Insidious

A friend of mine who is also currently fighting the COVID-19 virus, used the perfect word to describe it recently…..insidious.  

Insidious  /in’ sid-i-əs/

Adjective,  (of something unpleasant or dangerous) gradually and secretly causing harm

Intending to entrap or beguile; stealthily treacherous or deceitful; operating or proceeding in an inconspicuous or seemingly harmless way but actually with grave effect; artful; cunning; wily; subtle; crafty

Insidious, to me, is an onomatopoeia – where the sound of the word when you say it conjures up the actual meaning…like “whack”, or “thump”, or “whisper”.  Except when I say “insidious”, I feel my face contort in a sickening, wicked way.  My eyes squint, my tongue hisses, and as I get to the last syllable I can imagine a dark, gooey tar roll out of my mouth for extra effect.

I’ve been fortunate in my life to have had very few “near death” experiences.  Really only one, that I know of: the time when my car, in the middle of a thunderstorm, decided on its own to leave the paved lane of US Hwy 59 near El Campo and begin a series of “tilt-a-whirl” spins as I simply held onto the wheel for dear life, eventually stopping in the median just short of oncoming traffic.  

Now that I believe Fawn and I are safely out of the woods after almost two weeks of fighting this insidious virus, I believe I’ll add this experience to that short list.  This virus is unlike any sickness I’ve ever experienced, because it is so treacherous.  It’s dishonest.  It doesn’t fight fair.  With a normal flu or cold, at least you can tell what’s happening to your body.  You know pretty much what to expect, to the point that you can almost envision how the bug is working through its routine.  You know that if you can just be patient, this will end and life will be back to normal in no time.  

Not so with this devil.  It comes and goes, sneaking around your body.  Probing here and there.  Tickling, then cutting.  Pressing, then penetrating.  Finding the weak spots and taking full advantage of them.  It sidles up to you and makes you think you’re a co-worker, while it invites you into an odd dance of evaluating just what to do for maximum effect.  It puts its arm around you, waiting on you to become confident and comfortable, so that it can then swing a baseball bat hard across your knees to lay you on the ground once again.

The wickedness of it lies in it’s variety.  How can it come into some of our bodies and never even cause a sniffle?  But then for others, even people in top physical condition, it can kill within a matter of days.  The spectrum of symptoms from person to person can be so wildly different.  You just can’t trust it.  It is sneaky.  Many nights I laid awake, thinking we were on the mend, then my confidence would be shattered by a thought about someone who had it, seemingly recovered, then died.  A man in Iowa was in the hospital, having been treated for several weeks.  Doctors were finally ready to discharge him.  He was feeling great.  Then, as he was waiting on his family to come pick him up and take him home, he suddenly relapsed, and within a few hours he was gone.  That’s simply insidious.     

I learned this week that my friend in Brazil, Luis, has contracted the virus.  Luis was 6’ 4”, and weighed probably 260 lbs. the last time I saw him.  He was a big, jovial teddy bear, with a beautiful family and a loving heart.  He always greeted me with a warm embrace and a cold beer when I visited his house for churrascaria.  They tell me he now weighs about 100 lbs., and the virus has taken a section of his pancreas.  They don’t expect him to make it.

On some of the darkest nights of the past few weeks, as I studied the long, unfamiliar shadows that I could swear were lurking around my room, my thoughts raced everywhere.  There’s nothing like a brush with death to make you think about life.  Have I done enough?  Did I hurt that person?  What could I have done better?  Have I thanked that person?  Could I have worked harder?  Could I have helped others more?  Could I have loved more?  

There’s a death each minute from COVID-19 in the U.S. right now.  Fawn and I will surely survive this, I feel confident now.  But I must give fair warning to each and every one of my friends and family……I might seem just a little different the next time you see me.  Don’t be too alarmed when my handshake runs a little long, and is quickly followed up with a warm embrace.  Don’t think I’m weird when my hugs are a little longer than they should appropriately be.  I hope you don’t mind if I stare at your face and just take you in for a few seconds longer than normal.  Don’t find me strange if I call you up to just go drive to the Dairy Queen in Navasota and have a Blizzard.  Indulge me when I invite you to stay while I put just one more log on the firepit, or pour you one more glass of wine.  Stick around with me for a little more conversation after the table has been cleared.  

As I’ve recently discovered, that’s the way it should be!