Melody Marie Posts

It’s been exactly one year today since I first went down hard with Covid. Six days before Christmas. The feeling I most remember is that I had been looking forward to the holiday for what felt like one million years. It was going to be a restful, peaceful end to a crap year. That was obviously my first mistake.

I’ve been thinking about this one year milestone for a long time, dreading it really. Not that the day necessarily means anything, but the best I can understand is that my mind and body must have fully believed that we’d all be better by now. And by we, I mean all the parts of me, but also the world, I guess.

Now that the day is here, it’s just another day, you know? The anticipation of it was worse because I think in the end, I know that I won’t fully be better for a long time. Neither will the world.

As I was sitting down to write whatever it is my brain felt like sharing on this Weird Day, I read through an old post I wrote after three months of being sick. I was so exhausted and so angry and so out of grace.

Now that it’s been a year, I can feel that I’ve come through the worst of the anger. I related it recently to the stages of grief. Like I can literally feel myself coming down the side of resignation and just.. acceptance, I guess.

I’ve dealt with the loss of friendships and others being irreparably changed. I’ve watched other friendships blossom and grow and strengthen.

I’ve seen people close to me do things I can’t un-see and say things I can’t un-hear. I’ve felt extraordinary anger at our former administration for leaving us to fend for ourselves, which has been proven even more true with every piece of historical context that comes out. I’ve seen my own personal lived experience be treated as a political weapon.

I’ve been told I am trying to “inoculate the world” by a stranger on the internet and that I’m “only thinking about myself” by people I personally know. I’ve been told I wasn’t as healthy as I thought I was before I got sick, implying that it’s somehow my fault I’m still in the space I am.

I’ve been told I’m “scared of Covid” and I’ve also heard a deafening silence from those who used to support me. I’ve been told I can’t argue for what I’m feeling and living.

I don’t tell you this to try and elicit sympathy. I tell you this to show you what it is I’m now resigned to. I certainly can’t change people, and I’ve also learned it’s not worth it to engage with those who have made up their mind.

What I can do is continue to share my personal, lived experience for myself and in honor of those who don’t feel comfortable sharing.

I am officially a Covid long-hauler. When I was just three months out, I felt weird calling myself that. Like I hadn’t been at it long enough to warrant the title. But I’m going to confidently say that one full damn year gives me the right to claim it.

If you don’t know someone suffering from this or haven’t read any stories about it, I fear that your impression of people like me is that we just get a little winded going up the stairs.

Along with many others who have reached out to me and many other stories I have read, this is like comparing a paper cut to having a limb amputated.

I do get winded going up the stairs, in part because I haven’t been able to work out in a year. The most I can do is walk the dog every day and I JUST last week started going to yoga.

Before I got sick, I had been doing CrossFit 3-5 times per week for close to 7 years.

But over the course of this last year, each month brings on an onslaught of symptoms. Some months better than others and I’d like to say I’m on a generally upward trend. Maybe?

I break out in full body night sweats. My ears alternate between feeling super plugged and ringing out of nowhere. Bruises and scrapes take weeks to heal.

For the most part, I still can’t smell anything except what I can only describe as organic matter. Dog poop, body odor, sewer drainage. My sense of taste is still completely jacked. I can taste food as long as its super salty, but a lot of food just tastes like dust. I’m convinced I don’t even know what things taste like anymore really. I’ve just gotten used to this new version of my taste buds.

The fatigue is still pretty intense. It’s definitely improved since those first awful weeks of being sick, but I’m still exhausted every day. I have to say no to a LOT of things, because I just know I won’t have the energy. Or if I do have the energy, I’ll be wiped out for the rest of the day.

It’s hard to answer the question “How are you doing?”. It’s my favorite question because it shows so much kindness, but I vacillate between wanting to just say “fine” because it’s easier and sharing my entire life story because I don’t want to downplay how I’m feeling.

Some days are in fact, fine. Not often great, but fine. I appear normal and functioning. Although I do often get told that I’m not the same as I used to be. To which I always want to answer — ARE ANY OF US REALLY?

