My Long-Covid Nightmare

It is Week 7.

In my last post about my Covid-19 rollercoaster, I thought I was fully recovered.

Little did I know what a wild ride my immune system would embark on.

Before Covid I could go for a 20 mile bike ride one day and the next I would go for a run.

Now I struggle to walk a mile. ONE MILE.

I can’t tell you how frustrating it is to have weeks and weeks and weeks where you feel like you’ve flown from New Zealand to the UK every single day.

You are beyond tired and yet no amount of sleep allows you feel rested.

It is like some kind of purgatory. You managed to survive from Covid, despite gasping out of your window for extra oxygen. But you are now condemned to fatigue with no end in sight.

It took five weeks to be able to work out and I am still unable to do any vigorous exercise. I am limited to gentle walks with frequent rest stops and a slow cycle on the exercise bike.

Half an hour of vigorous exercise will wipe me out all the next day. A weekend on my bike will write off the next week.

The only thing that keeps me going is the fact that I am improving by being able to sit up for one more hour a week. ONE HOUR.

In the last few weeks I used alcohol to keep me going in the form of one or two cocktails or a spirit and mixer in the evening. But alas, alcohol is a depressant, so it’s going to make you feel worse, and I am already feeling pretty sorry for myself. It’s had to go (mostly).

Looking on the internet in desperation, I found that it was actually quite common to suffer from “long-tail” Covid-19. It comes at you like a sledgehammer and causes a similar amount of damage. And it happens over and over again until you feel like you’re going mad.

I have had a smorgasbord of symptoms.

A week post (possible) Covid (I was not eligible for testing at the time), I woke up in the middle of the night, my head throbbing. The kind of pain that sears into your skull with such force that you run to the toilet to throw up.

Two weeks later, I woke up again in the middle of the night struggling to breathe. Panicking, I ran to the mirror to investigate, and discovered that my neck was as thick as a bodybuilder’s and my tonsils were mostly blocking my airway.

Terrified, I sent some photographic evidence to my (retired) doctor dad and went back to sleep on my side. Fortunately I woke up and with my neck a normal size. If it wasn’t for the photos I would have thought it was a lurid nightmare.

This virus may not be mild, it can be a pain for anyone.

I am not saying this to scare you, I am saying this because I am begging you not to act like I did and think that this will not affect you, or if it does it will not be bad.

You do not know that.

We know agonisingly little about this virus, or how it will mutate.

Wash your hands, keep your distance and keep contact to a minimum.

1 Comment

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One response to “My Long-Covid Nightmare

  1. Pingback: A Grave(s) Illness | literarylydi

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