Hello COVID, my old friend
About second parts
A couple of days ago, I was feeling beyond horrible, and so did my daughter. I had a headache, my articulations did not articulate, my throat was in pain, and it seemed that a truck had parked on top of me, so I cut the day short and went to bed thinking I had one of those things my sons bring home from time to time. I always tell them they can bring friends over, but it seems his approach to friendship applies to viruses as well…
The next day, I woke up feeling miserable and did what I’d been doing for years. I took the box of quick tests and went through the nose invasion ritual, placed the three drops in the reader, and there they were, the two red lines telling me history was about to repeat. But… is it?
My first contact with COVID was not only a reason to stay low for a few days but, eventually, the trigger for my life to change for good. I got the bug, thanks to my younger boy, a week before our Christmas holiday. After the pandemic, we were supposed to meet the family again, but since we got sick, I subscribed to a streaming service instead of visiting anyone, and we went through its contents like champions. Instead of turkey and regional sweets, we had takeaways, which seemed all the same since we lost our taste buds. Ten days later, my family was okay, but I wasn’t. I returned to work feeling my head light and my body heavy. Moving across the office felt like pushing rocks, and talking to people was like listening to the grownups in the Peanuts cartoons.
It took my family doctor less than two minutes to give a diagnosis when I visited her. I had long COVID, and the recovery was, indeed, long. In those months, I battled my new condition. I had time to think about what I would do with the rest of my life, and the puzzle pieces started to fall in the right direction. It took more than a year, but it arrived the moment I decided to quit my job and do something else. I did not leave because I did not like my job; I did it because I wanted to allow myself to do something by myself. It might seem selfish, but it was necessary.
I’ve spent the last nine months writing my novel and querying agents, and I’m in a much better place now than I was when I started. I have no agent yet, but I am determined to succeed (yeah, I know, selfish and a bit hysterical), and now that I have COVID again, I started to think: will this change my life? Again? I might not recover; the fog in my brain might return, and the doubts might keep me awake at night…
I checked my email this morning and saw another rejection. I know it should have made me sad, but it didn’t. It made it all much more real. This is the life I chose, and I will keep sending my “love letters” to agents until someone realizes I’m the one they’ve been waiting for.
Selfish, hysterical, and optimistic. That’s me.