One of the most psychologically annoying features of long haul covid is that any new somewhat mysterious ailment generates the bewildering question whether it is part of the post-viral syndrome belonging to the aftermath of the disease or a sign of a new (potentially serious) problem. (For earlier installments in the series, see here; here; here; here; here; here; here; here; here; here; here; here; here; here; here; here; and here).
For example, since last week Thursday I suffer from a new kind of head fatigue. The fatigue disappears after a good night's sleep but recurs throughout the day. At first I thought it was an effect of too much intellectual ambition with me working on my Foucault manuscript. But the head fatigue also occurs when I am not on the laptop at all. I call it a 'new' fatigue because unlike the first five months of covid, this fatigue does not impact my ability to read intellectual stuff. It's not what other people call 'brain fog.' Rather, it is a feeling of tiredness combined with hunger (and irritability).
As it happens, last week I picked up new fancy, varifocal glasses. I had gotten them because, as I remarked before, during my long bed-ridden period of convalescence I was reading books without my eye-glasses on, but with one eye closed. My cognitive-scientist, vitreoretinal-surgeon better half had nudged me to the optometrists suggesting that better eye vision might facilitate cognitive renewal. I never had varifocal glasses before, and I had been warned that a transition period might be tricky.
In particular, I was warned not to use the varifocals at first while driving. After wearing them for about twenty minutes I could see why. As you move your head to look at new objects, different parts of the visual field go blurry. The haze disappears quickly as your eyes look through the right part of the glasses and the world returns to focus. Over time you notice the blurry moments less and your eyes adjust more quickly to where they should look relative to your glasses. While I do have a driver's license, I don't drive in the UK. This decision was unrelated to Covid (or Brexit). I simply decided that I do not drive enough anywhere to trust my judgment driving on 'the wrong side of the road' in the UK.
But last week as the fatigue first hit me, I wondered, is this covid or the fancy glasses? A week later, I can't be sure but I have to assume it's covid. Because by now I barely notice the blurry moments. And I do, in fact, enjoy reading books and my mobile phone without taking off my glasses.
Either way, after three excellent weeks in which I was feeling close to recovered with only minor, lingering issues, now I am back at the stage where I am grateful for the good periods during the day. I was warned against such relapses by others in my long haul covid fellowship. But since I had read plenty of narratives about folk who had suddenly recovered fully, I had come to hope during the third good week I might be one of the lucky ones.
If you are like me, you might wonder what the physicians think of all of this? First the good news: I have had a battery of blood tests this past month. (For a while this showed in astounding black and blue marks thanks to a nurse's inability to find my veins.) The blood results all report that I am in fine health. The second bit of good news is that I am finally assigned an appointment with a long haul covid clinic. Sadly, that also contains the bad news, which is that the appointment is still seven weeks away.
It's not that I expect much help from the long haul covid clinic. My GPs have tempered any expectation about breakthrough cures. Most of the folk who do benefit from medical intervention are showing symptoms much different than mine. But it would be nice to have some attentive, skilled medical attention beyond 'be patient, and don't push yourself too much.'
Anyway, it's now been six months. June was the best month of the year for me. It was the first month where I spent most of my time out of bed and active in various ways; I was very happy to be improved. I had been looking forward to my discussion with the occupational physician next week. While I am still hopeful I can return to normal teaching, say, in September at the start of the academic year, I now am considering the possibility that June was a harbinger of the possibility that my condition might be chronic; that I might be like the folks that have CFS/ME, and that I should expect good and bad periods to alternate.
When I started blogging about my long haul symptoms, a distinguished academic with CFS/ME told me she 'learned to become a fast writer.' (I have not asked her how she teaches.) Since I am a parent I write much faster, so I can relate. Even so, there is more to life than writing. As I contemplate this, I am wondering how I can be me with new constraints. But now I must take my son to a physio appointment, for him.
Comments