New Perspectives, Christmas Eve, and Ugly Crying

I belong to a couple of Long Covid groups on Facebook; one is a group called Survivor Corp, which is a great public group to join for information and support if you or someone you know is suffering from the after-effects of Covid.  A woman whose husband has been dealing with Long Covid for almost 3 years recently posted something that really resonated with me.  She said that her husband had attended appointment after appointment with every type of specialist imaginable, and there just weren't any answers or resolutions for his symptoms.  (I know this scenario all too well myself.) She said when they went to see a cardiologist, they were given the best advice of all.  He told them that if her husband had not improved significantly after 4 months with Long Covid, the chance of recovery wasn't very likely to happen.  BUT, he told them that in 2 years her husband would be feeling much better.  He told them it wouldn't be because the symptoms had noticeably improved, but because they would have had time to grieve the loss of the life they'd had, time to grieve the changes and the illness, and would have learned their "new normal" though she said she hated that term.  (As do I at this point.)  She said it really was true; life was better now, after 2 years, than it had been because they'd learned how to accommodate for his limitations.  She said their children had learned that "Dad" couldn't do certain things with them (playing in the yard, going on amusement park rides, etc.).  She said her husband's friends no longer looked at him sympathetically when they saw him with his cane or riding his mobility scooter; that they'd adjusted to the changes and now talk and joke with him the way they had done before he had Long Covid.  That new perspective is something I need to work on for myself...

I have had Long Covid for 2 years now, and I haven't gotten past that grieving stage yet.  There are still days that are so hard I have fleeting thoughts that maybe it would have been better to have not survived Covid than to have had a relatively mild case, but then dealt with all of this for the past 2 years.  I would estimate that 3-4 days out of every 7 days of the week I have tears running down my cheeks while my husband helps me with my personal care and getting dressed because I'm so sad and angry and humiliated that I need someone to help me get dressed every day, someone to assist me with regular, routine tasks, with activities of daily living and even some executive functioning skills.  

My therapist and my disability lawyer have both basically given me the same advice: You can only control your own actions; don't worry about the things you can't control.  Well, I really took that to heart this year for Christmas.  I began my shopping back in early September.  I carefully chose everyone's gifts based on what I knew about them and their personal tastes.  I purchased multiple gift bags and gift boxes to make wrapping easier because I knew it would be exhausting.  I demanded that my husband get our living room remodel finished before Christmas Eve, which I was hosting.  I went all out.  I bought new matching paper plates, napkins, soup bowls, plastic cups, foam coffee cups, sparkly plastic spoons, the works.  I even bought a Christmas dress and "Merry Christmas" leggings.  I went all out in ways I never had before, and I have been hosting a "Soups and Snacks" Christmas gathering for the past 17 years!  I was controlling the things I could, and I wanted everything to be PERFECT.  And, honestly, it was. 

And then I paid for it.

On Christmas Day my head was pounding and I had dizzy spells throughout the day. I was completely exhausted.  The week between Christmas and New Year is a blur.  I honestly don't even remember those 7 days, and I didn't leave the house for 13 days following Christmas.  I was exhausted; mentally, emotionally, cognitively, physically, I was completely drained.  

This past week involved some ugly crying too...Thinking about school starting back up prompted me to think about what I would have done in class on that first day after break.  I started thinking about how I would give them Bell Work, with directions projected on the whiteboard.  

"Write one paragraph sharing your favorite part of Christmas break.  

Write one paragraph sharing your least favorite part of Christmas break.  

Write one paragraph sharing anything you'd like me to know, any topic you choose.  You do not have to share aloud in class, and no one will read them except me." 

I would then have used the rest of the class period to let students who DID want to talk and share things do so, using it as a speaking, listening, and asking appropriate questions lesson (which is a 6th-grade standard).  As I talked about it with my husband and daughter my longing to be teaching came back with a vengeance.  It's a physical ache in my chest, that longing to be in my classroom, to be with my kids again, to feel their energy and excitement.  I miss laughing every single day because of things my kids said or did.  I miss that feeling that I can't even describe in words when their faces light up because something "clicked" and they are learning and understanding and are developing the passion for reading and writing that I have.  There is nothing else in the world that feels the way it felt to teach and to see my kids LEARNING. 

