We Interrupt This Blog Again, Because, Well, Covid's Still a Squatter

Warning: This is not a humorous post. And it is not a religious post. It's simply me trying to process. If you want a play-by-play of how I'm feeling, read on. If for some inexplicable reason, hearing me whine doesn't sound particularly fascinating or appealing, you have my blessing to just move along. I totally understand.

I just re-read thoughts I blogged  last February about my experience being a Covid Long Hauler. I was about 5 weeks in at that time, and was processing Lessons Learned and Insights Gained. I wonder what I would have written, had I known that 7 months in, Long Covid would still be hijacking my life. 

It's probably good that I didn't know.

I'm in a different place now. Oh, the insights I shared over 5 months ago still are very applicable, and I have to remind myself of them quite regularly. And I know I am still learning and re-learning lessons, the most obvious one being, "I am not in complete control of my world." 

But I haven't made peace with this. And I am no longer philosophical about it. In biblical terms, I am kicking against the pricks. I am alternately raging or grieving or frantically searching for answers, because I want my old life back. 

I want to make plans with friends or family without having to worry that I will be too dizzy or too sick to participate. I want to be able to simply drive myself where I need to be, when I need to be there, without a second thought, rather than having to make last minute arrangements for a ride or a raincheck. I want to exercise vigorously, to sweat and feel my heart pounding and my muscles exerting, without being flat in bed the next day. I want to go up and down stairs without an iron grip on the handrail. I want to see tasks that need to be done, and just do them. Or stand for more than five minutes without looking for a wall to lean against. I want to be able to go grocery shopping without things starting to spin. I want to be able to walk Thanksgiving Gardens or even my former regular 2 mile neighborhood loop. (I've realized how much I love to walk. Oh, how I miss walking!) I want to lie in bed at night and not ache deeply, everywhere, even to my fingertips. I want my right tonsil to be its normal size and quit hurting. I want the sporadic insect buzzing in my ears to quiet down. I want my body to behave when I tell it to do something (for example, the simple instruction to "Just snap out of this ridiculous colossal freakout already.") 

I want to NOT be so self-absorbed and hyper-focused on my own well-being. I'm in my head so much, analyzing why today is a good day and how to replicate it, (or why today is a terrible day, and how to fix it), and I'm weary and bored of being there. I'd like to regain the portion of attention and mindspace currently consumed with managing life, and apply it to a less egocentric purpose. Like seeing others' needs and jumping in to help.

And I want a doctor to tell me, "This is what is wrong; take this pill or undergo this procedure and everything will be back to normal." But so far there have been very few answers, other than the label of Long Covid.

Years ago, I went on a backpacking trip in the High Uintah mountain wilderness with my Dad and some other family members. I think I was in college, although I could be mixing up trips and may have been younger. We were headed to the aptly-named Lost Lake, a magical place where, according to my Dad's memory, the fish were plentiful and huge and very anxious to attach themselves to the end of our fishing lines.

Lost Lake was never easy to find. (Go figure.) There was a subtle trail. Blazes cut into the trees helped guide us when the trail was not discernable in the thick forest. It was 7.5 miles to the lake, but in Heavy Backpack Mileage Reckoning, it seemed much farther.

On this particular trip, we were about halfway there. Shoulders were starting to ache with the weight of our backpacks. Our backs were damp with sweat. We were getting tired, but it was okay, because we were following the trail and knew where we were headed.

Then we came up over a rise, and saw a huge swath of burned trees. A forest fire had roared across this area apparently. The problem was, we could no longer see the blazes in the burned stalks left behind. We wandered. We picked up the trail (we thought). We were wrong. We went off in another direction, only to stop again in confusion. We crisscrossed the blackened landscape for quite some time. Which meant extra miles and extra time required for an already tough hike. We knew the end goal was Lost Lake, and we knew generally where on the mountain above us it could be found. But we just couldn't find the darn trail to get there.

That's how I feel right now. I am lost. 

I know the end goal - restored health. I am not willing to consider any other goal at this point. I still believe I can get there, if I just can find that stinking path. 

Doctors so far have not been very helpful, although they've been intrigued. I'm discouraged and desperate. At my last appt with my Dizziness Doctor (who probably prefers the term ENT), he kept checking his watch. I held it together until the end of the appointment, when I had a very public and very embarrassing breakdown, bursting into tears when the receptionist simply asked for my name and date of birth. 

So I'm trying to fix it myself. I'm working to educate myself, reading articles and viewing graphs and listening to podcasts. I'm praying for discernment, pleading with God to lead me to the person, place, or information that can help me find the right path. I'm searching for blazes in the trees, and just when I think I've found one, and maybe even several in a row, it dead ends.

My patient and supportive husband reminds me that I'm still moving; I'm still progressing. But sometimes it doesn't feel that way. Especially on the bad days. And even though I should know better, when a bad day comes after a string of good ones, I am despondent. 

Sometimes the Middle of a journey can be a hard place to be. 

I'm sure that eventually I will figure this path out, whether it leads to being cured or somewhere else I am supposed to go. And hopefully, through the journey, I will gain a bit more wisdom, much more compassion, as well as greater gratitude, purer humility, and stronger endurance. 

But right now all I see are dead trees.