When it starts to feel like a chicken-and-egg logic bomb, I decide that I have done enough job searching for the day. Instead, I open up Instagram and see college friends giving thumbs-up on planes, cashing in on cheap vacation deals. Another friend has posted a picture of her aunt, who died yesterday of Covid, with a long tribute. A celebrity I follow is doing a fundraiser for Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS. My former neighbor posts a teary video about postponing her wedding when they were totally going to do it in a safe way. It’s like there are two different realities unfolding at the same time.
I do not post often on Facebook, but I have an account. When I open it, there are dozens of notifications from acquaintances: Sending healing thoughts! I’m praying for you, Diana. You got this.
Frowning, I click onto the post that inspired these comments. Finn must have logged in to my account, because he’s written a short paragraph explaining that I have been hospitalized with Covid and put on a ventilator.
I tamp down the annoyance at the thought of him logging in as me.
The comments are supportive, effusive, heartfelt. Some are political, claiming that the virus is a hoax and I have the flu. Other friends attack that poster on my behalf. All this while I was unconscious.
On a whim, I type Covid-19 survivors into the search tab, and a string of articles comes up, as well as a list of support groups. Most are private, but I dive into one that is not and start reading through the timeline.
Has anyone else found their taste has changed? I used to love spicy, and now not so much. Plus, everything smells like bacon.
Sleep is impossible—getting migraines every night.
Am I the only one losing hair? I had long, thick curls and now my hair’s super thin; how long will this last?
Hang in there, someone else has responded. Mine’s stopped falling out!
Try zinc.
Try vitamin D.
Tested positive 3/11, tested positive again on day 10, still testing positive a month later—is it safe for me to be around people?
Question for the ones who have had Covid-19: have y’all been getting nosebleeds on just one side?
Can I get this virus again if I’ve already had it?
My doctor won’t believe me when I say that I didn’t have heart palpitations before …
I am getting more and more freaked out. What if leaving the hospital is only just the start? What if I have long-term effects that haven’t even shown up yet?
And if I don’t get them, is that something else to feel guilty about?
I am about to close my laptop, crawl back into bed, and give up when I see another post: Anyone else who was on a vent have weird dreams/nightmares?
I fall into this rabbit hole and start reading.
I was bike riding around town with my husband. Now, we don’t bike ride, we’re large people. We went to a crowded diner and he went inside to put our names down for a table. He was gone for a while. Finally I went in and started looking around. I asked the greeter if she’d seen him. She said no and I went back outside and one of the bikes was gone. When they took me off the vent I found out he had passed while I was under. I didn’t even know until two weeks later.
I was in a hospital that was Broadway-themed, but in a bad way, like being trapped in It’s a Small World at Disney, you know? Every hour everything stopped and there was a big musical revue. It was so crowded that I couldn’t even be in the room to watch it. The only way to get anyone’s attention was by hitting a buzzer, and if you did, the song changed to one of shame, because you weren’t supposed to stop the performance.
I was in space trying to contact people to get help before I ran out of oxygen.
I was at an electronic dance festival and I was some kind of creature in a tank of water, and the people who came to the festival kept feeding me through tubes while I floated.
I was in a videogame and I knew that I had to beat the other players if I wanted to survive.
I was sitting at my childhood kitchen table and my mother was making pancakes. I could smell them so distinctly and when she brought them over with maple syrup I could taste that, too. When my plate was empty she put her hand on my shoulder and she told me I had to stay at the table because I wasn’t finished. My mom’s been dead for 32 years.
I can’t remember anything clearly but it was SO REAL. Not like a dream with jump cuts, or how you’re supposed to wake up the minute before you die. I could feel and smell and see ALL of it. And I died. A whole bunch of times over and over.
I was being kidnapped by the hospital staff. I knew they were Nazis and I didn’t know why no one else could see that. When I woke up for real, they had tied my hands down because I kept trying to hit the nurses.