I’ve spent my life largely as a healthy person. I avoided COVID successfully for a full year and change. I’ve only ever had one lengthy hospitalization (appendix on the verge of bursting and then post-op infection) and when I catch whatever seasonal virus is going around, I can usually beat it pretty fast. My one weakness has been norovirus, also known as gastroenteritis, and it’s been my mortal foe since my eighth birthday, the first time I got hit with it. It enters my life, raises hell for 24-48 hours, and then departs without issue.
Not this year.
2025 began with what I thought was a bad hangover from my brother’s New Year’s Eve party, where I mixed multiple liquors, an expensive celebratory cigar, and some herbal delicacies. I hadn’t smoked in ages, so I thought that was where I’d gone wrong, perhaps. By that night, I realized it was probably norovirus, as my issues persisted into January 2nd. On Friday, though, they suddenly stopped that morning, like a light switch had been flipped. I’d been mainlining Imodium for two days to no avail, and then the rumbles disappeared and I was a bit worn out, but back to normal.
Typically we tend to believe, based on our lifetime experiences and explanations from doctors, that we have temporary immunity to a virus for a time after we get over it. I thought that would be the case with me, especially since I’d never had a quick reoccurrence before with the four or five previous times I’d had it. That, as it turned out, was quite inaccurate. Last Tuesday, just as suddenly as before, my intestines erupted, and did so recurrently throughout the day, yet it seemed somewhat controllable and I was not too concerned. Perhaps it was a reaction to my dinner from the night before. Wouldn’t be the first time.
Waking up at four a.m. Wednesday morning and not being able to turn over before vomiting on myself, I realized this was not controllable and I went to an urgent care (Note to Michigan residents: the urgent care locations for a certain large healthcare system whose logo resembles Microsoft Edge are not very helpful). They checked for regular flu, declared it norovirus, gave me some anti-nausea medication and sent me home. I was unhappy because I felt like they didn’t care very much, but I did a little better with the meds and was able to eat some chicken breast that night. Thursday came and went, my intestines sounding like the vats of bubbling chemicals from Axis Chemical in the 1989 Batman film, and excess gas that turned me into this guy.
Friday, now that was a suckerpunch.
There’s nothing worse, in a way, than feeling like you are improving and starting to get past the worst of an illness, and then have it come roaring back yet again. I was already feeling very beat down, my abdominal muscles stuck in a permanent clinch because of how many times they’d spasmed, and then my whole body seemed to fail me. There is no more humiliating moment for an adult human than to lose control of one’s body. To have it happen with ferocity only makes it that much worse—you can’t really process the shame you’re feeling (yes, even in my own home) because you are too busy trying to get yourself to a bathroom without further issue and you have two dogs who are entirely too curious about all things human.
My wife Andrea came home early from work and as soon as I felt like a reprieve had come, took me to the emergency room. I had IV fluids and multiple medications put into me, X-rays taken (which only show a fraction of organ issues, but gotta please the morally bankrupt American insurance system), blood drawn, and finally some better answers. Namely, there’s no apparent immunity for norovirus after beating it, and that instead of the typical 48-hour start to finish cycle, it’s more like seven to ten days. Friday was day four and I already wanted to die because my body was rejecting anything I put into it.
After five hours, I was sent home with new prescriptions and clearer instructions, and I proceeded to spend the next two days continuing on in my misery, sleeping a lot and unable to focus on anything, whether it be a TV show, a book, even social media. I still couldn’t eat without it exiting rapidly, staying hydrated seemed impossible, and I was absolutely sapped, far worse than I’d been with COVID. It felt like I was not going to beat it and this was some sort of purgatory I’d stumbled into and couldn’t find the exit door for. Meanwhile, I have to find energy to help take care of our dogs and mourn the loss of the Detroit Lions in a stunning playoff upset. Oh, yeah, let’s not forget coming to terms with Mango Mussolini returning to the presidency noon on Monday.
By Sunday night, I could at least eat again, and had enough energy to make a chicken soup for myself. Monday was the first day I could eat properly, though I am still inexplicably suffering symptoms. Pepto Bismol, Imodium, the prescriptions, nothing seems able to allow for proper digestion of food. It’s slightly terrifying because the end seems close and yet so far.
You’re probably asking yourself why is this guy describing these [disgusting/gross/nasty/abhorrent] symptoms in such detail? A couple of reasons.
First is because I think it’s important for people to know bad it is this year. Enforced restrictions during COVID on various actions have made people very reactionary against any public health measures, mandatory or voluntary, and I want to convey just how miserable someone will be if they have to spend 7-10 days fighting this. I’ve missed more work to sickness in the past two weeks than I do most years (shoutout to the state of Michigan for making it mandatory for large companies to provide nine sick days as opposed to the five they were doing), and that’s frustrating to me. I’ve been unable to enjoy coffee, which I love. I missed my brother-in-law’s birthday party. I lost a lot of time to being asleep or passed out from how weak I was. Maybe I wouldn’t have avoided it anyway, but maybe being a little more vigilant about wiping down shopping carts that I use or using sanitizer after each public place I’m in might’ve kept me from enduring this hell on Earth.
The other thing, though, is I got a good look into the lives of someone with chronic, persistent illness. It was enlightening how thin the line can be between a healthy person enjoying life and an ill person, stuck at home, unable to lead a normal life or even work consistently because their illness prevents it. The cumulative effects of being sick, day after day, are amongst the most difficult. An inability to get past the virus means more days without proper nutrition because the body won’t process it. It means more pain as your body produces excess lactic acid in your muscles from all of the reflexive symptoms like vomiting. It means the eventual breakdown of your body’s ability to function normally because it is constantly fighting for survival.
These are good lessons to know, learn, and remember. Not just to stay healthy, but to recognize when those we know and love are suffering, and to consider how we might all help each other get through it.
Well warned! Recovering from ICU stay and could not agree with the tenor of your thoughts more. One of the most unhelpful attitudes that I have encountered is that of friends who just want you to feel better and do not want to hear anything else.