Ulises Toirac's Heart-Wrenching Chikungunya Diary: Finding Humor Amidst Pain

Prominent Cuban comedian Ulises Toirac has candidly shared his harrowing battle with the chikungunya virus, blending stark realism with biting humor.

In a recent Facebook post, Toirac paints a vivid picture of his struggle through debilitating joint pain, fever, extreme fatigue, and a general sense of deterioration. He jests that he now feels as if he's aged from 62 to "135" years old.

The post, aptly titled “Diary of a Chikungunya Patient,” showcases Toirac's dark humor as he navigates the distressing symptoms. From the outset, he humorously recounts waking up "desperate to pee," attempting to rise in "seven different ways," only to be met with "a thousand painful alerts" from his joints before finally managing to sit up, dizzy from the effort.

He describes the seemingly simple act of using the bathroom as a "slow-motion" ordeal, with his ankles and knees "protesting" each step, and his bladder on the verge of bursting.

After reaching the toilet, he admits that cleaning the bathroom afterwards was a nightmare, underscoring how even the smallest tasks have become exhausting challenges.

Toirac humorously narrates the difficulty of making coffee while battling chikungunya. Due to his weakened hands, he relies on his dog Lía, who he has trained to hold objects tightly, to help unscrew the coffee pot.

Lighting the stove with a long lighter that lacks gas but has a spark requires him to squeeze the trigger with both hands, an effort that conjures memories of action movies and even his grandmother.

Despite these struggles, he jokes that if the coffee had turned out bad, he would have "succumbed," but fortunately, it was "spectacular."

The narrative captures how the virus completely disrupts daily life. After hydrating with water and coffee, Toirac humorously describes returning to bed "feeling like I soiled myself because my wrists refuse to obey."

Every action—getting up, walking, holding objects—is dictated by his uncooperative hands, ankles, knees, and wrists, as his entire skeletal system seems to protest.

The comedian dedicates a particularly vivid segment to attempting a shower. He heats water "just in case" and finds the experience "extremely enlightening," as every joint reminds him of seventh-grade anatomy lessons. He feels that only hiring a nurse could truly get him clean.

He nearly celebrates when another "epic urge to pee" arises, grateful that at least the toilet is nearby and he's not wearing pajamas, sparing him the torment of dressing.

Toirac highlights the exhaustion and fever, dismissing the idea of resting with chikungunya as "a joke," as one falls asleep "whether you want to or not, despite the pain."

He admits avoiding taking his temperature, as lowering the thermometer—suspected to be filled with "gravel mercury"—feels like "plowing a field with bare hands."

The remainder of the day, he claims, is either unmemorable or forgotten, as everything blurs into "a nightmare-like vision."

The "diary" concludes with a blend of humor and despair in facing the illness. "I liked being 62. Being 135 is a complete drag," he writes, encapsulating the sudden aging and physical toll inflicted by chikungunya in a single sentence.

While laden with satire, his account clearly illustrates the real impact of a virus that turns every daily gesture—getting up, showering, dressing, lighting a stove, or using the bathroom—into a painful endurance test.

This Thursday, upon confirming his infection, Toirac emphasized the importance of staying hydrated, explaining that "chikungunya causes liquid hyperviscosity," and the difference between survival and a high risk of a heart attack hinges on drinking at least three liters of water daily.

He added that for those who can, "using hydrating salts is much, much, much better."