And that's when the ugly crying happens...when I allow myself to feel the grief of no longer teaching...

People Suck and Other Revelations...

I began this blog (and wrote the title of this blog) October 30th, and now, today, December 10th, I am just now coming back to it.  My therapist has been waiting patiently for me to finish and post this blog, and I have tried several times, but just couldn't figure out exactly what I needed to say.  It was all in my head, but getting it out into words is something I've been struggling with...But, as I sit here at 4:30 A.M., still dark outside, my cats roaming around trying to figure out why I'm up to interrupt their shenanigans, and my dog still sleeping soundly in our room (along with my husband), I'm attempting this blog again...

Last night as I scrolled through Facebook, I came across an ad for Madonna Rehabilitation Long Covid Clinic.  I liked and shared it because I not only attended the Madonna Long Covid Clinic for 3 months, but still utilize their services as well.  After sharing the ad, I noticed several laughing emoji reactions on the original post (not mine), and I saw that 19 people had reacted in that way.  I then began reading the comments people were posting on the Madonna Long Covid Clinic page and became instantly emotional.  Words like "psychosomatic symptoms" and  "placebo effect" and "another fibromyalgia" along with conspiracy theories about the harmful lasting effects of vaccinations flooded the comments.  

I know I need to learn to ignore these types of things, but it's just hard sometimes.  When something has completely taken your previous way of life from you, how do you just let things like that slide off your back?  What I also wish I could ask each of those people mocking Long Covid is how they explain how the estimated 9 million people in the U.S. alone, and an estimated 65 million people around the world who have been diagnosed with symptoms of Long Covid if it's just something made up in our heads.  I would ask them to explain how we all just happened to have gone from perfectly healthy, active people living our best lives to being suddenly so debilitatingly ill that our careers, family life, social life, and physical well-being have been completely destroyed.  How do we all just KNOW what symptoms to describe that replicate the symptoms of others who are also experiencing them?  There's no other explanation for it.  Long Covid is real and it's an ugly, cruel illness that even the most renowned medical experts are still struggling to figure out.  Though many people do not have any abnormal test results, others of us do, and these clearly cannot be "faked" or "made up". 

Though many people with Long Covid will go through a battery of tests with no definitive answers to their symptoms, I personally have had an MRI that showed some areas of white matter on specific areas of my brain that are advanced for my age.  This would explain the split of over 40 points on my psychological evaluation between my attention/concentration/working memory and other areas of my cognitive brain function. For those who do not know exactly what those types of scores mean, when there is a large "gap" or split between scores, it means different functions of the brain are basically working at different paces or capacities which can make some aspects of my cognitive world really difficult.  

A fact I don't think most people outside of the Long Covid world realize is that those who have cognitive and psychological issues associated with Long Covid present very similarly to people who have suffered a traumatic brain injury (TBI), therefore, behavioral cognitive therapy is used in much the same way for Long Covid patients and TBI patients.  There are physical brain symptoms (such as advanced white matter, micro clots, etc.) that can contribute to these similarities, but there is also the psychological trauma that also plays a large part in those similarities.  Having an illness, whether mild in nature or so severe hospitalization was necessary, which results in major life changes, causes a lot of psychological trauma leading to anxiety, depression, and cognitive function deficiencies.  Many symptoms may also present closely with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).  A sudden medical event that impacts every aspect of your life is traumatic, and dealing with the sudden and unexpected repercussions of that can be devastating...traumatic. 

Something I have really noticed regarding memory is that I can name off almost every student I had from the start of my career in 2001 to the end of the 20/21 school year.  However, I have a very difficult time coming up with the names of the students I had during my final year of teaching, (the 21/22 school year) which was the year I got Covid and began having Long Covid symptoms.  I recognize their faces, but I cannot come up with their names.  It's horribly frustrating and makes me feel so guilty too. 

