My post-viral battle and what it tells us about long Covid

One morning in 1966, I woke up seeing double. I splashed cold water over my face and blinked a few times but I still saw double. I had had glandular fever the previous month, for which there was no treatment except rest and paracetamol, and the GP said in time it would cure itself — and though tiredness dragged on I was soon back to normal.

But now I began to ache all over again, my temperature was up, glands swollen, and when I lay down I went to sleep for six hours. The GP was confident that, double-vision apart, mononucleosis had returned in a mild form, but asked me if I was experiencing anything unusual. I said my head was full of boiled socks, I could not concentrate or focus, let alone work, and when I tried to read, the letters moved around and jumbled in front of me. He looked nonplussed. Had I noticed anything different in my surroundings? ‘I had my flat redecorated and there’s a weird smell in the air all the time.’

Maybe he was on the verge of sending me to a psychiatrist, but instead he prescribed more rest and paracetamol, plus an optician’s appointment. I went home and slept for 11 hours straight. When I woke, I was back to normal — no double vision, exhaustion, aching, temperature or boiled socks, and the words stayed still on the page. Normality lasted for three weeks before it all came back, and much worse. I could not walk down the road without wondering if I would have the energy to get back. I had a permanent temperature, I ached, my brain was mashed potato and the double vision had returned.

There followed visits to the optician, another doctor, the hospital eye department and, like Tony Hancock, I gave an armful of blood, but all tests were negative.