This text was written as I learn to live with Long Covid and attempt to regain my creativity. All the posts and some more info can be found here.
I sit at my desk and turn the work laptop on. I open the software and webpages I need, and stop. A thick veil of fog wraps around my brain and shuts it down.
'Oh...'
I have not experienced such brain fog in a few weeks. I have not forgotten how it feels but I was starting to take for granted my clarity of mind.
I reassess my working plan for the day. I was supposed to tackle long intricate tasks which are now out of my abilities. Thankfully, a long list of simple repetitive tasks is available. It is less urgent but for today, it will do.
'Are you okay to do an exertion test,' the long covid clinician asks tentatively.
I look at her dubiously. My main strenuous exercise these days is going up and down the stairs a few times because I cannot hold in my mind the memory of why I moved from one floor of the house to the other.
'Maybe?' It's not that I do not want to do this but this has already been a tiring day. The long covid clinic is not in a convenient location for me. I had to travel on two buses to get the practice, with a stop in town in between for rest, but town is never truly restful. Still, I know I should do this. We are trying to figure out why my chest hurts every now and again.
She explains the exercise. I am to get up from a chair and sit back down repeatedly for a minute. 'I think I can do this?' I am still dizzy from the breathing exercises we have just done and wonder if this is wise.
'You can stop at any point,' she adds.
I nod. 'Okay. Let's do it.'
My partner should be able to drive me home after this appointment. I rise from the chair, sit down, rise. I am slow. My heart beats strong in my chest and my instinct is to stop but my vision is not blurry so I carry on. My body begins to warm as we reach the halfway point of the exercise. My brain screams for me to stop but I carry on, a little slower. My breath catches a little at the end of the exercise, my mind unsteady.
Later, back home, I collapse into bed. I am a lump of fatigue and can barely get out of my clothes before I disappear into sleep. Vaguely I think of the alarm I should set on my phone but I let myself forget.
I leave the laptop for the sofa bed often. One small task for one long rest. I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling. My hands rest on my stomach as I attempt to breathe from my diaphragm. I know how to do this but it is not automatic. The long covid clinic would like it to be.
I breathe and breathe and breathe, feel the hand on my stomach rise and fall. It demands focus which slips from me, replaced by a wobbly head and a dizzy body as so much air enters and leaves my body. I close my eyes and turn on my side, let myself drift to the edge of slumber for a little while.