The low-simmering anxiety that would often ramp up around my period turned into All The Time Anxiety, which eventually resulted in a full blown panic attack. I fell into a deep depression for awhile, which culminated in an entire weekend where I couldn’t physically get out of bed and a scared shitless husband.

There are so many symptoms that I joke each month is like a bingo card waiting to be filled out. WHAT WILL IT BE TODAY? It’s so fun.

The fatigue is truly the thing that affects every minute of every day, but if I had to pick the absolute worst symptom, it’s the lingering brain fog. In the beginning, I literally couldn’t focus on anything. I was a total mess. But it’s morphed into a high percentage loss of short term memory. I can’t remember simple words. I listen to a podcast and am deeply moved, but then can barely remember what it was about five minutes after it ends.

This is the symptom that worries me the most. I am a Big Feelings Thinker who loves to write and read and listen and dive deep. But most of the time, I can’t remember what I have read or listened to or talked about. It feels like a core part of me has been ripped away.

Work has been really challenging. I honestly feel so fortunate that I was already working part-time before getting sick and that my company is so understanding, flexible and patient with me. And the fact that I’m not the primary breadwinner in our home has been a blessing so big I didn’t even understand it until I read stories about those who have lost their full time income.

I somewhat have the time and space to take care of myself. We have the financial means to afford tons of doctors visits, supplements out the wazoo, anxiety medication every month. I’m in counseling and have started massage therapy. None of these things are cheap. My husband has a good job with decent medical insurance, which has been a life saver. Like literally, a life saver.

I’ve been so incredibly, outrageously frustrated around the rhetoric that “if we were just healthier, we wouldn’t get sick”. Like steam comes out my ears.

Should we all eat healthier and exercise? Of course. Do most of us KNOW we should do those things? I imagine so. That doesn’t make them easier and it doesn’t magically grant the resources to everyone to do so. It also doesn’t fix the immediate issues that I and others who have been profoundly affected by this virus are dealing with.

I understand where folks are coming from when they say these things. I have a lot of grace. If I had gotten sick and recovered quickly, I honestly think I’d be one of those people thinking the same thing. It’s fair.

But it can’t be an excuse to disregard the suffering and loss of so many. There is way too much self-righteousness out there from folks who either haven’t gotten sick or did actually recover quickly.

Without even having to hear it directly, I KNOW what people are saying. I hear the questions about others who get sick or lose their lives. What were their underlying conditions? How old were they? Did they know that exercise and losing weight helps? How much fast food did they eat? How much did they drink? I know people disregard my experience as a one-off or that I must have done something wrong to be where I’m at today.

If you have felt this way, I encourage you to search out some stories of others in the same shoes as me. This article from the Washington Post is heartbreaking and important.

My family and I have spent hundreds, if not thousands of dollars, on trying to get me the help I need. I’m not a single parent relying on one income, I don’t have to go into an office every day, so I can take the time in the afternoon to rest if I need it. If I had to, I guarantee you I wouldn’t have any energy left for my family.

I’m one of the lucky ones.

If your initial instinct after reading this is to tell me that I’m obviously not thinking about the children or other people’s mental health or the suicide rate or small businesses going under, please save yourself the time. These are things I think about every single day. I do my best to balance my risk assessment and my Big Political Feelings with those of everyone around me.

But I also feel it’s important to share my story, to add another piece to the puzzle that is this weird life we are living.

If you are going through something similar or know someone who is, feel free to email me at melodymarie33@gmail.com. I’m so happy to chat and am generally an open book.

If you are going through something similar, what I can tell you is that there are some damn silver linings (to beat a dead horse cliche). I’ve been well-loved by some of my people. Like giant bear hug wrapped in a cozy blanket with a cold glass of Prosecco well-loved. I’ve learned a lot about myself in a very short period of time and I’ve learned how to unapologetically say no when I don’t have the space or energy. I’ve been given so much grace.

Thank you for being here with me. There’s approximately one million more things I want to say and share, but I’ll leave you with this. Please check in on those you know who have had Covid. Just to make sure.

