For over 3 years, I have been writing about COVID-19. The other people who endured it and the other people who kept it going longer than they did. People who have swallowed the misinformation. And, even worse, those who died.
In the end I put myself to the test.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had several scares with COVID-19 over the past few years. In early 2020, before young, healthy people were checked, my doctor at the time believed I had it. But she couldn’t get me checked out, so we were never sure. Since then, I’ve had several flu-like episodes, but I got “negative” COVID-19 test results.
That replaced Wednesday, October 4, 2023. And now that I have formal confirmation of a COVID-19 infection, I find that what I’ve experienced before is nothing compared to this. Does this mean that this is my first genuine war with the disease?Maybe you’ll never know.
Here’s what I know. I learned to perceive my isolation from COVID-19 like never before.
There is a kind of forced and unhealthy independence in this disease. No one can rub your back when you’re in pain or put a cold cloth on your feverish head. Getting a comforting hug? No way.
As I lay on my back in air that felt heavier than ever, I thought: no COVID-19 is that divisive. We take care of it ourselves. Without seeing a smile or feeling a pat on the back. Human.
A similar isolation applies to other diseases, but this is all new to me.
I knew all those things – in theory. I’ve attended enough press meetings with infectious disease specialists to learn about the symptoms of COVID-19 inside and out. But I think I’ve fallen into the old trap of never expecting anything that others find so bad or so unpleasant. in the same way. And my concept of a COVID-19 infection was, I now realize, very clinical. Distanced.
I was in the process of renovating my space the day I tested positive. Throughout the day, I scraped old paint off the centuries-old wooden door frames. Too busy to check it on myself, I never stopped wondering why I had to sit still. Because I felt like I was going to faint.
At the end of the workday, my throat was burning and the air was heavy around me. I was gasping for air, but I thought maybe I was just tired from a day of physical labor. It would be better to do a check to be sure, I thought. My nose burned and throbbed when I put the cotton swab on one nose and then on the next.
My 15-minute timer hadn’t even elapsed two minutes when a dark red sprint appeared on the second row of the house control. A “positive” indicator. Well, the commands say don’t read the check for 15 minutes. So, I came out of the bathroom and came back after 15 minutes. Two bright red lines. Positive.
I had a few minds in quick succession: I had unknowingly exposed my friend to the virus the night before, and I had to let her know. I’m missing another friend’s birthday party this weekend. And finally, well, I’m young and healthy. It will cross me.
It’s a mistake to think that. Over the next few days, he would lose his sense of smell and taste. It would weaken me until I could walk lightly across a room without interruption. I ran out of all my strength. I would take Paxlovid in a few days.
Thanks to all this, I have abandoned the subconscious idea that other people under the age of 30 do not suffer. But I’m still incredibly fortunate that I didn’t end up in a hospital, like so many other people before me.
After testing positive, I retreated to the attic to isolate myself from my dog and wife for five days.
In isolation, I felt that humanity was slipping away from me. My friends may tell you that I’m a notorious introvert. But this point of solitude is new and undesirable. I heard my dog, Ronon, crying for me at the bottom of the stairs. I didn’t understand why we had to part ways, or why I could just catch her. I’m afraid to touch anything in my room, I’m afraid to contaminate everything. , and I was hyper-aware that everything I touched now would have to be sanitized later.
I like a walking pest, I texted my friends.
So, I catalogued my own existence. I touched the care of the bathroom door, my jewelry box. What did I forget? What did I breathe on?
With no smell or taste, I applied a strong peppermint toothpaste to my tongue to check and feel. COVID-19 is the first disease that robbed me of my senses. It was disorienting and depressing. I caught the sensations but found little to satisfy. Paxlovid burned my eyes. So for days I just slept. With my eyes closed. No strength, no smell, no taste – for the disgusting “mouth of Paxlovid”. It all felt like a terrible limbo, as if my life had stopped at the top door.
I posted on social media about having the virus. I paid little attention to it, until comments full of incorrect information about COVID-19 appeared in my mentions.
The rhetoric of 2020 and 2021 about vaccines doesn’t work, as COVID-19 is nothing more than a cold and others came after I posted my experience. It’s frustrating to hear the myths that debunk me in a moment of vulnerability.
A big component of my role as a COVID-19 journalist has been, and continues to be, debunking misinformation. But my mentions after posting about my COVID infection told me that we have a long way to go to educate other people about the virus. .
In fact, after three years, I wonder if we’ll ever be able to do it fully, but I promise to keep trying.
How can we face a pandemic with unity and compassion when it is taken away from us when the virus arrives?I don’t know the full answer to this question, but I think it’s about doing a lot of work on empathy. We continue to grapple with COVID-19 and its aftermath. I hope we can come together on this point, at least in more.
As for me, I’ll never take for granted the smell of a pumpkin candle in the fall, greasy fries at my favorite restaurant, or the oh-so-nice feeling of moving your legs.
My strength regains a little more every day, I can walk backwards and fight with my dog. I feel like my other senses come back too, even if they’re a little slower than I’d like.
Every day I feel so much gratitude to be alive, to breathe.
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by Sarah Ladd, Kentucky Lantern October 23, 2023
For over 3 years, I have been writing about COVID-19. The other people who endured it and the other people who kept it going longer than they did. People who have swallowed the misinformation. And, even worse, those who died.
In the end I put myself to the test.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had several scares with COVID-19 over the past few years. In early 2020, before young, healthy people were checked, my doctor at the time believed I had it. But she couldn’t offer me a check, so we were never sure. Since then, I’ve had several flu-like episodes, but I got “negative” results on COVID-19 checks.
