Hyperbaric Oxygen & Finnegan's Wake

I should be in an airport in Miami right now, en route to Costa Rica, for a writing retreat. I would have landed at Liberia Guanacaste which confuses people when I tell them. Isn’t Libera its own country? I thought so, too. But apparently there’s a Liberia in Costa Rica, adjacent beaches and cliffs and wildlife I will have to discover another time because this week I’m sick with COVID. 

This isn’t the first time I’ve had COVID.

The first time, I caught the virus in Bavaria. I’d stopped by Munich on my way back from Kalamata; I worked remotely for a startup at the time and our team had decided to convene on the Mediterranean. We toured olive groves with an enthusiastic guide who liked to explain how nearly everything good in life originated in Greece, including Elon Musk. Except for one of his chickens. I only know this because I took a picture of one of his chickens and posted it to Facebook with the caption: “Greek Chicken.” Our guide then commented on the post to correct me.

The chicken was an Alaskan Silkie.

In Germany, I knew I’d caught COVID the moment my niece and I pulled up to a trampoline park off the highway. The commercial billboard on the side of the building featured a giant illustration children jumping around in dirndls and lederhosen and I thought to myself, “this is where I catch COVID.” My German family and I had only known each other for a year at that point; there’s no better way to bond than catching a potentially fatal virus. 

In an attempt at proper convalescence, I’ve been binge-watching lots of TV. Mostly The Good Doctor on Hulu. Shaun Murphy, the protagonist, is a surgeon with both ASD and savant syndrome who works at San Jose St. Bonaventure Hospital. I very much like this fictional medical team in the Bay Area, even if the writing goes a bit sideways in Season 4. I went down a Reddit rabbit hole and looked it up: they filmed it during lockdown. 

In debating whether I should still try to make it to Costa Rica, I called my parents. They debated my dilemma amongst themselves. “If you stay here, you can do sessions in my hyperbaric oxygen tank,” my dad offered. “I think she’d probably feel better recovering on the beach in Costa Rica,” my mom said.

My 84-year-old father always has interesting remedies. When I lay in bed sobbing over my last heartache, he brought me a helmet that emits electrodes to the brain. 

There’s a clip that you attach to your nose.

What else? In book club, we’ve decided to read Finnegan’s Wake, which also features a character named Shaun. To make up for the fact I don’t read enough between readings, the lawyers have decided to torture me by reading in person, together, a few pages at a time. We’ll meet twice monthly; no cancellations if someone can’t make it, it’ll be on them to catch up. Emily would rather start our meetings at 7 PM to allow her time to transition from the office to club. Angela would rather start at 6:30 so she doesn’t fall asleep while reading Finnegan’s Wake. Mark would rather not do Mondays. John seems amenable to whatever the group decides. Two other friends may join but I’ve yet to settle on their pseudonyms.

Once that’s set, I’ll give you the tea.