir” and “Retonavir”, sounded like a concoction from Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. Possibly descended from the line of Boromir and Faramir, the two drugs in this modern wizard’s potion defeat the body’s attacker by working in tandem (one does not simply take nirmatrelvir; one must also take retonavir). It worked, like magic.

Of course, it wasn’t magic, it was science; the culmination of thousands of hours of diligent experimentation and collective endeavour across the globe. One day, I hope that cancer will be similarly treated. There’ll be a simple, freely available little pill that will stymie, dissipate then dispel the cancer wherever it might lurk, without invasive treatment. There isn’t such a cure yet, but we the humans are closing in. Close to home, the good scientists at the GMRI are working on it, persisting their way through the unknown. They will not be giving up, and nor should we.

Bridge-crossing on the path to recovery. Otaki Forks, early November