I want to start this out by just saying that as I begin to put these thoughts out into the world, I am deeply aware that there are countless people in the world who are facing health circumstances that far exceed those I am facing. 

As I write to process my current situation, I am in no way trying to diminish what those brave souls are dealing with. In no way to do I want to diminish the experiences of others, nor do I want to elevate my situation to be on par with theirs.

All I know is if I don’t get these words out of me today, I might fall apart …

On July 20, 2024, I had an amazing experience. I got to go with my middle kid to a tattoo convention. As a dad on the verge of 50, I was flattered and humbled that they would invite me to join them, rather than asking a friend. 

We had a great time. Saw lots of cool stuff, met some awesome weirdos, and each got a tattoo. Mine is an outline of a sasquatch, and theirs is a sweet, Rennaisance-style depiction of an angel giving a devil a little peck on the cheek. Before getting the tats, we went outside for a bit and shared some falafel we bought from a food truck. 

As we ate, we chatted and speculated about the upcoming new school year. They are a paraeducator, and I’m a teacher. I felt so much pride as they talked about what the job means to them and how much they enjoy and struggle with the challenges presented by working in the classroom. 

After that, we went inside and got our ink. My tattoo didn’t take much time. Theirs took a little while. As the tattoo artist did his work, my kid squeezed my hand to help manage the pain. No exaggeration, one of my fingers was sore for a couple days after that. When the work was done, we were both excited to have new tattoos and memories.

I went to bed that night thinking, “This was a good day.”

The next morning, I woke up feeling sorta off. Not sick, per se. Just not … great. I felt increasingly meh as the day wore on. It was announced partway through the day that President Biden was dropping out of the 2024 election, which provided a nice distraction from what my body was trying to tell me. But when I went to bed that night, I felt pretty lousy. Especially my stomach.

Today is the 75th consecutive day that I have felt that lousiness pretty consistently. As I type this, I have a raging headache and am tired beyond measure. Despite best efforts, though, I can’t sleep. I didn’t go to work today. Luckily, I was accidentally prepared for this. I was supposed to attend a teacher training today, so I already had arrangements in place for a substitute teacher. And sub plans (the bane of teaching) were written. Not that that’s keeping me from feeling guilty about not being at the training or in the classroom.

What’s going on with me? As far as anyone can tell, it’s long Covid. Following a nasty bout of Covid that didn’t show up on any tests, at-home or administered by medical professionals. Quickly dwindling energy. Little appetite. Loss of interest in foods I used to love. Brain fog that is maddening at times. Occasional dizziness. 

Back at the start of all this, when I apparently had Covid proper, it was impossible to get in to see my regular doctor. I spent two miserable weeks bouncing between urgent care and the ER, being told by both that I “just have a stomach bug.” More than two months later and nearly 30 pounds lighter, I can say that this was not correct. 

As I shared my experience with others, the blurry photo of my health began to sharpen its focus. “It sounds like you had Covid.” “My son has had long Covid for over a year, and that’s what it sounds like you have.” “My husband and I both had Covid this summer, but it never showed on the tests.” And on and on …

The first signs that something had really changed — beyond they apocalyptic level of diarrhea, the constant sleeping, and no real interest in eating that I had for two weeks — was when I started to “feel better.” I was different. 

My decades-long obsession with coffee was gone. Same with pizza, sweets, and baked goods. My bedtime kept getting earlier and earlier. I tended to turn in around 8 or 8:30 and read for awhile before I got sick. Then it was 7:30. Then 7 … 6:30 … now it’s around 6 most nights. I wake up around 5 most mornings to get ready for school. By 10:15, my energy plummets, and the only thing getting me through my days is the power of my students’ youthful wonder and joy. 

I’ve made a lot of changes since that day in July. I start each day with a cold can of kombucha (blueberry is best) instead of a steaming hot cup of coffee. My morning breakfast sandwich has been replaced with scrambled eggs, yogurt, and a banana. The traditional Friday night pizza binge (and I do mean binge) has been replaced by one, maybe two slices of a small pizza, which tastes only kinda sorta ok. I’m bringing a lot more work home with me on weekends because I’m just so damn slow lately. 

Fun stuff isn’t fun anymore. If I go to an event I used to enjoy, I just see reminders of how much things have changed, food I don’t want to eat, things I don’t have the energy to do. Where I used to once come home feeling fulfilled and happy for having done something, now I just feel bad that I even bothered.

I’m less present for pretty much everything. I know I’m not fun to be around. Home projects are piling up. The grass is long from not being mowed for three weeks. I was one of those weirdos who looked forward to mowing the lawn each week. It was meditative, walking every inch of the yard, noticing little changes and thinking of ways to make it look better. Now it’s just something that takes too long to do, if I even have the energy to do it at all.

Fall is here. My favorite time of year. But much like me, this season of change isn’t doing what it’s supposed to. It’s much too warm for early October. The leaves are staying green for too long. They look tired, ready to change color and wind their way to the ground, but they don’t. Instead, the leaves hang limply, much like all my shirts — now too big for me — hang on my shrinking frame. I’m ready for stick season. It’s where I’ve been for a long while now.

Now I know this all sounds pretty dour, but I am dealing with things at least half-decently. I was really depressed when I first got sick, but counseling has really helped me out. And I see positives in my current situation. While I am feeling unhealthy in some ways, I’m healthier than I’ve ever been in others. While not the ideal way to lose weight, the weight loss has been good. My back doesn’t ache as much. I can keep up with the kiddos easier. And I pulled out a few t-shirts that had been too small for me. My enthusiasm for food has diminished quite a bit, but that means that when I eat, I’m eating slower, which is better for my digestion and overall gut health. And I’m learning to just sit sometimes and not do much else. 

I saw my primary care physician yesterday, and I gotta say that there really isn’t much that’s better than having a doctor who gives a damn about you. 

The urgent care and ER visits over the summer felt like I was just a widget passing through a factory. Two different physicians in the same clinic gave me wildly divergent instructions on what to do. One ER doc was more interested in talking about himself than figuring out what was going on with me. And when I brought up possible causes of my ailment, a doctor asked me, “What makes you think you’re qualified to suggest that?”

But yesterday, my doc and I laid everything out on the table and talked it all through. Could it be Lyme Disease? Are the symptoms in line with EEE? How about mono? Maybe a thyroid thing? He asked me to tell my story, and then he asked me to tell my story again. We shared ideas, and then he ordered some blood labs to rule things out. All those tests came back negative. 

Before I left, he said my symptoms and ongoing issues sound like long Covid, and if the labs ruled out other things, that’s probably what I’ve got. And he told me I’ve done a great job managing it, which made me super happy. We talked a bit about the positives I mentioned before, and he gave me the prognosis I already knew. It could end soon, or it could go on for a while.

Driving back to school yesterday afternoon after the appointment, I thought about that final thought: it could end soon, or it could go on for a while.

What were we talking about back there in the office? Long Covid or just life in general?

Either way, I have to do the same thing. Try to get through another day.