As some of you may have observed, I've been MIA recently. My only excuse besides my own persistent writer's block, has been the crippling anxiety brought about by COVID-19 and it's looming omnipresence threatening to further disable my withered and broken body at any moment.
I know. Dramatic.
For many of us, the COVID-19 pandemic has been a polarizing and decisive issue. Some of us, especially those of us with pre-existing health conditions and immunocompromised bodies; have been extremely cautious with our social contacts and self-isolation. Others have been less concerned. All of us have been impacted financially, emotionally and politically.
My experience has been one of blind terror. I'm not a scientist, nor do I play one on TV; but I am a researcher and my information gathering has led me to the following conclusion:
this shit is gon' be real bad.
In response to this conclusion; and to the new horrors illuminated daily by each new scientific study:
-T-cells? Ha. Not anymore.
-heart condition? Yes. please give me more.
-Long COVID? Don't mind if I do.
The never ending shit-sandwhich buffet seemed to go-on forever.
To make matters worse, here in Ontario (as I'm sure it is the world over), non-emergancy surgeries *including* Kidney transplants, ground to a halt during the peaks of the pandemic.
Vital infrastructure shut down and even getting basic testing done was difficult. This meant, and still means, I've not yet managed to get listed on the deceased donor list.
The small shreds of hope I initially clung to about increasing my dismal quality of life have slowly been drained from my spirit as I find myself trapped in the horrific merry-go-round that is dialysis. A twisted Groundhog day adventure that finds me anchored to a giant robot 4 hours at a time, three days a week.
Life on dialysis changes a person. I was once vivacious and energetic. Social and effervescent. Not anymore. Visually I now look like the walking dead, physically---I guess that is kinda what I am?
I have taken self-isolation to a new level. Luckily, I have a core group of friends that I can engage with online, over the phone and at occasional outdoor hangouts.
A friend turned another friend and I onto an online social platform called Boardgame Arena. You create an account and can have access to 100s of on-line versions of Boardgames. It was (pun intended) a game changer.
Throughout the height of the pandemic I was able to cling to the life-perserver of BGA and my virtual friend hangouts. We forged the kind bonds that can only occur by sharing traumatic events. In a weird way my platonic love life became strengthened by the pandemic.
My husband and I have weathered the storm thus far, but the pandemic has formed polarizations within our once cozy dynamic that cannot be ignored.
I have shifted to become more conservative in my social doings and regimented in my personal adherance to preventitive COVID virus management, my husbamd has just become...more conservative.
While not a full-blown anti-vaxxer he's definitely uttered more then one familiar anti-vaxx idiom within my hearing and he's taken some personal stances I flat out abhore.
Ordinarily I try to respond to my husband's new rhetoric like a duck would- and let that hogwash just roll off my back; but there are times that no amount of quacking can silence him.
One such time occured in late spring. He had just returned home from work and was complaining of a cough, sore throat and headache.
Tres SUS as the kids would say.
I did my best to beg him to isolate but he poo-pooed my requests with a shrug of indifference.
On this particular occasion we had dodged a bullet and everyone tested negative. I felt relief, while my partner felt vindicated in feeling I was being paranoid.
His casual attitude to risk management infuriated me. When I could not make him respond to my boundaries, I took my show on the road and barricaded myself in my room and (metaphorically) barred the door. Sadly, as a mom my fortress of solitude was automatically compromised.
I could avoid my husband, but I could not deny my children night hugs and kisses.
On one particularly enraging occasion after saying goodnight to the kids my hubby was getting ready for the night shift.
Earlier in the day he had again complained about chills and a scratchy throat, while casually recalling a slew of workplace absences in relation to his coworkers. I asked that he be cautious about coming near me until after he had a negative COVID test. He, not-so-politely refused to test.
Protocols reached a stalemate in our home that day. I asked that he either isolate or mask up, he declined stating his freedom in his own home.
Two days later he was sick and off work, and two days after I was positive.
Douche bag, thy name is husband.
Not only was I sick with the Vid but I was also li-vid. I sat in my bed in a nest of anger for a full week in COVID enduced discomfort, my lungs burning with infection and indignant rage.
Though I didn't require hospitalization, I did get pretty sick.
In a twist of fate, just two days prior to falling symptomatically ill, I had a final barrage of cardiac imaging for my pre-transplant accessment.
My images were notably good showing no concerns.
Flashforward to two weeks post COVID. My chest still felt tight. I still felt like I had fluid in my chest. Something wasn't right. To the hospital I went. After hours of waiting, I was sent for a full array of chest x-rays.
My results shocked me.
My heart was enlarged. It showed signs of rewed congestion. Heart failure had begun again.
Devastation overwhelmed me. Just two weeks prior I had been cleared by my transplant clinic cardiologist; my heart was in excellent shape.
Now I was a victim of what the ER doc identified as Long-COVID. For 2-3 months simple tasks left me breathless. I couldn't walk more then a few steps without needing a break.
I felt disgusting. I felt dispair.
Convinced I was going to be permently disqualified for a kidney transplant, I began to feel myself teeter on the edge of depression.
In response to my looming depression, I worked hard. I worked at decluttering my space, worked at my mental health, worked at communicating with my husband.
My husband for his part, recognized his role in my precarity. Despite not fully believing in the rhetoric, he agreed to masking when I requested moving forward.
A year later updated chest images reveal my heart to be normal sized again. The congestion has mostly resolved and I'm cleared for transplant.
The hubby and I have a truce and he's become more educated on the need to guard my lowered immunity.
It hasn't been easy or without growing pains- but we're still working and growing together.
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