Greetings and salu—salu—damn, I know this word. Shit. No, that’s not it. That book that is also an animated movie, the one with the pig and the spider—aha! Charlotte’s Web! Yes, that’s it.
No, that’s not the word, just the book and movie title. What was I saying? Oh yes, greetings and salutations.
Got it. Finally.
That phrase has only been my greeting for a decade as a writer, but damn if I couldn’t remember it. Now that five minutes have passed in my brain and an entire slipstream of books and movies with animals in them, I can finally say what I was trying to say in the first place.
I am a long hauler.
No, I don’t drive a truck. Not that kind of hauler, thankfully, but the kind that comes with a dozen medical appointments a month because I have Long COVID or Post-COVID Syndrome, also called Post-Acute Sequelae of SARS-CoV2 Infection (PASC) if you want to get fancy. The World Health Organization defines Long COVID as “symptoms lasting at least three months after infection.” Long haulers are folks who’ve been suffering for years.
I was first infected Thanksgiving of 2020, before vaccines and before we were properly masking with N95s. My cloth mask was all that protected me from my eye doctor, who was also wearing a cloth mask while sitting less than 3” from me as he examined my eyes. THREE inches. There’s no such thing as social distancing when being medically examined…not if the doctor’s doing it correctly.
It took me two years to overcome the bulk of my Long COVID symptoms, though a few stuck around permanently, such as a lack of smell and taste. In January of 2022, I got COVID for a second time—this time from a necessary ER visit—and my Long COVID came roaring back with a vengeance. At that point, the symptoms never went away.
The beginning of this post is how my brain works now, a fragmented maelstrom of missing vocabulary and an overwhelming abundance of learning disabilities.
When I was a kid, I had what could be described as mild dyslexia, mild dyscalculia (think dyslexia for numbers), and moderate ADHD. Now, when I’m writing/typing, I find sentences entirely this look like. If you didn’t understand that, don’t worry. The only reason I knew what I meant is years as a public school teacher educating kids with dyslexia on how to read and write. What my brain thought was, “Sentences look entirely like this.” If I’m lucky, we get what I typed above where the words are out of order but the spelling is correct. More often than not, what my fingers type is more like: sentnecse entriely tihs look like.
For paragraphs. For pages. Entire rough drafts of a novel looking like word salad.
As a writer, it’s infuriating. Is that the word I want? Hmm… Okay, yeah, that word works. It’s also disheartening and terrifying. It’s bad enough that my editors comment on it. Frequently.
For three years, I didn’t write a single word. Not a book. Not a short story. Not a poem. Not even a blog post.
Nothing.
For a time, I could barely talk to my wife in ways that were comprehendible? Understandable? If I’m honest, I still struggle with communication. I say the wrong words at the wrong times more often than I used to and often in ways that does more harm than good, and it’s not just with Molli.
It’s with everyone.
With Molli, It’s not the typical “couple misunderstandings” that happen either. It’s me trying to say I’m exhausted and instead, telling Molli I’m angry. Completely different words and used at the wrong times, they can lead to misunderstandings that hurt. We’ve been together for almost 30 years, and for the first time as a couple, I’m hard to understand.
And there’s nothing I can do about it.
This is Long COVID or a piece of it, and it’s painful in more ways than just physical.
I think people need a better view of all the ins and outs of this disease because that’s what this is. This is what it does to people. I am not alone in all of my symptoms. I am not alone in having Long COVID. It could be your grandmother, your brother, or even you next.
I don’t say this to frighten you but to inform. To educate. I may have stopped serving as a public school teacher in 2012, but I have never stopped educating.
A teacher never does.
Today, I can write again, though it’s a struggle. Words still elude me, spellings more-so. Typing a blog post now takes several days…if I’m lucky, but this is too important a topic, so I share my new reality in hopes that it helps someone else out there feel less alone, that it helps prevent even one more person from knowing this existence in actuality because no one should treat COVID flippantly.
Funny that I couldn’t recall the word salutations earlier and now, my brain won’t shut up about it. It rattles on and on with the word on repeat in different accents and speech mannerisms as if it’s learning a new word.
It’s not a new word, but it is a new existence.
It is a new me.
(To be continued in A New Me, Part II, next week.)
