I Miss Me

It's been 3 months since my last blog.  I've been struggling.  Physically.  Mentally.  Emotionally.  I've been in a bad place.  I've been sick.  I've been tired.  I've been sick and tired of being sick and tired.  I'm tired of not being ME anymore.  I miss "me".  I miss who I was, who I thought I'd be, and who I should be now.  I miss all the little things I took for granted for the last 47 years before Covid took control of my life.  Walking up and down the aisles of a store, just looking for the fun of looking.  Actually just being able to walk across a parking lot to go INTO a store is a luxury I never imagined I'd miss.  Or need to miss.  Or have a reason to miss.

Two years ago my husband and I were taking walks in the Haymarket for date night.  I was walking through the zoo with my niece and nephew.  I was driving my daughter to another town for manis, pedis, and lunches.  Today, it takes all of my energy for the day just to take a shower, and dry shampoo has become my best friend. If I need to both wash my hair and shave my legs, I know that the wheezing, pain, racing heart, and exhaustion are going to completely wipe me out for the day.  Putting a few groceries away, stirring ingredients to cook for my family (something I've always loved to do), or doing even the most basic housework has me completely wiped out, breathing so hard I'm wheezing, feeling like my heart is going to beat out of my chest, sweating as if I've run a marathon.  I haven't driven in 11 months.  Between my dizziness, slow reaction time, processing speed, and depth perception, it's not safe for me or for anyone else on the road.  I am completely dependent on others for so many things that I took pride in doing for myself.  At best it's humbling, maybe even frustrating, but for the most part, it's just more humiliating...embarrassing...demeaning.

I had a follow-up with the cardiologist after having a double heart cath two weeks ago.  I am going to start treatment with nurse practitioners who specialize in heart failure.  That's a scary concept.  When I see the terms "NYHA Class III" and "non-obstructive coronary heart disease" and "mild pulmonary hypertension" and then predictions for life expectancy and survival rates, it makes it very real and very sobering.  None of these things were even slight issues before Covid struck.  

I see the neurologist in 3 weeks.  I've been waiting for 5 months.  I don't even know what to ask her to address first.  The burning nerve pains shooting down my arms and legs?  My difficulty with handwriting. The memory issues?  The loss of balance?  The lack of processing speed?  The missing words?  The headaches?  The sharp, stabbing pain above my left eye when I'm overstimulated?  The dizziness?  I don't even know where to begin or what to share with her first.  

I monitor my heart rate that gets too high, my blood pressure that gets too low, my sleep that comes and goes.  I've tried intermittent fasting.  I've tried anti-inflammatory diets.  I've tried consuming high amounts of protein.  I'm taking supplements to increase levels of vitamins and minerals.  I'm taking antihistamines.  I'm wearing compression and using my lymphedema pump.  I'm doing OT and lymphedema therapy and speech-language therapy.  I do the exercises I learned in PT and OT at Madonna.  I continue to write, to blog, to do brain puzzles, to use the apps I've been advised to use to keep my brain working.   

I have done everything they've asked of me in response to my symptoms, in response to my Long Covid diagnosis.  I will continue to do so.  I have no other choice.  I want my life back.  I want to be me again.