Michelle Duron

A Long-Hauler’s Diary

The holidays were approaching; I was distraught because I felt like I was in an endless loop of misery. I had started work and graduate school at an increasingly difficult time to manage study time and writing. My life became less fixated on getting better and more focused on succeeding through my new teaching job, graduate studies, and writing. Vertigo returned full force, and it became arduous to get up from bed and log into my remote Zoom courses. The intense pangs of dizziness and idleness as I stared hazily at my laptop and phone screens: mouths moving but little connection to what was meant, which only resulted in shutting my laptop shut and lying in bed until the dizzy spell passed.

O

I kept track of my symptoms:

December 2, 2020, 9:25 a.m.: I wake up drenched in sweat. I start to experience heart palpitations, and my body starts to tremble. I get up to cover myself and layer myself in multiple blankets. I begin to think about the papers that are due tomorrow. The anxiety starts to build up; on top of how awful I feel physically, sigh, it is time for me to get the hell up! How will I start this when I feel like crap? I check my temperature, 99.9, low-grade but still questionable. I’ve been like this for eight months, and it feels like an endless rollercoaster ride of ups and downs. I start to give myself a mental pep talk: “Just breathe, Michelle, you’re going to be OK,” I remind myself. I brush my teeth, wash my face, and make myself a cup of Bustelo. I’m depressed and physically sick. When will I find a remedy? My eyes start to get watery, and I feel the urge to hold back the tears. I’m starting class soon, and they cannot see me like this. I shower and get dressed in loungewear. I finish adding the final comments for class.

“Michelle,” my professor calls on me. “What did you think of the novel?” she asks. As I’m about to speak, I am struck with the dreaded dizzy spell, blurred vision, and I stop midsentence because I have forgotten. I improvise my comment and somehow am back on track with the cheeky summary review.

O

10:00 a.m.: I’m prepared for class and start to feel better.

I shoot my professor a private message and tell her I am unwell and I prefer to have my camera off. I sit through the rest of class with my camera off. I start to drift off in thought; I wonder how long this will last. Sometimes I feel fine, but it doesn’t last long until vertigo strikes me with sudden pangs. It’s miserable and comes in waves when I least expect it. It’s like motion sickness but ten times worse.

O

11:00 a.m.: writer’s block. My assignments are due tomorrow! I start to visualize my workshop theme. I draw a map as if I were back in grade school and brainstorm random ideas. I have so much in my mind but cannot formulate proper sentences. My brain fog and vertigo have impaired me to the point of debilitation. I start to wonder if I would ever have an everyday life. I struggle with everything; I don’t desire to do anything or be productive. These inner demons have consumed me day and night. I light a candle, draw the shades, and close my eyes as I lay in bed. I start to check my temperature: 100.1. Sigh. I decide I’m going to keep my camera off for class.

O

2:00 p.m.-5:00 p.m.: class starts. I turn my camera on, and twenty minutes later, I start to feel sick. I hope no one notices. I’m fidgeting, but I need to lay down. I feel unfocused, and my comments for each critique start to blur on my laptop; I rub my eyes. I stop rubbing them again. They start to tear—deep breath. I turn my camera off and head to the kitchen to grab an ice pack to ice my forehead. I hope they don’t notice I was gone for too long. I turn on my camera and proceed with the class; I take a Tylenol and chug some water. I feel like I’m stoned, but not in a good way, more like a bad trip with malaise. I persevere through the rest of the class and somehow enjoy the workshop reviews.

O

6:00 p.m.: I feel better and decide to eat a healthy vegan platter. Then I pass out on the couch.

O

Midnight: I wake up with sweats, chills, nausea, and a fever-like sensation. I’ve been sneezing and coughing nonstop. My joints feel like fire, and I start to feel like I am in excruciating pain. I begin to cry. Would I have enjoyed writing, working, and daily activities before this mystery illness struck? Is this truly the aftermath of COVID-19? It doesn’t make sense that I’m OK one day and then it goes downhill; I’ve had good days and bad days, but maybe I just need vitamins? I start to ponder. I get up and take six different vitamins simultaneously and drink water.

O

All these questions start to cloud my brain, and I find myself typing into Google: 

“COVID-19 long haulers.” I scroll through each article as my eyes start to sting. I click into a Wall Street Journal article that read:

“Some patients with long-term Covid symptoms are getting more potential treatment options as doctors diagnose them with a little-known syndrome called POTS. It’s a disorder of the autonomic nervous system that can have a variety of causes, and it existed before Covid. One a common trigger is an infection, such as a virus. Now some doctors believe that the coronavirus is triggering the disorder in some people, providing an explanation for debilitating symptoms including dramatically elevated heart rates from small movements, dizziness, and extreme fatigue after even minor physical activity.”

O

Maybe this is it? I recall feeling severe exhaustion, breathlessness, and light-headedness after walking or any form of physical activity. But it also occurs when I’m stagnant, not doing much, or laying down. Is this some sort of post-viral inflammatory response that COVID-19 left in my immune system? Since I got sick in March, I often wonder if these are the footprints left behind. The culprit of this mystery illness. Will I continue to overcome this hurdle or just learn to make peace with it? I get up and start to type, delete, nope. “This is trash,” I think to myself.

O

I am suffering from a bad case of writer’s block as I start to type:

I wish somebody else could write the story; I am unable to finish.

About the Author

Michelle Duron is pursuing an MFA in Nonfiction creative writing at Columbia University. She writes about self-reflection and personal experiences. Her hobbies include live music, book-hunting, museums, art, traveling, and hikes. She has taught through CAT with NAMI: a rewarding experience that fueled her passion for writing.