By Patti Parish-Kaminski, Publisher
I may have consumed most of Mr. Kaminski’s good whiskey. Don’t tell him!
Despite two vaccinations, copious quantities of Vitamin C and already having the dastardly disease once a few years ago, I caught the C virus – again. Or should I say, the C virus caught me.
Now I thought I was bullet proof having done all that’s necessary to prevent this vile visitor. Turns out it wasn’t enough. I thought things had changed.
What has changed is now there’s a drug for it, but it’s a doozy. It’s the nastiest, most disgusting tasting that I have ever put in my mouth, and yes, that’s sayin’ a lot. The aftertaste once Paxlovid gets in your system is next level.
Upon my diagnosis, I was told I only had to take meds for five days. Five days? That sounded awful short to me, as when I had Corona (not the beer) before, I was down for a solid four weeks. I was optimistic upon receiving the news, but since it was not my first rodeo with the Covid cowboy, I was skeptical.
“Only five days?” I queried.
“The medicine makes the symptoms much less severe and the incubation time shorter,” was the reply from a real doctor.
So, I bought in. Three prescriptions were called in for me, including my inhaler as my asthma was already giving me a workout. I went to the pharmacy drive thru as to not inflict this monster on anyone else, only to learn my inhaler was the only thing not ready.
“So, the medication that can actually save my life is not ready, but these other two are?” I asked the pharmacist. “Why do I need these meds if I’m dead because I can’t breathe?”
The answer is yes, I got my inhaler. It’s all about asking the right question.
I took the Paxlovid – three huge pills at a time – with little fanfare when I got home. I wasn’t hungry; I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was sleep, but the only thing I couldn’t do was sleep. My inability to breathe and constant coughing was constantly interrupting slumber, so I was beyond miserable, cranky and completely incapable of BS. Mr. Kaminski can attest to that.
It was the second dose on day one that got me.
“Why does everything taste like I’m sucking on blood?” I asked Mr. Kaminski.
“The medication has a metallic after taste,” was his reply. “It will go away when you stop taking it.”
“In FIVE days!” I protested, thoroughly distressed.
I commenced to brushing my teeth using three different types of toothpaste. Nada.
I then tried two different types of mouthwash. Didn’t help.
I ate menthol cough drops, certain that would do the trick. Nope.
I finally gave up and went to bed hoping the new meds would help me sleep now that I could breathe somewhat. Turns out sleep was still an allusive companion as I kept waking up. Yes, the awful medication mouth had me to where I couldn’t sleep!
I got up twice in the wee hours of the morning and brushed my teeth again. Didn’t work the first time. Why did I think it would work now? Desperation. Constant, brutal desperation.
I absolutely could not stand it, and eating was out of the question as nothing tasted right. That’s not entirely a bad thing. Like a good stomach flu, I could wind up losing a few pounds during this corona crisis. There’s always a bright side.
Day two brought more of the maddening medication. I didn’t eat at all. Even my Diet Coke tasted terrible. Being the trooper that I am, I didn’t let that slow me down. I still guzzled my DC in the am hours like the pro that I am.
Later that evening, I decided I needed a different approach to this persistent problem. The answer? Whiskey. Turns out you can burn the bad away. I’m still sick, and now tipsy, but I don’t really care. See y’all next week – on the porch!
Patti Parish-Kaminski
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