The term “Covid long-hauler” always makes me think of truck drivers. Which is entirely irrelevant to this post. But always makes me reluctant to identify with the term for some reason. Like it was created for other people. Like my experience doesn’t fit in.

I keep thinking that I don’t totally qualify. That other people have it worse. That it hasn’t been THAT long. But with every day that creeps by and with each symptom that rolls in and out, the thinner my skin gets.

I first got sick back in the middle of December in 2020. I was fine one minute watching my son’s winter celebration over Zoom, cooking dinner. And then BAM. Down for the count. Massive fatigue, chills, dizziness. We quarantined me the best we could in our house with four of us trying to live here. Thankfully, I didn’t have the breathing problems that others experience, but my fatigue was extraordinary. Like nothing I had ever experienced.

I didn’t just not want to get out of bed, I couldn’t see the point. I would get dizzy and out of breath just standing up. The night sweats reminded me of pregnancy hormones. My body temperature would spike for no reason.

I missed Christmas break with my kids. I could barely muster energy for Christmas. Bless my husband and boys for being so flexible and resilient and understanding. Bless the timing (I guess?) because my kids didn’t have to miss even more school than they already had.

It took WEEKS for me to feel even marginally better. To be able to make it through the day without collapsing into bed in the afternoon. Work was monumentally difficult. The brain fog felt like someone had scooped out entire areas of my brain and thrown them in a dumpster.

I maybe thought I was doing better. But after dealing with the ramifications of actually being sick, having to text or call so many people that we had seen throughout our week with school and work and seeing just how big our bubble truly was, my anxiety ramped up. I started questioning everything. I didn’t have energy to leave the house, but also struggled to want to take any sort of chance, regardless of how minimal. I wasn’t “scared of Covid”, but I was scared of disrupting my family’s life even more than it already was.

To top it all off, my three tests never even came back fully positive, even though 100% of my symptoms matched up. So I felt like I spent a lot of mental energy “justifying” my sickness. It was exhausting and disheartening.

I had some wonderful friends who dropped off gifts, books, meals, chocolate, Epsom salt. I did feel really taken care of by many. I’d like to say I had guilt around what I couldn’t do for my family, but I was too damn tired to feel much of anything.

I started gaining back some energy, feeling a little bit more like myself. Not close to “normal”, but better. Then my period was super late, which is really unusual for me. Two weeks after I was supposed to get my period, I did. But also, a full onslaught of all my Covid symptoms.

I was EXHAUSTED. Ears plugged and full so I couldn’t hear anything, let alone hear myself talk. Everything tasted awful. Metallic, ashy. I tried a glass of Prosecco, which tasted like cough syrup.

Every period I’ve had since has brought my symptoms roaring back. And here we are, three months later. I’m exhausted every day. I don’t think a day has gone by that I haven’t taken a nap. I can barely hear on the worst days, my ears ring. Food tastes terrible.

I’m okay, you know? I have a flexible job and already worked from home. My husband is super supportive. But this has taken over every aspect of my life. Including my mental health.

A few months in, I fell in a deep depression. I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t see the point. I was exhausted, but also apathetic. I was watching an entire nation react to what I was going through and I was largely disappointed.

I have developed an extremely thin skin around the mentality of Covid. I’m not here to argue that we should or shouldn’t wear masks or businesses should or shouldn’t be open. I’m not a doctor or a scientist.

I’m here to tell you that my statistic doesn’t show up anywhere. When I hear people talk about a 99% survival rate, I feel rage and heartbreak at the same time. I think of all the stories I have read about others dealing with a similar situation to mine. Who have had their lives turned upside down. Who have struggled to work or raise their kids. Who have been hospitalized for weeks. Who will struggle with hospital and medical bills for something they couldn’t control.

I thoroughly understand that people want their lives to go back to normal. But what is normal for me anymore? I have had to put up a layer of protective armor, because I just get so angry when I hear others talk about how this is no big deal. How their personal freedom is being restricted because they have to wear a mask. Do I know if masks work? Not entirely? But will I wear one because I DO NOT WANT SOMEONE TO HAVE TO GO THROUGH WHAT I’M GOING THROUGH? Hell yes.

