It’s been four months almost to the day since we found out we had COVID. By we, I mean Dylan and I.
Over the last four months, I have been silent. I haven’t publicly spoken or written about our COVID experience at the beginning of this year. There has been so much guilt in my heart and soul about having COVID. I am still struggling with that guilt, but as a writer, I can’t stay silent not while this pandemic rages on. I feel shame over having COVID. Like I need to keep it a secret and not talk about it, but I’m not an ostrich. My head does not belong in the sand, and I’ve never been one to shy away from telling the truths, my truths before. People are still complaining about wearing masks, fighting the harsh reality, saying it’s a conspiracy, claiming the vaccine is dangerous.
I am an immunocompromised human. Dylan is a disabled veteran. We were quarantining for our own health and the health of all humans. In our home, we believe in science and the reality of this pandemic.
Since the announcement of quarantine over a year ago, we have been social distancing like absolute champs. We stayed the fuck home. I stopped traveling. We started having our groceries delivered. We didn’t go out to eat. We hardly saw friends or left the house, except when completely necessary. We have worn masks and stayed away. We’ve sanitized and cleaned.
So many people did not believe in the seriousness of COVID until if affected them personally. We did not need to be affected personally to know the severity of COVID. Though we did have several friends who contracted it and recovered. They were fortunate to have uncomfortable but manageable symptoms.
We did everything we could to stay safe, but COVID came for us.
COVID still invaded our home, and we were met with the full force of it. Dylan and I had been so extremely careful, and yet it entered our home and almost took his life—and mine, but I’m ignoring the severity of my own situation. There’s nothing more, really, we could have done to prevent getting COVID, but I’m still struggling with guilt over contracting it. I have talked about it so infrequently that very few people in my personal life even knew about it at the time or even now. We didn’t advertise it. We were more concerned about surviving it because we both had fairly extreme cases. Only our very closest friends and family knew what we were going through.
On December 26, 2020, Dylan went to Chicago to visit his family. By December 28, he was admitted to the hospital with a positive COVID test and pneumonia. He didn’t have enough breath to call and tell me himself, so I found out over the phone from his mom once he’d been admitted. It was devastating. My partner of the last five years was in the hospital on the other side of the country fighting for his life, and I couldn’t do a thing about it.
Blake, one of the closest people in my life, had come over to spend time with me and hang out with the dogs while Dylan was gone. He was there when I got the phone call. I felt horrible because I had put him in danger without meaning to. We went for COVID tests the next day. I had a sickening feeling that I would absolutely be positive for it because I had developed a bad cough the day before. On New Year’s Eve, I found out I had COVID and Blake did not. We knew it would be two weeks of quarantine before Dylan could even think about coming home, before I could leave the house, before Blake could leave the house. We were trapped in a new way. I was trapped sick in my house with someone I loved. I was trapped by fear that the one person I depended on to be okay might not survive.
Everyday, I struggled to breathe. My oxygen levels kept getting lower and lower and lower, yet I refused to go to the hospital because of the dogs. Blake is probably the only reason I did not die, but it was not good. (Don’t do what I do, kids. Go to the doctor.)
Everyday, I waited for texts from Dylan to know he was okay, he was still alive, he was still breathing on his own.
Everyday, I hoped to hear news that Dylan was responding well to treatment and could go home soon to finish his recovery.
Every few days, I heard from his nurses or doctors to find out how he was doing. The news was hopeful but never good.
He ended up staying in the hospital for almost three weeks. When he was finally released, he had to stay in Chicago for almost three more weeks, two of which he was dependent on oxygen. He visited specialists repeatedly, waiting on the all clear to come home. Dylan was all alone on the other side of the country with his family and doctors, but I worried constantly. I was at home with Blake, who did everything from cook to clean to take care of the dogs to helping me get dressed to checking on me in the middle of the night.
By the time Dylan came home, he had been gone for almost six weeks. He was better but not back to normal. I had not been completely honest with him about my own health because I did not want him to worry as he fought for his life. He was shocked by how sick I still was, but we made it through. We spent the next two months slowly working back into normalcy.
If we’re being honest, and I am, we are both still on the mend. Neither of us have full lung functionality. We still get tired and winded much easier than we used to. We are both grateful to be alive, to have survived.
Dylan and I are both completely vaccinated. The moment we were allowed to, we signed up. He had Moderna. I had Pfizer. He reacted with a sore arm and slight aches and pains. My reaction was slightly bigger with a sore arm, aches, pains, and a low-grade temperature. The second dose was easier for me than the first.
I was vaccinated through UTMB Health at their outdoor League City location. I signed up through their website: https://www.utmb.edu/covid-19/vaccine/ back in February. It took me a week and a half to get an appointment. Now that vaccinatio are open to everyone, I’m sure it looks a little different as far as the sign up process. I arrived at the site. I never once had to get in my car. It took about half an hour to snake through the park, sign in, read the information, and get my vaccination. I then proceeded to the parking lot, where I waited fifteen minutes to make sure I didn’t have any reaction. I was on my way. This was the process for my first dose and three weeks later for my second dose.
Dylan was vaccinated through Harris County in Waller at their outdoor location. His process was exactly the same with a shorter snake time because it was a smaller site, serving less people. It was fast and easy.
We are vaccinated. We still stay home more than we did in the before times. We wear masks when we go out. We sit outdoors when we go to restaurants. We believe in science. We believe in COVID. We believe in vaccines. We believe in doing our part. This isn’t over, but we have and will do whatever we can to make COVID a part of history.
