v SAY YOU SAW IT IN THE HERALD v Page 72 • The HERALD • 8th January 2026 Long established family business • MOT TESTING • SERVICE & REPAIR FOR ALL MAKES AND MODELS • CLUTCHES • DIAGNOSTICS • CAMBELTS • SERVICE TO MANUFACTURERS SPECIFICATION • FREE COLLECTION & DELIVERY • USED CAR SALES 128-132 Calmore Road, Totton. SO40 8GQ 023 8086 4424 www.calmoreservicestation.co.uk 023 8084 9370 Prospect Place, Hythe SO45 6AU • MOT’s • MOT Repairs • Air Con • Auto Electrics • Servicing • Welding • Diagnostics • Suspension • Tyres • Clutches • Cam Belts • Brakes SIX WEEKS IN JANUARY by Alan Pearson Covid has cast a huge shadow over mankind’s recent history, but some are still living with the a er e ects of it, one not so well known is the nightmares experienced by those who were unfortunate enough to have been placed into a coma whilst they fought the virus. Unlike normal dreams, these experiences felt real and did not fade upon waking, in fact, ve years on and the nightmares still haunt some but are dismissed by family, friends and even some medical sta with a swi , “yeah, of course you did!” I know this to be true, as I had to be induced into a Covid coma on 28th December 2020 and remained in it for 5 weeks. I was informed by a consultant, at a later date, that I was given enough sedation to have, “knocked my brain out completely”. BUT... On the administering of the sedation, my brain relinquished control but was ousted in a one-sided coup by my subconsciousness, which switched into overdrive and plunged my imagination, head rst into a maelstrom of dreams and illusions, ranging from the fanciful, to the weird and the downright nonsensical, always ghting, ghting to maintain a grip on my surroundings, ghting unseen foes, ghting to stay alive, ghting to remain... SANE! Not once during my ve weeks in that coma did I emerge from these nightmares, no respite from the onslaught, and all the di ering scenarios my subconscious forced me into! All the time I was ghting my own incredulous battle within, the sta at Southampton General Hospital were performing their own miraculous ght for me on the outside. I do know that, without them I would not be here now, and that is no exaggeration, they really did save my life, more than once. And I will never have the correct or enough words to thank them. I did, however, feel that I was alone in having those fantastical nightmares, which took quite some time to realise, were not real. Along with being dismissed as the sedation was too strong for me to know anything, my dreams were not as pressing as all the other issues I was dealing with during my recovery, my lungs, heart, liver and kidneys, sight, muscle wastage and PTSD, from the trauma of the illness. is last one allowed me to access Cognitive Behavioural erapy (CBT), but it was counselling I needed, but I was not entitled to. Two years a er my illness, I had been paid o from my job as a train driver and now classed as disabled due to my lungs, but still plagued by the dreams, and CBT was not helping my mental health issues. I saw an advert for ‘Saints By Your Side’ at St Marys stadium, a new initiative by the club to address men’s mental health, although di cult at rst, it proved to be a great help and I found myself a very good counsellor, as well as nding myself wanting to write my memories down much more fully than the notes I had previously jotted down. I also found myself telling just about anyone who would listen, about all the amazing things my brain had put me through, but this time, I wasn’t being dismissed, I was being listened to, and even encouraged to write the stories down, with plenty of, “I’d buy that book if you wrote it!” So, write it I did! Four years a er my run in with Covid, I completed what I believed to be a worthy manuscript, one to be proud of, and as such, announced it to everyone and anyone who would listen, mainly on social media. Along with the congratulations and encouragement I received, came some, “I had similar experiences”, which was horrifying to think others had gone through similar to me, but also the realisation that I was not the only one. is made me determined to get my book out there for people to read and understand and realise they are not alone if they had these dreams, and those who escaped these traumas can understand some of what we went through. Why “Six Weeks in January” as a title? Every year so many people complain about how long January feels, but in January 2021, my mind never shut down for even a moment for ve whole weeks, and then when I did re-emerge from my slumbers, I was in and out of delirium, a coma like state with bouts of lucidness, sometimes the two would melt together, giving those caring for me even greater issues. So, in total my January that year spanned Six Weeks, or 42 days, or 1008 hours, or 60,480 minutes or give or take a few minutes’ worth, 3,628,800 seconds. Signed copies of Six Weeks in January are available direct from the books Facebook page. I would like to say thank you to everyone who treated, aided, helped, worried and wished me well, without you, I would not be here today. And if you are thinking, that’s me, that’s what happened to me, you are not alone. Alan Pearson
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