I know others have it worse. I know. But my experience matters. And I have to assume I speak for many others that have had their lives upended when I tell you OUR experiences matter. I’m pretty certain nobody could have predicted I would be a damn “Covid long-hauler”. Yet here I am.

I’m just so tired and bruised and burnt out.

I WANT SOMEONE ELSE TO BE RESPONSIBLE. I don’t want to make another exhausting decision.

And I wanted someone to know my story. Because not many people ask.

I thought I was trying my best and I assume most of you are too. I was trying to keep a balance between our sanity and our safety.

But I’m tired of my life being treated like a political no-man’s land. I have struggled to understand the response (or lack of) when I tell people about what I’m going through. I’ve felt an emotional silence and it’s been louder than any words that have been said.

I’m trying so hard to give grace. I know this past year has been so hard on so many people. I know that even those who say they aren’t affected, will feel it down the road. I’m pissed that this happened to me, but I’m also trying to give grace to myself.

There are just days when I’m all out of grace. I’m all out of caring how you feel about wearing a mask in the grocery store. I’m all out of understanding when I hear people say “your health is your responsibility” or “everyone should take care of themselves”.

Now more than ever, I feel like as a nation, we should be taking care of each other. I don’t understand this overwhelming attitude of Every Man For Himself Unless It Suits Me And It’s Not Too Inconvenient.

It just felt important to share a side of the coin that I don’t think many see (or many choose to ignore). I can barely allow myself to go down the road of thinking about those on the margins who are dealing with these types of symptoms. Who are maybe barely paying their rent or holding on to their job. Who are single parenting or attempting to take care of elderly parents. My husband and I work hard, but I also know we’re in an incredibly fortunate place in our life, where my symptoms are the main thing that’s causing stress and anxiety.

If you haven’t had someone close to you get really sick, I understand that it can feel far away.

But it’s as close as me and I’m right here.

I do exceptionally well at FINDING experiences for my kids. A school where the teachers adore them and love them better than I even can. Activities with friends. Teams with coaches that teach them valuable lessons (sometimes the lesson is how to get on with a difficult coach, oy). Teammates to help them learn to socialize, to interact with different personalities.

I know how to plan grand trips and experiences and adventures, to buy tickets to concerts and plan vacations. These are the places I know how to shine.

Without the ability to do ANY OF THOSE THINGS, I now feel entirely responsible for their childhood right now. For their learning, their friendships, their joys, their sadness.

I feel responsible for their attitudes, their ability to organize a desk, to work through a conflict. While also feeling responsible for MY attitude, my ability to organize a desk, my ability to work through conflict.

Life feels like someone has hit the pause button. As an adult, I’ll mostly be the same person on the other side. A few concerts canceled, some uncertainty for the future and feeling a little more emotionally exhausted while also trying to find some version of gratitude.

But I feel like for my kids, I’m watching this life slowly pass them by.

They’re at the age where it seems they’ve matured just a little bit more between bedtime and waking up in the morning. Their feet grow while I’m reminding them to brush their teeth.

Life is at a standstill, but my kids didn’t get the memo. They’re growing and changing and learning and maturing, all while life is just on hold. With so few experiences outside these four walls to shape who they are.

Who will they be when this is over? Will I even recognize them? It’s like when they were toddlers and would stay with their grandparents for a weekend. When we’d pick them up, they seemed like entirely different kids. A little more grown, slightly less of a baby, taller probably.

I try my best to hold all of this loosely. To look at it with naked curiosity. Why this generation? Why my kids? Why me as a parent? What will we learn from this? Who are we meant to be on the other side? The uncertainty of it all damn near buries me.

I’m not a silver lining person. I’m an unfailing optimist. I consider those to be very different things. My natural instinct is not to look for the good in a bad situation. It’s to assume that a bad situation will just naturally right itself. All the bad memories will just go away if I give it the stink eye long enough and tell it to act correct.

I DON’T KNOW HOW TO DO THIS HERE.