Another thing that has been really difficult for me is word-finding.  I know it appears that I have no problem with that when reading my blogs, texts, etc.  However, the part no one outside of my immediate family sees is the amount of time I use googling "words that mean_______" or "synonyms of_______" because I just cannot find the exact word I'm looking for.  I can tell you what it is similar to, what its definition is, and how I want to use it in my sentence, but the word itself is just GONE.  I also have begun having another odd issue come up.  When writing/typing, I will often use the wrong form of a word, even when I'm picturing the word in my head correctly.  (And yes, since dealing with these cognitive changes, I have discovered that when I am writing/typing, I visualize the words as I'm typing/writing them, which I did not realize I had done until all of these new changes came about.). For example, I may mean "their", I'm picturing "t-h-e-i-r", but I type "t-h-e-r-e" and have to delete and retype it.  Or, I am trying to say "meet" and I type "meat".  The examples go on and on.  I do it with most homophones on a daily basis. It's as though my brain and my hands aren't communicating correctly.  I hate it too, because, as an English teacher and proud "wordsmith" by my own recognition, making those types of errors, and KNOWING the correct use of these words, is incredibly frustrating, especially when I don't catch the errors until after I've hit "send". 

Though this blog ended up going in a different direction than I'd intended when I started it 6 weeks ago, I finally finished it.  There is just so much I wish people understood, so much I wish even I understood about the changes that have occurred over these past 2 years.  But, maybe someone reading this will be able to relate, maybe they will realize they aren't quite so alone, and maybe it will help them to feel a little less isolated in their own battle.  If that is the case, then I've done what I have hoped and intended to do with my blog.

If any of you have a true interest in understanding Long Covid, want to learn more, or would like to find support for your own symptoms or show support for a loved one with Long Covid, I encourage you to join a Facebook Long Covid group.  A good, legit group I would recommend is: https://www.facebook.com/groups/COVID19survivorcorps/

'Til next time...

Endings, Triggers, Infections, Friendships, and Gratitude

The last couple of weeks have been rough.  Especially rough.  I knew school starting back up would be hard.  I didn't realize how hard though.  Last year I was on medical leave, so school starting was just the "official medical leave" start date.  I was still a school employee, it was still my job, my classroom, my life.  It was just on hold for a bit.  This year, everything is different.  I'm not a school employee anymore.  It's not still my job. It's not still my classroom.  That's no longer my life.  The impact of this reality has been more difficult than I ever realized or imagined. 

The things that have triggered me the most are things I had not even thought about being such severe triggers.  All the "First Day of School" pictures on social media felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest.  Each one was another pull on my heartstrings because I should have been at school to see all those shining faces, nervous smiles, and sparkling white new shoes.  But I wasn't; I was at home trying not to think about what the date signified.  

Then, there was the unfortunate timing of my husband driving past the school, the school where I had taught for the past 14 years, on our way home from my doctor's appointment last week.  The students I'd had in my last year of teaching were outside at noon rec.  MY kids were outside at noon rec.  Even writing about it has my stomach in knots and my chest feeling tight because leaving that classroom behind still brings me physical pain each and every day.  

But this week, it was the silliest thing yet that really twisted the knife into my gut.  I began to see people sharing a promotion for a "Free Drink at Scooters" with the presentation of a school ID.  It hurt.  Plain and simple.  And yes, I know it's silly.  But that didn't change how much it hurt.  Then, yesterday, THE DAY, seeing all of the teacher friends I have or follow on social media sharing pics of their free drinks brought me to actual tears.  I had to just close my phone and not even look, not check my notifications, just remove the trigger completely.  It wasn't about the drink, it wasn't about getting something for free, and it's not like I couldn't and didn't get a yummy coffee drink today; it's that it was one more thing I'm no longer a part of because of Long Covid.  

It's that the identity I have had for the past 22 years is gone, and I don't know who I even am anymore...

A symptom I've been battling since 3-4 days before my actual positive Covid test, which we now realize was my very first symptom of Covid, is severe, pitting edema which has now developed into Lymphedema.  It has been uncontrollable despite lymphedema therapy, diuretics, compression, and all the things used to treat lymphedema.  A big part of lymphedema care is keeping the skin well-moistured because it gets stretched so tightly from the swelling.  If the skin breaks, lymphatic fluid weeps out, and this provides a beautifully fertile, absolutely ideal, breeding ground for infection.  

Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, I developed a rash that turned into blisters that turned into open wounds, and after not feeling well for a couple of days, and then having visible signs of infection along with significant pain, I went to the ER, and sure enough, I had an infection in my leg.  Treatment and healing are a long, uncomfortable process, and getting rid of the infection along with preventing it from returning while the wounds on my leg heal are the biggest and most challenging health priorities right now.  

It seems that's what my life has become; one challenge after another...but...

I recently read a quote that said:  Friends are like rainbows; they're always there to cheer you up after a storm.  

I have to say, that is absolutely true.

At the worst of times you really do learn who your truest friends are, and let me tell you, I was BLESSED WITH THE BEST.   From the friend who commented, "Once a teacher, always a teacher," on my post about Scooters to the ones who gifted us with an amazing surprise when we least expected it to those who go out of their way to ask my daughter how I'm doing when they see her at her job to those who started a GoFundMe for me when I spent 11 months battling with my Long-term Disability Insurance, to the ones who bring me coffee and stay for a visit, randomly text me just to check in, and show me dozens of little ways that I'm thought of and loved, there just aren't enough words or blog posts or poems or songs or flowers or hearts or hugs or thanks to show how much it means.  

To all of you, and you know who you are, I truly do know how lucky I am to have you in my life, and I hope every single one of you knows how humbled I am, how full of gratitude, and how truly thankful I am to be loved and cared for by you.  

Bassinger Family Pledge Fundraiser

As an educator for over 20 years, I have had well over 2,000 students come into my life, and with those students are also their parents and families.  I have heard more stories about siblings, parents, pets, family vacations, and details of day-to-day lives than I can begin to count, and this is the beauty of working with kids.  And though every single one of my kids have been special in their own unique way, sometimes a certain student comes along that just tucks themselves a little deeper into my heart, tugs a little more at my heartstrings, becomes an extended part of my family.  

And that is exactly what happened when this sweet, timid little 6th grade boy named Zach Bassinger entered my classroom way back in 2016.  He was so shy and nervous those first few days, but he soon got very comfortable, and that orneriness that makes Zach the Zach that he is came out.  And I just couldn't help it; I adored him from the start.  Zach was assigned to my homeroom, which meant I had him in class all 3 years he attended Middle School.  When he got into any kind of trouble, he knew when I showed up in the doorway of whatever classroom he was in, he was going to hear about it.  He often came to my classroom to work, and we had one of those bonds that carried on through the years and extended to his family as well.  

I did not have his sister, Allie, in class, but I often saw her around the building.  She was a mother hen to Zach, being only a grade behind him.  She kept an eye on him, and she took it upon herself to keep him in line.  There was more than one occasion that she and I shared a knowing look!  

A few years later, along came his brother Carter.  Carter knew what he was in for before he ever entered my classroom; he knew I had connections, and that he had better watch his P's and Q's because I was well-acquainted with his parents already, and I made sure to tease him about that fact often!

Zach's parents were the kind of parents every teacher loves to meet.  They were attentive and supportive.  They came to every Open House and every Parent-Teacher Conference.  They responded promptly to emails and phone calls, and they worked as a team with teachers in order to help their kids have the absolute best education they could.  They were the kind of parents you were excited to see walk into your classroom.  

This is why, when I learned that Zach's dad, Terry, was diagnosed with thyroid cancer, my heart was instantly broken for them.  No one deserves that diagnosis, but this family, Zach's family, who were such good, loving, hard-working people, absolutely did not deserve to face this battle.  And a battle it has been, spanning over the last year and a half, with additional complications all along the way, taking the family's life on the kind of roller coaster no one wants to be on.  

And then it got even worse.  Just this month, Zach's sister Allie was also diagnosed with thyroid cancer.  The devastation this kind of news brings is something beyond words.  Allie is a senior in high school.  This should be the most exciting, fun time in her life.  Instead, she is going to be battling cancer, taking on the fight of her life.  

There is a GoFundMe set up for the family, and people have been so generous.  However, with both Terry and Allie now fighting this battle, the bills will continue to pile up, and the last thing the Bassingers need to worry about during a time when they need to focus on other things is the financial burden this puts on them.  

In honor of the Bassinger Family, I have decided to make a Pledge to donate $1.00 for every "hit" on this blog post between today and my birthday, September 16th, up to $500.  Please share the Bassingers' story, donate if you can, and encourage others to do the same.  I promise you, this family deserves anything we can do for them.  No amount is too small; they will appreciate any gesture you are able to make.  If you are a praying person, please offer those up for them as well, because they need all the support possible.  

