BORIS JOHNSON: How Covid nearly killed me. If it hadn't been for Jenny and Luis, fiddling with those oxygen tubes all night with all their skill and experience, I think I might have carked it..
. I saw no cake. I ate no blooming cake.
If this was a party, it was the feeblest event in the history of human festivity. READ HERE Brexit and (Kate) Bingham pulled off Britain's vaccine miracle - and, naturally, Labour attacked them both. READ HERE Why I considered invading Holland with a dramatic canal raid to snatch our five million stolen vaccines back from Brussels' clutches.
READ HERE By Boris Johnson For The Daily Mail Published: 17:06 BST, 27 September 2024 | Updated: 17:56 BST, 27 September 2024 e-mail 32 View comments In the days and weeks that followed my bout of Covid there was quite a lot of indignant internet chatter about the exact severity of my illness. Some said that I was shamming; others that I was indeed ill but that I never needed to go into hospital, let alone occupy an intensive care bed. All I can say is that I felt truly lousy: the scratchy, breathless exhaustion that is familiar to Covid sufferers.
I also know that at one stage my oxygen levels dropped to 72 per cent, and that below 70 per cent some nasty things start happening to your body. That night in April 2020, the doctors and nurses of St Thomas' Hospital were preparing, if necessary, to intubate me – spike a hole in my trachea and stuff a tube down my windpipe to force-feed oxygen into my lu.
