I Feel So Break Up, I Want to Go Home

In 1927, the American Poet Carl Sandburg included a poem called "The John B. Sails" in his compilation of folk songs The American Songbag.  A little over 20 years later, the poem was recorded as a song.  But it wasn't recorded by the group you might be thinking of.  It was first recorded by a group known as The Weavers.  Over the ensuing years, others recorded the song, including Johnny Cash and Dwight Yoakum.  But the most famous recording is probably the one The Beach Boys released in 1966.

The poem (and later the song) tells the story of a sloop named the John B.  According to legend, a Welshman named John Bethel lived in the Colonial Bahamas in the mid 1600's.  His sloop, the John B, later wrecked near Florida.  The wreck of the John B became somewhat famous in the area which inspired the lyrics of the song.

We come on the sloop John B

My grandfather and me

Around Nassau town we do roam

Drinking all night, got into a fight

I feel so break up, I want go to home

Hoist up the John B's sail

See how the mainsail sets

Call for the Captain ashore

Let me go home, let me go home

I want to go home, why won't you let me go home?

I feel so break up, I want to go home

The first mate got drunk

Broke up the people's trunk

The constable had to come and take him away

Sheriff John Stone, why don't you leave me alone?

I feel so break up, I want to go home

Hoist up the John B's sail

See how the mainsail sets

Call for the Captain ashore

Let me go home, let me go home

I want to go home, let me go home

Why don't you let me go home?

I feel so break up, I want to go home

The cook, yeah, he caught the fits

He threw away all my grits

And then he came and he ate up all of my corn

Let me go home, why won't you let me go home?

This is the worst trip since I have been born

So hoist up the John B's sail

See how the mainsail sets

Call for the Captain ashore

Let me go home, let me go home

I want to go home, why don't you let me go home?

I feel so break up, I want to go home. 

Well, folks, this song sums up perfectly my voyage with Covid.  On Sunday, January 9th, my 22 month winning streak of not getting the dreaded disease came to an end.  About 3:30 that afternoon, my throat became scratchy.  As the afternoon wore on, I felt worse and worse.  When Myranda got home that afternoon from seeing patients, I told her of my symptoms.  I'm pretty sure we both knew in the back of our minds what was next.

I made myself a lair in Palynn's bedroom since it is isolated from the rest of the house and has a bathroom near it that everyone else could avoid.  Palynn moved in with Emma.  When I woke up Monday morning, I was much worse.  After a several hours long trek throughout Abilene, we finally were able to get a home test.  As soon as I put the drops on the test strip, two lines lit up.  The last time I saw lines like that on a test strip, it was good news.  It meant that we were positive for a baby.  This time, not so much.

By Monday night, I was absolutely miserable.  Chills, check.  Fever, check.  Sore throat, check.  Headache, check.  Cough and congestion, check and check.  Awaking on Tuesday, I had high hopes.  But alas, no.  I was still miserable.  Now, new symptoms had appeared.  Muscle aches so severe I thought I would die.  My eyes felt swollen with pain.  A flash of burning agony shot up from my jaw into my inner ear.  And the strangest prickle would randomly come alive in my nostrils.  I suffered through Tuesday lying on the bed like a lump of illformed clay that would never be useful again.

Wednesday morning, there was a miracle.  I felt better; not worse.  I still had a lot of fatigue, but I was able to sit up.  I made some calls, checked in with the Aldersgate staff, and sent out some texts.  I was even able to enjoy a meal.  Last night when I went to bed, I was so glad that the journey was coming to an end.  Then I woke up this morning.

As soon as I did, I knew things weren't better.  The Covid headache was back.  In fact, it's still with me even as a write.  But the symptom that I've dreaded the most, the one symptom I hadn't had and didn't want to get, it was waiting silently in the wings.  I had made myself a steaming cup of strong coffee and a delicate slice of perfectly seasoned cinnamon toast.  At the time, I didn't notice that the aroma of cinnamon wafting from the oven was missing.  I sat down to enjoy a leisurely breakfast.  I took my first sip of coffee.  My first thought was, "This coffee sure isn't very strong.  It must be getting old.  I'll ask Myranda to get some more when she is out today."

Then my world came crashing down.  I bit into my lovingly prepared toast...and nothing.  I lifted my coffee cup to my nose and took a huge whiff.  Nothing.  Quickly I grabbed my bottle of Lip Medex and inhaled a giant sized breath.  Nothing.  Filled with the deepest of darknesses, I crammed the whole piece of toast into my mouth.  I swallowed as quickly as possible.  Then I chugged my coffee.  Covid had struck again.

That's when the Sloop John B came to mind.  Throughout the voyage, the protagonist encounters one pitiful experience on top of another.  All he can think about is going home.  He wanted things to go back to normal.  Yet, he was still on his journey.  He had to suffer through before he could get back home.  I suspect that even after he got home, it wasn't the way it was before.

On my Covid journey, one symptom after another keeps cropping up.  I cry out to Covid, "I want to go home, why don't you let me go home? I feel so break up, I want to go home."  But Covid just laughs at me and has another plan.  So I sit adrift in the sea.  I wait to see what fresh new hell Covid will bring.  But in the meantime, I choose to sing and laugh at myself.