Here is the link the GoFundMe set up for the family:

https://www.gofundme.com/f/supporting-terry-angie-bassinger

Thank you all!

Let's Talk Accommodations

"The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) became law in 1990. The ADA is a civil rights law that prohibits discrimination against individuals with disabilities in all areas of public life, including jobs, schools, transportation, and all public and private places that are open to the general public. The purpose of the law is to make sure that people with disabilities have the same rights and opportunities as everyone else."  (Copyright 2017 ADA National Network. All Rights Reserved)

I think it's safe to say that most people know there are requirements for fair and equal opportunities and rights for people who have a visible disabling condition, and for the most part, I have witnessed good intentions, appropriate accommodations made, and compassion shown.  However, there are many, many "invisible" disabilities, and I don't feel those dealing with them are always aware of their rights, nor are those around them as understanding or even willing to acknowledge them.  

Depression and other mental health diseases are covered by the ADA.  Bladder and bowel problems,  neurological disorders, endocrine and circulatory problems...the list goes on and on.  These are things I feel everyone should be aware of.  No one is going to advocate for us; we need to be our own advocates and learn how to ask for what we need without shame or embarrassment or fear of judgment or criticism.  This is advice I need to take as well, but it's much easier for me to advocate for others than for myself.   I admit that wholeheartedly.

When my daughter decided on a college, decided to live on campus, and began the process of enrolling, her biggest stressor was the idea of having a complete stranger for a roommate.  I couldn't blame her; I would not have been comfortable with that either.  However, I didn't say that to her; I reminded her of all the stories about people meeting their lifelong best friends when they became college roommates, about her aunt having longtime friends who had started out as strangers she'd met at college, etc.  But, in my head, I was still feeling a lot of empathy for her because I knew I'd have those same concerns, and her feelings were valid.  Then I learned that social anxiety, if diagnosed and being treated for this condition, was a covered disability under the ADA.  Because of this, with nothing more needed than a couple of forms filled out by both her and her therapist, she was able to qualify for a single-occupant room with single-room fees waived through her rights under the ADA.  Though she didn't like the idea of "special treatment" and didn't want to be labeled as "disabled", I explained to her that she should not feel that way, that this was her right, and that she deserved to be able to feel good about her upcoming college experience.  If something was causing her so much stress that it was impacting her feelings about attending college, that absolutely was something within her rights to address.  If even one parent or one student reads this and learns about their rights regarding anxiety and/or depression, and realizes their feelings are valid and deserve to be addressed, then I have done my job with this blog.  

Advocate for yourselves, advocate for each other, and have each other's backs out there in the world, because at the end of the day, those are the things that really matter...

“Ada National Network.” ADA National Network | Information, Guidance and Training on the Americans with Disabilities Act, 22 Aug. 2023, adata.org/.

Color Me Happy

I haven't written a blog in 4 weeks.  When I go silent, it's a good indicator that I'm struggling in all aspects.  That has definitely been the case over the past few weeks.  My body is betraying me.  At least that's how it feels right now.  My edema is relentless.  My joints hurt.  My muscles hurt.  My neuropathy is a constant issue.  Breathing is a struggle when I do anything at all; it is only calm and steady when I am sitting and idle.  My brain is foggy.  My emotions are completely out of balance and uncontrollable.  Crying has become part of my daily routine.  I regularly have a night when I don't sleep.  Going 40 hours between periods of sleep is becoming more and more common for me.  At times I feel almost manic.  

Color Me Happy.  I first heard this expression in the movie Pretty Woman way back in 1990.  Julia Roberts walks into the elevator of the Beverly Wilshire Hotel and blurts out, "Well color me happy!  There's a sofa in here for two!" Since then, I have used the expression as the name of the After-School Club I oversaw.  Students were able to come to my classroom and color to their hearts' content.  They did this as a stress reliever, as a distraction from life, as avoidance from doing homework, and/or as a place to socialize with friends while coloring away in various books and printed pictures I provided.  My daughter also always enjoyed coloring, and, at 21 years old, she still does.  

