https://www.facebook.com/1090271592/posts/10221688436815434/?d=n
Day 112. Wear a mask, its really not a big deal. Hell, you wear almost the same thing over your face if its too cold or too windy -if wearing a covering is not an inconvenience for you, or an encroachment on your constitutional rights, so you can protect your face from some cold air, it shouldn't be an inconvenience for you so you can save a life.
I am usually not one to post any real thoughts on social media. It seems that they are always the first to get lost in the mix of memes, jokes and, worst of all, false or misleading information. But, I am taking a chance in the hopes that this information will help just one person make a potentially life-saving decision, either for themselves or someone they love. This is not a political issue, this is not a social issue – COVID-19 is a human issue. It is up to us, as a human race, to make a difference and to dictate how we move forward from this unprecedented time.
I am what has been increasingly referred to as a “long-hauler” – I had my first symptoms of COVID take hold on March 15, 2020: 112 days ago and, although I may be free of the unrelenting fever that plagued me for 67 consecutive days, I have never felt less like myself.
I played sports my entire life, I started playing football when I was just six years old. I raced in my first ski race before I was in first grade, I was a three sport athlete through high school and was able to realize a life-long goal of mine by playing football at Tulane. Now, I can barely walk to the grocery store without losing my breath and if I do manage to make it there and back, I am too exhausted to do anything but lay in bed for the rest of the day.
On March 20th, the fifth day after my symptoms started, my doctor advised me that she would feel “uncomfortable if [she] didn’t tell me to go to the emergency room.” This is when everything changed. I, too, was one of the twenty-something year old millennials dismissing the severity of this virus and the effects it has on people. By that afternoon, I was hooked up to an IV and supplemental oxygen in the emergency room with a temperature over 100.0 degrees for the fifth day in a row and could barely sit and/or stand without coughing/weezing. On top of that, I found myself laying on this gurney, uncomfortable as I already was, with a resting heart rate over 145 beats a minute (my normal resting heart rate is between 52-58 beats a minute). If I stood up, I felt as though I was about to pass out without even taking a step. After about three hours struggling to breathe and “relax” one of the E.R. doctors let me know that I would have to be admitted. At this point, I knew it was bad. COVID had resulted in double viral pneumonia and tachycardia (the elevated heart rate). I was terrified and alone (E.R. did not permit anyone to be with me).
Yet, not too long after that, the attending E.R. doctor informed me that, although someone in my condition would never be sent home in a normal situation, there was no capacity to admit any patient that did not need to be put on a ventilator and, she continued to explain, my oxygen levels were not “low enough, yet.” I thought being admitted was terrifying but, let me be very clear, I have never been more terrified than when the doctor told me I had to go home. I truly did not know if I would survive what the virus was doing to my body if I was to be at home.
I did not leave bed for the better part of three weeks after my hospital visit and could not even walk to the bathroom unassisted, if at all. I lost 15 pounds in just as many days. Then, I had some hope.
About halfway through April, I was starting to be able to stay awake, breathe a little easier and managed to walk around the house. I was…. surprised. Even just days after that, I found myself being able to do some work. But, that’s about where the progress stopped.
I had a fever everyday for 67 consecutive days, it exhausted me, it depleted me, physically and emotionally and, in some ways, it was worse than the initial onset of symptoms. There was no end in sight.
I have been fever free since the 68th day following the onset of my symptoms but I am far from normal. The physical side effects are troubling and I don’t see any chance of a return to real activity for quite some time; however, worse than the trouble breathing on the way to the grocery store or down the hallway is the constant fatigue, trouble concentrating and other neurological issues. Its only been 112 days but I feel 40 years older. It takes me twice as long to do certain things than would have taken me pre-COVID. It is extremely difficult to concentrate on a project or task for more than an hour or two at a time. Most frustrating, however, are the times I am speaking, or get up to do something, and the thought process is just erased from my brain. No recollection of what I was trying to articulate or do - something as simple as getting up to go get my phone charger results in my standing in my bedroom doorway scratching my head in frustration because I am unable to remember what I was doing.
Two weeks ago was my 28th birthday, but it feels like it could have been by 68th. My symptoms are gone but my recovery, and the recovery of others like me, is just beginning.
No matter who you are, where you live or what political party you support or don’t support, what news channel you watch, each of you has someone you care about and who cares about you. This is not as easy as “hey, its fine I’ll get over it in a few weeks”. Once the symptoms of the active virus are gone, the true unrelenting character and veracity of COVID comes out.
Take care of yourself. Take care of those people whom you love. Take care of everyone. If you don’t, we may never be the same.