My (Very) Long COVID Experience — Building Resilience
Sometimes the only way out of misery is through it.
Chronic illness has taught me that I can deal with a lot more pain and tragedy than I ever knew existed while healthy. Those who have experimented with psychedelic and/or psychoactive drugs know how crucial it is to learn to cope with the anxiety and despair that can flood an unstable mind.
I could go into more detail on this subject, but it may cost me a future job — so for the sake of my family, I’ll leave it hanging like forbidden fruit.
Now that we’ve pivoted, imagine that your mind is unstable and that this horrible experience stems from an illness you can’t control instead of from a drug, which you can at least wean off or go cold turkey if it gets too heavy.
Imagine there is no one there to experience it with you. This is often the hardest part. You can have all the support in the world, but if there’s no one who can relate to your specific brand of suffering, you feel cosmically alone. I have a loving (stable) wife who’s always there, and I’ve still never felt as alone as when the illness takes hold and refuses to let go.
It’s not as if she or anyone else can see or feel my illness — and they certainly can’t cure it. You feel guilty for dragging innocent people into your pain. It’s not their fault. Plus, when you’re sick long enough, no amount of encouragement helps when you hit a low point. In contrast, when you’re on an upswing, you can convince yourself that you will eventually heal entirely — but when the pendulum drops, you forget that it was ever in motion. And when it reverses course, you feel worse than you’ve ever felt before. Your hope morphs into an ugly lie.
But — if you stubbornly push through it, you gradually increase your tolerance. You weather the next storm a little better than you did the previous one. You come to expect less and appreciate more. Any fitness expert will tell you that pain is necessary for progress: A similar mindset is important when suffering from chronic illness.
Right now, I have to write this while leaning back in my chair because I have some strange pain in my right arm and shoulder that only seems to occur while bending over a computer. Just a week ago, I gave up trying and spent most of my days on the couch or in bed — or doing anything I could to avoid triggering the pain. This week I’ve decided to grin and bear it.
This is progress. Maybe next week I’ll be singing while I write. Pain be damned.
There’s a scene from one of my favorite movies that I like to invoke in my worst moments: The famous sewer crawl in The Shawshank Redemption. (If you haven’t seen it yet, I don’t know what you’re doing with your life. Trying not to spoil it — but damn.) It’s a great metaphor for what it means to be human: To feel any pleasure at all we have to juxtapose it with shit and misery. I’ve never inquired, but I wonder if prisoners enjoy their post-incarceration years a lot better than the years that preceded their fateful run-in with the law. Those post-incarceration years are hard earned. The pre-lock-up years were a given.
It must follow, then, that my post-long COVID years — if I get to experience them — will be bliss. I can’t wait to start worrying again about a common cold or mild depression and anxiety. I can’t wait to stop hating the institutions that are failing me — whether they start working again or not. Hatred and anger take a lot out of me, but sometimes I need them to keep me motivated. I won’t need them as much if the chronic misery lets up.
If you’re in a similar place, let’s celebrate a bright future of more manageable misery together. I’ll bring the beer. (In the present I’m avoiding drinking because it makes my symptoms worse.)
Don’t let anyone tell you it won’t get better.
That’s resilience.
