A year ago today, I was admitted to the hospital because my bout with COVID had taken a turn for the worse. It started mild in mid-February but by March 3rd I could not shake my high fever of 105 degrees. As I was being wheeled to the triage nurse’s area. I prayed silently that I would walk out of the hospital alive. No, I was not being melodramatic. My fear is derived from being a sufferer of an autoimmune disease called Rheumatoid Arthritis. I knew the reality of compounding COVID with a compromised immune system can be a deadly combination.
As you can see, my prayer was answered but not without a challenging path. I spent three months in hospital on the road to recovery.
During the past year, I:
Celebrated my birthday unconscious on a ventilator
Spent a month and a half in the ICU fighting for my life
Had a tracheotomy to keep my lungs saturated with oxygen
Had to learn to swallow drink, and eat
Had to learn how to stand and walk after being in a hospital bed for so long.
Cried many days because I could not do the most basic things by myself like brushing my teeth.
Missed out on the first 3 months of my youngest’s Sophomore year because I was bedridden.
Cried during events like my child’s Choir concert, my daughter’s Sweet Sixteen party, and even pulmonary rehabilitation sessions because I couldn’t believe I’d made it out of the house
Have learned every single respiratory apparatus known to man. I have been living on oxygen since last March. So far, I have reconciled in my brain that it will probably be for life.
But have had some people (most people, because I have the best people in my life) show me incredible support and compassion—and share their stories with me
Long Covid and Rheumatoid Arthritis are not a great marriage but at least I am alive. Trying to figure out my new normal.
Learned about the realities of job hunting while on oxygen. I am so used to being able to hide my disability but now that I have a visible challenge it is much more difficult.
Even though my journey with Long Covid has been a rough one, I have my sense of humor through it all. I took pleasure in naming twin oxygen tanks after characters in one of my favorite cartoons. I have built my arm muscles because the two tanks along with the carrier are twenty pounds. In addition, I find joy in matching picking out fabric for custom tank covers. Of course, I see them as an accessory, and they have to coordinate with my outfit. My life has changed considerably over the past year. I am grateful to be able to do the mundane routines that I used to take for granted. I do not let my circumstances bring me down. As my grandmother would say, “I’m still here”.