Coloring is a pastime I have now started as well.  I had colored as a child, but as an adult, I didn't really care to color anymore other than the occasional picture I colored with one of my kids when they were growing up and asked me to color with them.  However, coloring has now become my obsession.  I have purchased about 20 coloring books over the last 3-4 months, and I find myself coloring for hours and hours on end without even realizing how much time has gone by.  I don't know if I'm coloring myself happy or coloring myself crazy.  I sometimes wonder if it's an unhealthy addiction at this point because I will sometimes color for 8-10 hours straight, only stopping to use the restroom or to have a quick bite to eat.  My hand will hurt, my fingers have developed blisters and calluses, yet still, I can't seem to stop coloring.  Because of my dexterity issues, I bought rubber grippers for every single one of my colored pencils (both my Crayola Twistables and my June Gold Mechanical Colored Pencils) to assist with my pencil hold.  My first pictures were in large print coloring books I purchased online that were intended for "senior colorers" and "elderly and disabled colorers".  But now, my obsessions have been landscapes, interiors and exteriors of houses, and country scenes.  I have begun layering colors, using a black pen to complete lines or add things to the pictures, and adding my own "touch" to my pictures.  (Examples at the end of the blog)

But then I think, "Wow...I was a 'Master Teacher'.  I have a Bachelor of Science degree in Elementary Education with endorsements in Early Childhood birth to 3rd grade and Special Education, PreK to 12th grade along with a Master of Science degree in Curriculum and Instruction.  I had been teaching in my building longer than all but 5 other teachers.  I still had so much I wanted to do, so much I wanted to try, so much more I wanted to accomplish in my career.  I LOVED my job, my life, my place in this world.  Two years ago I truly felt like I had my whole world figured out.  I was the happiest I'd been in years.  I was feeling great physically, mentally, and emotionally.  I had so much energy and enthusiasm.  Life was so good.  But then, just like that, everything changed.  

Now, instead of being a Master Teacher, I'm texting the pictures I've colored to my daughter and to my best friend, proud of my COLORING SKILLS when just 2 short years ago I was teaching Language Arts to 100+ students every day.  This is what my life has come to, and I am just not sure how long I can survive it anymore...

But for now, I will just continue to color...It's an escape from reality, and right now, an escape from what is real seems to be what I need.

Credit is given to: Marshall, Garry. Pretty Woman. Buena Vista Pictures, 1990.

 

Sometimes I forget...

For the past 15+ years, since having a classroom of my own, my mind is always on new ideas for my class, for lessons, for things to do with my students, for things to share with them.  This past year hasn't changed that.  The thoughts in my head were always just, "When I get back to work, I will....." But now, I'm not going to be going back to my classroom.  I can't use the ideas, lessons, and activities I have been dreaming up in my head over the last year.  That is a hard pill to swallow.  

My cousin was texting with me yesterday and told me about a graduate program at a nearby college.  I was immediately intrigued.  My mind instantly jumped to getting a second Master's Degree, this time specifically in English, to both advance my pay and maybe even my job title.  That thought was quickly squashed as I remembered I'm not teaching anymore, that my degree could be advanced as much as I chose, but it would not be used towards a benefit to my pay or my job title because I no longer had either of those.    

I did have the opportunity to speak in an online meeting to a group of Occupational Therapists last week about my experiences with Long Covid, and it felt so good.  I felt like I was actually teaching again. I was sharing knowledge, adding my own experiences, answering questions, and feeling completely in my element.  Of course, I had to write up a script beforehand of what I was going to say to ensure I was able to stay on track, explain my experience in chronological order, and not lose my train of thought because those are the challenges I face when speaking to people, even in just small groups or in one on one situations.  Obviously, when teaching live, in-person, and in actual classroom settings, a script does not and cannot work.  Interruptions occur, questions get asked, distractions are everywhere, and every minute of every class period of every single day is unpredictable.  

So, I will take whatever opportunities I have to share and to teach and to continue to seek out ways to be an educator in any form.  But sometimes, just for a moment, I forget my limitations, and my brain wanders toward all of the things I still want to do...

