Covid hit me hard in 2021. Hallucinations haunted me, especially the one where I was being attacked by words, which, à la Serena Williams, I batted away. But the more I repelled those words, the faster they came at me. The experience was akin to being inside a video game.
Later, I passed out and awoke with a severely broken leg, one that had to be surgically repaired and which kept me hobbling around for about eight months. I mention this because when I was hospitalized the fact that I still had Covid was problematic. The sign outside my room said Biohazard in big letters, underneath of which was my name, as well as those of the other Covid patients on the floor.
As a former sports official, an avocation I practiced for forty years, I’d been called a lot of unpleasant things, still Biohazard was a something new and rather sinister sounding. The medical staff coming in and out of my room in coveralls, hoods, and goggles lent an ominous tone, so as you can imagine I was happy when they released me to recover from the virus and wait for surgery at home.
Recently, I dealt with a similar issue. I have what is disturbingly called a degenerative spine, the result of too many falls and hits and lots of repetitive motion. So, my surgeon sent me off to the imaging people, where a nice lady stuck a needle in my arm and deposited a bit of radioactive material into my bloodstream. If the idea is making you squeamish, note that I was a bit queasy about the idea as well.
“Will I glow?” I asked the technician.
She smiled. “Maybe some sparkles.”
I waited several hours for the radioactive stuff to do its job, then I had to stay completely still for about a half an hour. The scanning machines hummed quietly, as they rolled over and around me. It wasn’t unpleasant, though my nose itched and I wasn’t allowed to scratch it. Still, in the grand scheme it was pretty painless.
When it was over, I asked if I could see the results and what I saw was strangely beautiful. My spine was lit up in purple and turquoise and a bright yellow patch burst from my cervical spine.
“That’s the bad part,” I said pointing at the stary spot.
“I can see that,” she said.
The scans will go to the neurosurgeon, who will decipher all that light and decided how to fix me. I tried to understand what he might see, but like many body scans there was a Rorschach-test quality to the pictures that I couldn’t decode.
I thanked the woman for her help, and before I left she said, “Don’t hold any babies for a few hours. And don’t sit next to any pregnant women.”
I squinted.
“And you probably shouldn’t go to the airport. TSA might stop you.”
“I’m leaking radiation?”
She smiled.
Biohazard indeed.
Your Forgotten Sons
Inspired by a true story
Anne Montgomery
Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to a Graves Registration Company, where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?
Release Date: June 6, 2024
Pre-Order your copy today
Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.
Author Anne Montgomery 
I vaguely remember that there is a curse, “May you live in interesting times.” Someone must have cursed you long ago. You certainly lived interesting times. How much more interesting can it get?
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I’d do it all again, Jeff! I earned my scars. At least I’ll die with good stories. 😉
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I think someone should be wearing a horseshoe around her neck, and stuff her pockets with four-leaf clovers. Wink. Hugs and hang in there, Anne!
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I look at it as a life well lived, Sharon. I’ll die with good stories and despite the broken parts, I’d do it all again. 😉
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Many years ago I woke up covered in a rash and ended up being put in isolation in the medical centre that went with our work. This was five weeks before we were getting married so the staff said ‘That’s handy if it’s German Measles’ – it wasn’t and to this day I don’t know what it was. But just a few days in that room by myself felt so lonely – pathetic compared with what we all went through with Covid!
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I never want to do Covid again, TS. It was lonely and the broken leg made it all worse. Still, I have healed and walk fine now, though it took eight months. 😉
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