September 14, 2021
It has now been a full year since I contracted Covid-19. I remember those first few symptoms, and how sure I was that I was going to be the mildest of cases. I had BARELY a tickle in my throat, but because of my husband's positive test, my proximity to him, and the nature of my job, I chose to stay home an extra day after my initial negative result. I will always be glad I made that decision. Little did I know, the previous shift would be my last full time shift for at least the next year.
I tested positive 4 days after my negative test, and the fevers had started. I was still able to walk each day with my husband and we made sure to move as much as possible. Living in our shed so that we could quarantine away from our children was a luxury that I realize many do not have. People started bringing meals and sending up prayers, and we were incredibly grateful, but still pretty certain that we'd come away from this unscathed.
It was day 8 of infection when we went for our evening walk, and I remember looking at Jeff and saying, "you know what? I'm a little winded. That's weird." I was able to walk about another 100 feet for so before I decided that maybe I should go back and rest and try again later. That night the pain that overtook my body was horrific. My skin hurt so badly that touching the sheets of the bed felt like razors. I tried to get up and make the walk to our bathroom that only he and I had been sharing in the house, and I had to stop twice to try and catch my breath. The following day, I had a telehealth appointment with my physician and she all but begged me to go to the hospital. (Nurses are terrible patients...) I really felt like if I could just get through this little bump in the road, I'd come put on the other side just fine. I think I left for the hospital about a half hour after getting off the phone with her.
The hospital stay was frustrating and long and really showed me just how little we understand about covid. The staff was wonderful. We just didn't know what to do with people who made no clinical sense. I spent 10 days there, and the massive amounts of steroids I received sent my pancreas over the edge, and I now get to experience being a true diabetic.
I've spent the last year going to countless doctor appointments, as well as physical, occupational, and speech therapies. I've tried about every supplement available. I read about covid ENDLESSLY. My physical therapist is incredible, and is truly the only reason I have good days with my breathing right now. His dedication to my health and his fascination with the body's response to covid has been invaluable to me. I'm extremely grateful.
I continue to experience some shortness of breath. I still have dizzy spells, headaches, crippling fatigue, tachycardia, and vision changes. I'm down to about 1-2 fevers per week. I AM getting better. Each day is a new challenge, and I'm trying with everything I have to get back to being the mom, the wife, the nurse that I once was.
I know there are those who believe I'm being dramatic, and that I'm making this up. And you know what? That's ok. Honestly, if I hadn't experienced this myself I probably would have never believed the extent to which one virus can transform your daily life. I have an incredible support system. My bosses and coworkers, my family and friends, could not be more supportive and understanding. I know how lucky I am. And thank everything that is holy that I have people to talk to who know exactly what I'm feeling related to long covid. I wouldn't wish this on anyone, but I'm so grateful that I'm not alone. Unfortunately, there are MANY of us.
I'm grateful for each step forward. I'm grateful that with each fall backward, someone is there to help pull me back up. I'm grateful for good research and advances in medicine. I'm grateful for my vaccine and for those around me who are protecting those of us who clearly don't handle this well. And mostly I'm grateful that after a year of dealing with this, I can still say that I'm a survivor.