How does this get right? How do my kids get back their last months with their amazing teachers? Their sixth grade trip planned for months? Their last few months with friends they will remember for a life time, before they go off to separate schools. Their last few months as the oldest in their class, the leaders, someone to look up to.

How do we all make the transition when there’s no transition? I feel like we’re in a holding pattern, waiting for life to start back up but there’s nothing clear.

How do I navigate my kids through the transition when I can’t even navigate myself?

I know everything will work out and there’s a privilege there. I recognize it. When our basic needs are fully met, that leaves space for the torrent of emotion.

What is life without a clear start and end? Without seasons, without an obvious transition?

HOW DO WE KNOW WHAT TO FEEL WHEN EVERYTHING FEELS LOOSE AND WOBBLY?

A friend with a senior in high school and I were talking about whether our transitions feel the same. We came to the conclusion that for a high school senior, the transition is for THEM. And that’s such such a loose and wobbly time anyway. They come at it with a bravado only an 18-year old can muster up, but it feels equal parts huge and full of responsibility as vague and terrifying.

Where do they go in this purgatory? School is just over, yo. Can you imagine as a senior in the last few months of your entire K-12 school career, trying to summon the will or the motivation to do ANY school work? I checked out of high school academics my junior year. I was there for the sports, the football games, the hallways, the dances.

So supposedly they are “done”. Hooray, you’re an adult! But not really. You don’t get an official ceremony or anything, but just wait to feel like an adult please until some arbitrary date in the future. Oh and PS. college won’t be what you anticipated either, so that seems fine. I’m sure you’re fine.

But my sixth grader over here is like “WHY ALL THE FEELINGS, MOM?”. He’s sad about a few of the things he missed for sure. He’s missing his friends, no doubt about it. But he’s mostly okay.

This transition from his amazing little private elementary school to middle school was FOR ME. I was sad before the year even started, knowing this was it for him. After six years at the school that shaped his childhood. Four years with a teacher who embraces his inability to focus and stay organized like it’s an actual super power.

Moving from a place of leadership, shelter, respite, no technology and just LOVE from other adults besides his parents to a place that Mom only remembers as a real awkward growing up stage, where her nose was too big for her face and kids were mean.

WHERE IS MY TRANSITION?

How do I get eased into watching my baby grow up?

His life will never again include recess, partnering with a first grader for a project, sleepaway camp with his classmates, board games on Fridays, PE that includes some sort of game where they’re running but also learning the branches of government. #montessori

His childhood is slipping away from me and I wasn’t given the time to grieve and come to terms with it. We just don’t get it back.

He will be just fine. I know this. But I feel like I am in purgatory. I’m so grateful for his teachers and guides that do online lessons and classes with him, but it’s also a daily reminder of what we’re missing as his elementary days wind to a close.

I can’t even be comforted by what we have planned over the summer because WHO THE CRAP EVEN KNOWS.

There is just no clear dividing line. No end to one chapter to begin another. It’s all muddled and I don’t know what to do with the blurred eges. There’s no start or stop. It’s like this holding pattern with no discernible finish line.

What signifies the end? The close of one chapter? Do we just instinctively know? Do we feel it? Or will we be in this forever purgatory, this unknowing that feels so heavy yet so fragile at the same time.

I AM IN A BOAT IN A RAGING OCEAN FILLED WITH UNCERTAINTY AND A TRUCKLOAD OF EMOTION. I can’t let it come spilling out because it will never stop. This is why I can’t bear others emotions and opinions and strong feelings about anything right now. I’m full up.

If I open the valve to let anything in (or out), I may unleash a tsunami of tears on an unsuspecting cashier at the grocery store.

This is the part of the post where people sum things up and wrap them in a positive, joy-filled bow. Solutions! Answers! 5 steps to finding joy in uncertain times!

I’ve got a barrel full of horseshit, some anxiety and a smile SOME of the time. Does that help?

While I still struggle to be hopeful, I am intrigued by who we will all be when this comes to a close. What will our relationships look like? Our level of resilience?

For now, I just feel a level of grief for something that feels loose and wobbly. Thank you for listening to my cheerful, inspirational speech.