The Start of the Covid Blues

I’ve kept up with the news, and I understand that the pandemic is officially over. However, there’s a deeper narrative at play. Like many others over sixty, the Covid Blues began to resonate in my mind when the pandemic first hit, and they've been playing ever since, regardless of any official status. Initially, I didn’t fully grasp the tune, but now it’s etched in my memory.

On March 3, 2020, a friend and I attended a Denver Nuggets basketball game. Just a week later, lockdowns began. A month later, my friend passed away—not due to the game, but from Covid. Shortly after, another dear friend fell into a coma and spent weeks on a ventilator. He survived, thankfully.

At the time, we resided in a towering 42-story building in downtown Denver. Overnight, our vibrant neighborhood transformed into a ghost town. There were no convention-goers, no restaurant patrons, and no art lovers. The 200,000 daily workers vanished, leaving behind deserted streets. The once-bustling RTD trains were empty. The essence of downtown Denver, which had brought it to life, was abruptly halted. The streets were desolate, with only the homeless wandering, adding to the heart-wrenching atmosphere as they struggled in solitude, devoid of anyone to seek assistance from. Our empty downtown was under the watchful eye of police in SUVs, guns drawn to deter any potential looting.

As I gazed out from my high-rise, my heart sank like Puff the Magic Dragon when Jackie Paper matured, and my dreams dissipated like a sudden downpour.

Chapter 2 The Unexpected Twist

The night before our return to Denver, we arrived at our son’s home. Feeling a slight allergy attack, I was encouraged to test for Covid. To my dismay, I tested positive—two lines on the test. The result turned our plans upside down. We had to leave our son, mask up, and find a hotel near the airport, our hearts racing with worry.

Thankfully, my doctor in Denver managed to prescribe Paxlovid in Seattle, which I began taking that Monday. Unfortunately, before the medication could take effect, my fever soared to nearly 103 degrees.

As the fever raged, the Covid Blues blared loudly again, and I envisioned a full band—singer, harpist, drummer, bassist, and guitarist—clad in black, lamenting through their music. Amidst the chaos, I realized I had another book to write, but in the throes of my fever, I couldn’t even recall the title or the name of my star lawyer from previous works.

I could hear the persistent refrain, "Oh, sing them blues."

I began to ponder where I might have contracted the virus but drew a blank. Instead, the song echoed in my mind, urging me, "Oh baby, sing them blues."

Desperate for rest, I lay down as the singer continued, "Sing 'em. Sing them blues."

Despite experiencing the Paxlovid rebound, I emerged alive, a reason for celebration. Yet, months later, the remnants of Covid linger: high blood pressure, a possibly damaged artery, and that unshakable tune playing in my head. I can still hear the band of blues musicians, dressed in black, belting out their Covid Blues. I appreciate the blues, but this particular song? Not at my age, not at any age.

Ultimately, this melody embeds itself in your mind and refuses to fade, regardless of the pandemic's status.

In this soulful performance, celebrities remix the COVID-19 Blues, showcasing resilience and unity, and reminding us of the importance of community during trying times.