I am afraid.

That’s the easiest summary of where I’m at right now with my long Covid journey.

I’ve spent nearly the entire weekend sleeping. I got home from school around 3:30 on Friday and went to bed right away. On Saturday, I got up, walked and fed the dog, ate breakfast, and fell back to sleep. Fortunately, I woke up in time for my counseling session. After that, more sleep, up for a little dinner, then still more sleep, which lasted into this morning when Ziti woke me up with her signature alarm: a slobbery tongue in my ear. I walked and fed her, ate breakfast, and went back to sleep again. I woke up mid-morning and did a bit of work before dozing off again for a few hours. 

I’ve been up for two whole hours or so now (it’s about 4:30 p.m. as I write this), and I’m making myself stay up for at least another 90 minutes for a couple of reasons. One, I need to write this so there’s a few less thoughts rattling around in my head. Two, if I don’t push through and adapt to the time change, I’m going to be preparing for sleep while I’m still in my classroom some days. And with parent/teacher conferences coming up, I can’t let that happen.

Earlier in the week — either Wednesday or Thursday, I can’t remember which — I started experiencing intense pain in my ribs. Like, my rib cages felt like they had been gone a few too many rounds with Mike Tyson. This started around the middle of teaching math class in the morning and got worse as the day wore on. By the time I got home — you know what? It was Thursday because it was Halloween — I was walking a bit hunched over, and the pain had moved into my sternum. 

Turns out it’s something called costochondritis. An inflammation of the cartilage that connects your ribs to your breastbone, and (shocker!) a symptom of long Covid.

I slept in various contortions throughout the night to stay comfortable, and when I woke up, my lower back was pretty pissed at me. This meant a morning of pain coming from the front and the back. The back pain wore off by lunchtime, but the costochondritis remained throughout Friday, eased up a bit yesterday, and has been mostly calm today, with exceptions. 

I lay in bed Thursday evening, driving in and out of sleep, listening to trick-or-treaters and their adults walking up and down Main Street, reveling in the unseasonably warm festivities. That’s when things really started to sink in.

My favorite time of year had come and gone, and I’d merely existed in it. No crisp walks in the foliage. No apple crisp, butternut squash ravioli with apple cider cream sauce, or still-warm sugared donuts. No horror movie binges. No bonfires. 

And now I was on the cusp of what is traditionally the most difficult time of the year for me. I don’t do well with the holiday season or winter, despite my best efforts. The shift from daylight savings always hits me hard. And now all of that is compounded by not just the long Covid I’d been dealing with and managing at least half-decently, but by new wrinkles showing up in the form of sore ribs. 

Then, this weekend, depths of exhaustion I have never experienced before. 

What else could there be coming my way? There’s been this tap-tap-tapping on my brain’s door for a while now, and I knew who wanted to come in.

Knock knock!
Who’s there?
Fear.
Fear who?
Fear that you won’t get better.

I’d done my best to keep the bastard away. Hung out a “no soliciting” sign. Put up a warning: Beware of Amygdala. Even installed a mental Ring camera to keep an eye on things. But it didn’t work. While I was tired and trying to do things like eat a decent meal, Fear snuck in. 

And he’s really making himself at home. Election Fear was already hanging out, and now the two of them are tearing the place apart.

Just like I did for more than 100 days before, I’m doing my best to balance everything. But it’s tough. I have a constant reminder now that long Covid likes to wreak havoc with internal organs, that it causes heart attacks, that I could very well end up bedridden if things get bad enough.

Earlier this week I listened to a song I hadn’t heard in ages. It’s a tune called The Days of Wine and Booze by The Minus Five. It’s an ode to being young in spirit and living life to the fullest. I don’t drink much, but I appreciate the sentiment.

One day when I’m old or dead
One day can’t get out of bed
I hope and pray the night before
We were out of our heads
‘Cause I never want to lose
No I never want to lose
The days of wine and booze

As I listened to the little costumed kiddos squealing and playing on the street below Thursday night, it felt like that song had come along as a portent to bring perspective to my health. Those days of wine and booze feel a long time gone, which is a scary and sad feeling, standing at the precipice of 50. Maybe more of those days will come along, but I doubt I’ll see the likes of them for while.

I joined a long Covid support group this weekend. It’s a virtual group run out of UVM, and I’m hoping that if nothing else, making some connections with others going through this will be helpful. From what I understand, it’s rare to find two people with the same long Covid experience, but there’s also plenty of common ground to go around.

I’m not just living with long Covid now. I’m also living with the fear of what comes next. But I’ll be damned if I just give up.