Overweight and Out of Shape

Overweight and out of shape.  Those are words that could possibly have been used to describe me literally my entire life.  And maybe they even were...I was the largest of my mom's 3 babies.  I was a chubby child.  I always hated that day in the fall and then again in the spring during those elementary school years when the school nurse showed up, lined us up in the hall, and weighed and measured us.  Right...in front of...the entire class.  

Then there was junior high and those dreaded showers.  Oh my gosh, how I worried the summer before 7th grade, imagining those locker room showers and being judged by everyone.  But, it ended up not being so bad. Our PE teacher only made us shower once each quarter to give us our "shower grade".  And even then, everyone else was just as mortified about them as I was, so we all changed with our backs to each other, and we were FAST, everyone equally distraught about the whole ordeal.  

In high school, all was good.  I had friends.  I had boyfriends.  I had a part-time job, a car, and just did all the things high school kids do in small-town mid-America.  I certainly didn't put much thought into my weight.  I had been a size 18 from "school-clothes shopping" the summer before 6th grade all the way to my high school graduation, except for a very brief period of time at the start of my junior year.  That was after my first really big heartbreak occurred, and I could wear a size 14 for about a month.  But, I quickly grew out of them again as I moved on to bigger and better things and my appetite returned at the same pace that my heart healed.  

Weight was always just something in the back of my mind, but not something I stressed about too much as an adult.  It didn't stop me from doing the things I wanted to do.  It didn't stop me from going places, from buying clothes, from being active, from dating, hanging out with friends, or any of the things a young adult does during those first years out of school.  

It wasn't until after a couple of kids and 15 years down the road, when I was a size 24/26, that I really actively pursued serious weight-loss and the whole "diet and exercise thing" that I saw other people doing so diligently.  My motivation was a wedding I was going to be in, and a bridesmaid's dress I had to wear.  I was in my mid-30's, weighed about 100 pounds more than I'd weighed in my mid-twenties, gaining about 10 pounds a year each of the previous 10 years, so it hadn't even been a big deal to me as it was happening.  After all, that had been less than a pound a month, so it had just gradually crept up on me.  I was teaching middle school, absolutely loved my job, had great kids, a great husband, great friends, and life really was just "GREAT" during that period of time.  I began logging my calories, borrowed a friend's elliptical, and in 10 months, just in time for the wedding, I'd lost 50 pounds.  It was such a change in my body that I had to have my dress taken in several inches just days before the wedding when I tried it on!  However, over that next year, life just went on as a busy, working mom and wife, I stopped being so strict with my calorie counting, my friend needed her elliptical back, and I'd gained those lost 50 pounds by the end of the following year.  

I bounced around within the same 20 pound range over the next 10 years, sometimes up 10, sometimes down 10, but always within that same 20 pound range of the weight I'd been before my 50 pound "wedding weight loss" had happened.  It wasn't enough to cause my clothing size to change or for there to be any big changes in my appearance, my fitness level, my annual bloodwork at the doctor's office, or my life.  In late 2020/early 2021 I tried a prescription appetite suppressant.  It worked.  I lost about 30 pounds in 3-4 months, which was the limit to how many months my doctor would prescribe it at a time.  But the weight came right back on as soon as I stopped taking it.  I wasn't too concerned though.  I had been following the same "healthy habits" for the last 10 years. I tried to eat well Monday-Friday, splurged on the weekends if there was something I was craving or if there was something really ooey-gooey and decadent I wanted to cook or bake.  That was the life balance that worked for me.  And it did work. My doctor had even told me I was "the poster child" for not being able to tell someone's health by their outward appearance because all my labs were always great; my good cholesterol was high, my bad cholesterol was low, and my blood sugar and blood pressure were both good.

I was confident in saying 2021 was going to be a good year.  We had made it through our first full school year after being closed due to the pandemic.  I was teaching my "dream job" position, and loving every minute of it.  Summer break was one of the best I'd had in years.  I was just focusing on eating well, being active, reading, keeping my house clean and organized, playing frisbee every day with my dog while getting lots of natural vitamin D, cooking healthy meals when my husband came home from work, and enjoying every day.  We went to the zoo, went swimming, and even drove to Missouri to watch the Chiefs at Training Camp.  I was excited for the upcoming school year, and just really loving life.  

