February 27, 2021 Entry 2
Thursday morning, I call into work, and after speaking with the Health nurse was told to drive to the medical center to get rapid tested for covid as soon as possible. I had never been so uncomfortable while driving, feeling every muscle in my body ache, and my joints feel like they were frozen in place. And after making it home I spent most of the day lying on the couch. I knew instantly when I woke up on Thursday that I had Sars-COV-2. I had never felt so sick and was finally succumbing to my gut feeling, which I should’ve listened to in the first place.
Friday, September 25th at 6:30 AM I finally received the confirmation that my test was positive. The terror set in. The one thing I had been fighting against and running from, had now taken harbor in my body, and on top of that infected my family. I live with my husband and his parents and his brother and sister-in-law. My entire household has pre-existing conditions. And I had just exposed my entire family to Sars-COV-2. My husband then promptly moved from our basement living space to upstairs so we could separate and officially start the quarantine time, but I knew that it was too late and that he’d probably get sick as well as my mom-in-law. And they both did end up getting sick along with my father-in-law.
What really held onto me during the entirety of having Sars-COV-2 was the fear. The fear and the weight of it all had existed before getting sick and were now even greater. I honestly wish I had had more faith. As Christians we are often taught to not be afraid, and yet I was so scared. A couple of days after being diagnosed, I was hospitalized for dehydration and altered mental status. The brain fog was so blinding that I’d often forget where I was or how I had gotten there, causing more fear and trauma. The hospital, what I could remember of it, was sadly not the worst of my journey and when looking back it was just a blimp in my total journey of SARS-Cov-2. The worst part of the hospital stay was the fear of knowing that it could get worse but most of all it was the fact that I wasn’t there to give birth. Would Sars-COV-2 kill me? Would I not become a mom? These thoughts raced through my mind along with the confusion of forgetting where I was causing emotional turmoil and crisis. I had always hoped my first and only hospital visits would be the births of my future children, but I guess I was a little too naïve.
I am beyond blessed that I only had to spend a day or two in the hospital and was able to go home without the need for oxygen. The rest of my journey would prove to be just as difficult as the first few weeks of having covid. My 10 days went by at the pace of a snail and I had hoped that after the first 10 days I’d begin to feel better and get back to my life. I felt incredibly guilty for giving Sar-COV-2 to my family but was relieved because luckily 10 days later they all had come out fairly unscathed and without major injuries or death. But sadly, my life never returned to normal, despite everyone else’s seemingly going back to what it had been before.
After my 10 days, I didn’t return to work. October came and I still couldn’t get out of bed or do much. Showering was difficult because I was so weak. Going upstairs was often out of unachievable. I woke up exhausted and weak every day. And on the days where I had a little bit of energy, I’d try to get so much done, that I’d just exhaust myself further. During this time, I was still taking five university classes, and therefore, I was doing my classes all online. I had fallen behind in most of my classes because my brain fog was so debilitating that an 1100-word essay, that would’ve taken me an hour, now would take me four hours to complete. Along with the exhaustion, weakness, and brain fog, there was al
so chest pain, coughing, and muscle aches. And every new day that would arrive spent in bed I’d try to remember that I was blessed to be alive and that I was blessed to have my family safe and healthy, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit how heartbroken I was. I was heartbroken over losing precious time. I was missing out on Homecoming, Black Lives Matter events, preparations for the November elections, birthdays, time with my family, and fun with my nieces and nephew. I was angry, and still, today am processing through the resentment I hold towards Sars-COV-2. It stole so much from me.
And sadly, it continued to be difficult. October became my missing month and yet the story still wasn’t over. There was more to come, and little did I know, the 31 days would turn into 100. …
Stay tuned for entry 3