Emer McLysaght: Norovirus has slapped on the fake tan and booked a bottomless brunch with the girlies

Patient zero was a three-year-old, recently suspected of licking the handrail on a Dublin Bus. I was the next to fall, 24 hours after my suspected exposure. In the days that followed no less than seven barbecue attendees succumbed. A nasty gastrointestinal bug had latched on and exploited our bodies until we were as weak as kittens, sending text updates about the regularity of our vomiting and the severity of our toilet events. If I was to put a positive spin on it, I’d liken it to the early days of lockdown when there was a “we’re all in this together vibe” and Zoom quizzes felt novel. It’s difficult to be positive though when you’re sitting in the bathroom at 3am wondering if it would be hysterical to call an ambulance after four consecutive pukes.

Whoever decided to call it the “winter vomiting bug” should be sued for false advertising, firstly because it doesn’t go into hibernation for the summer, although in Ireland you could get away with labelling something as “wintery” as early as October and as late as April, so most bases are covered. Secondly, because “vomiting” is simplistic and misleading. In summer the bug gets a little rebrand as “norovirus” and after two years of social distancing and forced isolation it feels like norovirus has slapped on the fake tan, booked a bottomless brunch with the girlies and screamed “we’re back, biaaatches” into a selfie camera with a portable ring light.

The vomiting bug does have a resurgence in the winter months, of course. It plagues hospital wards and as every parent drops their child off for their first day of creche or preschool they’re handed a badge that reads “welcome to your new life of 47 viruses you’ve never even heard of. I hope you’ve saved plenty of annual leave”. In winter, it feels more acceptable to get sick. It’s no less traumatic but it seems on brand. In summer it’s more of an attack.

Another thing Covid taught us is how omnipresent germs are, and how we’re all just one handrail lick away from certain death

The Baader-Meinhof phenomenon, or “frequency illusion”, is the name for what happens when you notice something for the first time and then suddenly it seems like it’s everywhere. You hear an amazing new song in the background of a TV show and then it’s everywhere, following you around. You learn the definition of a new word and suddenly it’s jumping out of every page at you. That’s a little like me and norovirus. I’ve been struck down with it and now it’s everywhere. In an exercise in looking for notice I put a picture of my bin-turned-sick-bucket on my Instagram Story and about a dozen people came forward with their own tales of woe. Someone even asked me where I got the bin.

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At the peak of my illness, lying in a darkened room keening gently, I turned scientist and made the assertion that Covid has changed my genetics and made me more susceptible to norovirus, seeing as I’ve now had it twice in three months. There’s a little bit of lukewarm comfort in the fact that we’ll probably get at least another two years out of appropriating Covid like this. We can feel sorrier for ourselves in illness than usual and also get out of things that we don’t want to do by saying, “I’m sorry I can’t come to your painful-sounding naming ceremony, it’s just since Covid...” and you can trail off ambiguously like that and nobody can ask any questions.

Another thing Covid taught us is how omnipresent germs are, and how we’re all just one handrail lick away from certain death. I undertook the 40-minute drive to Portmarnock’s Velvet Strand a couple of weeks ago to enjoy a late afternoon swim only to be greeted by the lifeguards’ red flag and a spiel about “deterioration in water quality” and an electrical problem at a nearby wastewater pumping station. This kind of problem is music to norovirus’s ears of course, as we literally do its job for it.

Another thing I did in my sick bed was ask my dear old friend Dr Google multiple questions about my illness. I learned that last summer dozens of people were taken down by norovirus at a Kansas water park. I learned that in July a raft race in Lincolnshire had a similar fate. I learned that it’s highly infectious even to people with top levels of personal hygiene and felt a little bit better about myself. I learned that some people are “secreters” who can carry and transmit norovirus without getting symptoms. I think they should rename this people “unicorns”.

I learned that scientists at Virginia Tech are researching a possible norovirus vaccine and wondered if I should submit myself for clinical trials. I remembered a woman I’d seen on TikTok who had documented her journey on a paid norovirus study. On rewatching I related heavily to her complaint that “my ears are really hot and my body is really cold and my stomach hurts”. Mostly, I learned that I am now a norovirus truther and I think Joe Duffy should go back to his “washyourhands” Liveline mantra to save as many people as possible from a fate like mine.