The Summer “C” Series: Chronically Catherine Contracts COVID
I should’ve expected it. The irony is so achingly good.
I’d made my triumphant return to college after a two and a half year medical leave of absence and courageously charged forth into my tumultuous and overwhelming first semester back.
Finally, after 16 long weeks, the finish line of the semester was in sight.
Two finals down, one more to go. I could taste the sweet, salty air of summer and hear my pink foam board calling my name.
Not to mention, I’d made it through all of 2020 and 2021 without getting COV—.
Hah. Spoke too soon.
On Monday of finals week, I woke up with a sore throat and flu-like symptoms. I immediately discounted the coronavirus as the cause because I’d been fully vaccinated for over two weeks and my social life has consisted of going to the grocery store and Target. On top of that, I was living with my fully vaccinated family. I thought it could be strep, laryngitis, tonsillitis, a virus, but no way could it be Miss Corona.
I got tested that Monday for all of the above – and the coronavirus just in case – and continued to plow through finals.
Tuesday night I got a text from CVS saying my coronavirus results are back — and something deep down in my soul knew that Murphy’s law was about to roundhouse kick me in the face.
Positive.
My stomach dropped — not like I was going to puke, more like “Can you please just give a girl a break?!”
Positive.
My family and doctors were immediately concerned — I’m immunocompromised with multiple severe chronic illnesses. I am literally the textbook definition of someone who would immediately need to be hospitalized or, not to be dramatic, die from contracting the coronavirus — if not fully vaccinated.
But I was fully vaccinated — shout out to my girl Moderna — so my symptoms were moderate and not worsening. However, I was more concerned with the fact that I’m vaxxed, waxxed, body ready to hit the beach, ring in the end of the semester and now I have to wait because I have the co-co-ro-ro.
Pause.
A year ago at this exact time, I was in the hospital for the third time for a severe flare up of my multiple chronic health conditions. Simultaneously, the first wave of this deadly pandemic was peaking in the United States.
Grocery store shelves were empty. Hydroxychloroquine, a medication I’d taken for two years prior to the pandemic and relied on to keep my Lupus in check, was in international short supply. The United States was in the throes of a racial reckoning – the flashpoint murder of George Floyd and the Black Lives Matter movement rallied innumerable protestors to the streets. A friend of a friend had just died from the coronavirus. And my Mom, who works in biotech, was calmly telling friends and family, “Get you and your loved ones where you want to be located for the foreseeable future.”
There was terror in the voices of my doctors, nurses, parents, friends and even the phlebotomist who came to draw my blood at 4 a.m. every morning. There was no treatment for the coronavirus. No monoclonal antibodies. No vaccine. There was terror in my voice too.
Pause.
Flash forward one year to the date and I’m fully vaccinated, not fearing for my life because I’m positive and there is no terror in my voice or the voices of my loved ones. There is concern and intensity to move quickly to acquire Regeneron, the antibody infusion that helps keep people like me who contract the coronavirus out of the hospital. But sheer terror in our voices? No. At last, no.
My privilege to be able to say that is absolutely not lost on me.
At present, I’m kicking it Rapunzel style and holding up in my tower, staying away from the outside world and nursing my improving symptoms. The antibody infusion made a difference in my symptoms overnight, and I’m forever grateful to my home health nurse who donned her hazmat suit to give it to me. The real shocker is none of my family members, a mix of Moderna and Pfizer, have tested positive.
However, once it’s safe and I do drop my hair from my window, slide down it and land back in the real world, here’s what I have to say to you, my fellow Trojans:
- Do your due diligence and remain vigilant. When out and about, we still need to be washing and sanitizing our hands as many times a day as Carrie Bradshaw changes outfits – at least once an hour or with every scene change. So many people haven’t been vaccinated for a myriad of reasons. Remember, you were once that person too, so treat them the way you’d want to be treated.
- Wear your mask. In what feels like a whiplash turn of events, the CDC just announced you don’t have to wear your mask at all if fully vaccinated. Listen – I trust Foxy Fauci, and I trust science, and it’s true that a vaccination is a highly effective safeguard. But we can’t ignore the fact that most of the country is not fully vaccinated, and in many states the situation remains highly nuanced. Ultimately, we can’t know if the masked person sitting next to us is highly vulnerable or a cancer patient or a member of a community who still lacks access to the vaccine. In the same vein, we can’t know if the person sitting next to us unmasked is vaccinated. So here is my sweet little suggestion to you — for now, think of wearing your mask when close to others as an act of respect, kindness and care to your neighbors and peers who may be more susceptible to contracting coronavirus despite being vaccinated. (And I don’t know about you, but I bought a lot of cool masks so I’m getting my money’s worth.)
- If you’re able, get your vaccination. I’m living proof that someone who has not only been fully vaccinated, but has also been on hydroxychloroquine and other coronavirus therapies for more than two years, can still get it. Don’t let your conspiracy theorist uncle or commenting Karen on Facebook fool you – if I can get it, you sure as hell can too; so if you can, get your shot boo.
Ultimately, I’m not saying don’t enjoy the feeling of hope and security the vaccine brings – I’m saying getting the coronavirus was an ironically healthy reminder to stay vigilant and do your best to keep yourself and others safe this summer.
And to all those who still don’t take coronavirus seriously, I only have one thing to sign in your yearbook:
HAGS :P
Writer’s note: Feel free to reach out to Chronically Catherine if you’re also a student of different abilities working to coexist with daily adversity without losing sight of your fabulosity – [email protected] or @itschronicallycatherine on Instagram.
Catherine Ames is a junior writing about life as a young person coexisting with chronic illness.