I miss her too.
- Erica Taylor
- Jun 5, 2022
- 4 min read
June 17, 2020, I drove around to several places looking for a covid test. I didn’t actually think that I had covid. I just wanted to take precautions because I was planning to go to the courthouse and volunteer the next week.
I had been having really strange stomach issues that I couldn’t figure out. But outside of that, it felt like I just had some kind of sinus infection.
My head hurt, I had a dry cough. But, I was also sneezing and up to that point, everyone had said that sneezing wasn’t a symptom of covid.
I didn’t even think I had a fever. But, I couldn’t tell because I had always been bad at telling when I had a fever. Plus, my thermometer was broken.
The doctor that I had spoken with using my insurance’s virtual visit software was also doubtful. But, she did issue the order for the test.
After that, I had to try 4 or 5 places before I found a place that had tests and would see me on short notice. I remember thinking how silly it was that I was wasting so much time on just a precaution.
Friday of that week, I would receive the call that would change my life. I didn’t even pick up on the call. I missed it. But, they left a voicemail for me: “Your test came back positive. You need to start quarantining.”
Two years later, I still remember that voicemail.
My first “covid-iversary” (yes, it’s so common that it has a name) crept slowly up on me. Like a bad memory you keep trying to push down. As the day drew nearer and nearer, I found myself thinking about it more and more.
I couldn’t figure out how I felt about it, either. I did feel grateful that I had lived and that it wasn’t worse. Also, that I had improved from my worst days early on in the illness when I was doing things like washing my remote, burning simple food in the microwave, forgetting how to walk a dog, forgetting my name, etc.
Still, it’s hard not to feel sad as you look back and realize that your life was never the same after that point.
Last covid-iversary, I had been back to work for just a few months at that point.
I was still in the process of realizing that my grand plan of how I planned to manage work and hygiene and household things like cleaning required more energy than I actually had to give. I was struggling but hadn’t fully grasped yet that my “brilliant” pacing plan had too many rest breaks in it to actually manage during a work day and yet not nearly enough rest to actually keep me stable.
I tried.
And I keep trying everyday.
This time last year, I remember that I asked myself “do I even know how to be me anymore?”
I hadn’t fully caught on yet that there was no going back.
It was a realization that would only hit me later and one that I still grapple with even now.
The old me is gone. She’s not coming back.
That’s not to say that this is as good as it gets or that I won’t get better some day. It could definitely happen and there are scientists out there right now trying to understand Long Covid.
But, this is me now. I have a chronic illness. I am disabled. People are trying to figure out what’s going on and how to help but there’s not a lot of answers out there right now. And me personally, I don’t have a lot of medical support at the moment.
I am very much on my own to help myself and it is exhausting and daunting.
This is reality.
If I do get better, it’s probably going to be a slow process and the person that I was before won’t be the person that emerges on the other side.
I’ve come to realize, though, that I am not the only person struggling to accept this. That the old me is gone.
My friends, loved ones, coworkers, fellow parishioners, etc. are also struggling to accept this too. They’re still looking for the old me too. They’re still expecting me to be her or for her to come back one day.
The old me was an alpha go getter that just would go and go and go.
To be real, she actually was also overwhelmed and overburdened a lot of the time. But, honestly, it was hard to tell. She was just non-stop and she was good at trying to solve all the problems. No one really had to pick up her slack.
That Erica is gone. This Erica is actually tougher in a lot of ways.
This Erica doesn’t really remember all that well anymore when she wasn’t in pain and exhausted. She wakes up every day and she is tired and something on her hurts (usually several somethings) and she just muscles through.
There’s a million weird things wrong with this Erica that she just adjusts and copes with- bad circulation, inability to regulate temperature, inability to sleep straight through the night without waking up, lack of object permanence, forgetfulness, confusion, nightmares and vivid dreams. Just all par for the course.
She manages these things and more the best she can. She finds ways to compensate. She finds ways to overcome.
She doesn’t have time for most things. Not for answering personal messages and keeping up with her friends. Not for managing her diet. Not for managing her appearance. Not for managing the cleanliness of her home. Not for making it to church. Not for volunteering with church ministries. Not for working non-stop.
Doing all of that in the past was hard. Now it’s just impossible. So, this Erica just does her best.
And this Erica misses it. She misses all of it. And she constantly has to fight back feelings of guilt for all she can’t do while fighting to keep people from assuming what she can’t handle and stripping even more from her.
Past Erica is gone, everyone. We mourn her and we miss her. But, she’s gone.
And trust me, no one misses her more than me.
Rest in peace, old me.
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