That replaced Wednesday, October 4, 2023. And now that I have formal confirmation of a COVID-19 infection, I find that what I’ve experienced before is nothing compared to this. Does this mean that this is my first genuine war with the disease?Maybe you’ll never know.
Here’s what I know. I learned to perceive my isolation from COVID-19 like never before.
There is a kind of forced and unhealthy independence in this disease. No one can rub your back when you’re in pain or put a cold cloth on your feverish head. Getting a comforting hug? No way.
As I lay on my back in air that felt heavier than ever, I thought: no COVID-19 is that divisive. We take care of it ourselves. Without seeing a smile or feeling a pat on the back. Human.
A similar isolation applies to other diseases, but this is all new to me.
I knew all those things – in theory. I’ve attended enough press meetings with infectious disease specialists to learn about the symptoms of COVID-19 inside and out. But I think I’ve fallen into the old trap of never expecting anything that others find so bad or so unpleasant to me. in the same way. And my concept of a COVID-19 infection was, I now realize, very clinical. Distanced.
I was in the process of renovating my space the day I tested positive. Throughout the day, I scraped old paint off the centuries-old wooden door frames. Too busy to check it on myself, I never stopped wondering why I had to sit still. Because I felt like I was going to faint.
At the end of the workday, my throat was burning and the air was heavy around me. I was gasping for air, but I thought maybe I was just tired from a day of physical labor. It would be better to do a check to be sure, I thought. My nose burned and throbbed when I put the cotton swab on one nose and then on the next.
My 15-minute timer hadn’t even elapsed two minutes when a dark red sprint appeared on the second row of the house control. A “positive” indicator. Well, the commands say don’t read the check for 15 minutes. So, I came out of the bathroom and came back after 15 minutes. Two bright red lines. Positive.
I had a few minds in quick succession: I had unknowingly exposed my friend to the virus the night before, and I had to let her know. I’m missing another friend’s birthday party this weekend. And finally, well, I’m young and healthy. It will cross me.
It’s a mistake to think that. Over the next few days, he would lose his sense of smell and taste. It would weaken me until I could walk lightly across a room without interruption. I ran out of all my strength. I would take Paxlovid in a few days.
Thanks to all this, I have abandoned the subconscious idea that other people under the age of 30 do not suffer. But I’m still incredibly fortunate that I didn’t end up in a hospital, like so many other people before me.
After testing positive, I retreated to the attic to isolate myself from my dog and wife for five days.
In isolation, I felt that humanity was slipping away from me. My friends may tell you that I’m a notorious introvert. But this point of solitude is new and undesirable. I heard my dog, Ronon, crying for me at the bottom of the stairs. I didn’t understand why we had to part ways, or why I could just catch her. I’m afraid to touch anything in my room, I’m afraid to contaminate everything. , and I was hyper-aware that everything I touched now would have to be sanitized later.
I like a walking pest, I texted my friends.
So, I catalogued my own existence. I touched the care of the bathroom door, my jewelry box. What did I forget? What did I breathe on?
With no smell or taste, I applied a strong peppermint toothpaste to my tongue to check and feel. COVID-19 is the first disease that robbed me of my senses. It was disorienting and depressing. I caught the sensations but found little to satisfy. Paxlovid burned my eyes. So for days I just slept. With my eyes closed. No strength, no smell, no taste – for the disgusting “mouth of Paxlovid”. It all felt like a terrible limbo, as if my life had stopped at the top door.
I posted on social media about having the virus. I paid little attention to it, until comments full of incorrect information about COVID-19 appeared in my mentions.
The rhetoric of 2020 and 2021 about vaccines doesn’t work, as COVID-19 is nothing more than a cold and others came after I posted my experience. It’s frustrating to hear the myths that debunk me in a moment of vulnerability.
A big component of my role as a COVID-19 journalist has been, and continues to be, debunking misinformation. But my mentions after posting about my COVID infection told me that we have a long way to go to educate other people about the virus. .
In fact, after three years, I wonder if we’ll ever be able to do it fully, but I promise to keep trying.
How can we face a pandemic with unity and compassion when it is taken away from us when the virus arrives?I don’t know the full answer to this question, but I think it’s about doing a lot of work on empathy. We continue to grapple with COVID-19 and its aftermath. I hope we can come together on this point, at least in more.
As for me, I’ll never take for granted the smell of a pumpkin candle in the fall, greasy fries at my favorite restaurant, or the oh-so-nice feeling of moving your legs.
My strength regains a little more every day, I can walk backwards and fight with my dog. I feel like my other senses come back too, even if they’re a little slower than I’d like.
Every day I feel so much gratitude to be alive, to breathe.
GET YOUR MORNING PAPERS DELIVERED TO YOUR INBOX
Kentucky Lantern is owned by States Newsroom, a network of grant-funded news bureaus and a coalition of donors as a 501c public charity (3). Kentucky Lantern maintains its editorial independence. Please contact editor Jamie Lucke if you have any questions: info@kentuckylantern. com. Follow Kentucky Lantern on Facebook and Twitter.
Sarah Ladd is a journalist based in Louisville, Western Kentucky, who has covered everything from crime to higher education. He spent nearly two years in the Courier Journal’s subway breaking news section. In 2020, she began reporting on the COVID-19 pandemic and has been covering fitness ever since. As a fitness reporter for Kentucky Lantern, she focuses on intellectual fitness, LGBTQ issues, child wellness, COVID-19, and more.
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