Well, it's not the coronavirus, but...

I am now entering the fourth week of what I thought was a headcold, but which I learned on Friday was a bacterial sinus infection. Good to know.

It started out as a runny nose and plenty of sneezing. But nothing below the neck - no sore throat, no cough - and no fever. I didn't feel particularly sick or tired. I was just sick and tired of blowing my nose. As runny noses go, this runner was a marathoner.

I went through a box of Kleenex. Then two.

I did my usual: clear up congestion by slathering Vicks VapoRub on my nose and throat and taking a hot shower.

It seemed to be working. I was getting my five-mile-a-day walk in.Whatever it was seemed to be dying down. Sort of.

Then at the start of week two, I went to the dentist to have a permanent crown put in. When I got home about noon, I realized that whatever it was hadn't died down. It was leaping up and out like that creature in Alien.  Talk about Boogerpalooza!

I took to my bed, sleeping most of Monday afternoon and pretty much all day Tuesday.

On Tuesday, I called in sick for my volunteer work at a homeless shelter. Ditto on Thursday.

When I wasn't dozing, I was blowing my nose; disposing of wadded up, completely boogerized pieces of Kleenex; taking a VapoRub shower; or lying there with a hot compress over my sinuses, which were killing me.

Forget five miles a day. I was barely getting in a mile, a mile devoted largely to getting a fresh box of Kleenex.

But I was reading.

For sanity's sake, I had to swear off watching the news. I keep up via Twitter, which gives me the highlights - not that most of them are exactly highlights - and the condensed version. Up to date, but not submerged.

Here's what I've been reading:

Say Nothing, by Patrick Radden Keefe, a brilliantly written book that recounts the murder of mother-of-ten Jean McConville by the IRA. It reads like a novel. Chilling.

Elevator Pitch, by Linwood Barclay, a beach-read thriller that went quickly.

Smoke Gets in Your Eyes, by Caitlin Doughty, who, after graduating from the University of Chicago, got a job working in a mortuary/crematorium.

Henry Himself, by Stewart O'Nan, a novelist at whose typewriter I worship. This is a prequel to Wish You Were Here and Emily Alone, two novels that chronicle the Maxwell family after the death of Henry Maxwell himself. I hate coming to the end of a Stewart O'Nan novel. If he could churn out a book a week for the rest of his life I'd be happy as a clam. If bivalves liked good books.

My Life as a Rat, by Joyce Carol Oates, one of my favorite writers. My Life was pretty good, but it was a bit too echo-y of her We Were the Mulvaneys, which was written more than 20 years ago. Both books center on large Irish-American families from which a young daughter is sent into exile. The exile was more believable and organic in Rat than it was in Mulvaneys. Still I found it odd that she revisited this theme.

NW, by Zadie Smith, which has been sitting in the bookpile next to my sickbed for years, and which I finally dug out. Love Zadie Smith, and I'm moving right along through this one.

On Wednesday of week two, I put down my books and made a trip to the local drugstore. (Gary Drug: a true local indepedent pharmacy. Not a CVS. Not a Walgreen. A true gift to our neighborhood.) While there, I broke down and got some NyQuil Plus. And some more boxes of Kleenex: one infused with aloe vera, one infused with Vicks, and one that claimed it could kill 99.99% of all germs. (Right.) I started handwashing a la Lady Macbeth.

Whatever it was finally started calming down.  Unfortunately, the nose-blowing wasn't going anywhere. But I was feeling fine. Other than the yuck feeling you get when you wake up in the morning in a bed covered in wadded up Kleenex.

I was back to my five miles per.

I wasn't sleeping round the clock.

I got back on track with my volunteering at St. Francis House.

Last Friday, I had a regular appointment with my primary care physician.

She me I had a bacterial sinus infection and prescribed Amoxicillin.

A miracle!

Boogerpalooza is not 100% over, but I am no longer blowing my nose 24/7.

Just to be on the safe side, to make sure I don't get reinfected, my doctor suggested that I wear a mask and/or gloves when I'm volunteering. I told her that I really didn't want to put up a barrier between me and the folks I'm handing a toothbrush or a tube of lotion to. They have enough cares and woes, let alone having a volunteer treat them as if they were Typhoid Mary.

I told my doctor that, while I'm there, I Macbeth it up with the Purell, but she said that I'd be better off using good old fashioned soap and water (while singing Happy Birthday) to get rid of germs if I came in any contact with one of our guests and/or an object that they've touched. Will do.

I'm halfway through the antibiotic course, and it seems to be working. My nose is no longer churning out factory-levels of snot. I feel great.

No, it wasn't the coronavirus, but I'm sure glad I'm pretty much done with it. Talk about the no-fun zone...