School started for the 2021-22 school year, and it was as great as I'd hoped.  I loved my 100+ new 6th graders, I was so excited for everything I had planned for the year, and I threw so much energy and enthusiasm into planning my lessons.  I dressed up for EVERY SINGLE DAY of Homecoming Spirit Week for the first time in the 22 years I'd worked there.  I was completely and totally in the groove and "living the dream" I'd always wanted.  Then, 8 weeks into that glorious, magical school year, I tested positive for Covid.  

I quarantined for my 14 days, as was the protocol at that time.  I was still very winded, weak, exhausted, and still had this mysterious swelling at the end of the 2 weeks, so took a third week off to continue recovering, and then returned.  By the end of that first week back, I was so worn down, I couldn't quite make it to the end of the day on Friday and left early.  I was completely defeated, in pain, exhausted, and the edema was worse and worse with each passing day.  My principal was so kind, so concerned.  He completely supported me trying to only work half-days that next week. But it soon became apparent that something wasn't right.  I started each Monday thinking, "OK, this is the week I am back in the swing of things."  But it wasn't mind over matter.  Not even close.  The more I pushed myself the more exhausted I was, the more pain, the more fluid built up, the more headaches, the more brain fog, confusion.  My shortness of breath began to get worse and worse, my heart was racing all the time, and the edema in my lower extremities was horrible.  Then more and more cognitive issues began to develop.  The more I tried to do, the worse I felt, the more I pushed myself, the more I felt like I was getting pushed back.  But by what, I didn't know...And then, it finally all added up.  I had Post-Covid Syndrome, now more commonly known as Long Covid.  

It's been 18 months now, since that first week I tried to return to work.  It's been 18 months of nerve, joint, and muscle pain, headaches, dizziness, severe edema, and debilitating exhaustion.  It's been 18 months of dealing with cognitive deficits, loss of mobility and balance, loss of some dexterity and fine motor skills.  It's been 18 months of gaining 40 pounds of fluid, losing it with diuretics, filling right back up with 40 pounds of fluid when the meds stop, and repeating this cycle.  Now it's to the point that even the diuretics aren't working.  The fluid doesn't leave, just shifts up and down my legs, into my abdomen, up into my arms, back down into my legs. My shortness of breath has gotten worse and worse, my racing heart sometimes feels like it's going to pound right out of my chest, and even the smallest of tasks is absolutely exhausting.  It's gotten to the point where it's difficult to even leave the house more often than not, and is rarely worth the amount of time and energy it takes for me to do so.  Just forcing myself to still get up to an alarm each day, to get out of bed, to get fully dressed, comb my hair, throw it up in a bun, and make it down the hall to the couch is a feat in itself.  

Some of the doctors I've seen and been treated by have been amazing.  They have shown kindness, compassion, and patience with me as I've explained my symptoms.  They've included me in decisions, listened to my concerns, and even to my ideas. They've gone above and beyond to help me navigate a disease they are still only just now learning about themselves. Others have looked at me and seen an overweight and out of shape woman in her late 40's, and they can see nothing else.  No matter what I tell them or what they see in my chart, they see overweight and out of shape, and look no further.  I must just be deconditioned from those 3 weeks I was off with Covid. (Oh, you mean those 3 weeks I was off 18 months ago?)  

I can't deny being overweight.  I have not been considered in the "average weight" range since I was about 5 years old.  I've even received such backhanded compliments as, "It's a good thing you're overweight  because if you were pretty AND thin, you probably wouldn't be as nice of a person."  Ummm...thanks...?  And I'm sure as heck not an athlete.  I was once asked to sub on a "just for fun" women's volleyball team, and literally told them they would be at less of an advantage being a player short than having me play on their team.  But you know what else?  I was overweight and out of shape the summer of 2021 when I was living my best life.  I was overweight and out of shape when I tested positive for Covid in October of 2021, and I was still overweight and out of shape when I was still feeling ill in November and again in December, and still in February 2022 when I was officially diagnosed with Long Covid.  But, is that what's "wrong" with me?  No.  Is this overweight and out of shape identity something I've only taken on since being home with Covid for those 3 weeks over 18 months ago?  Nope, not accurate either.  Should ALL  doctors (and other medical personnel), and strangers, and even colleagues, and heck, even friends and family, always remember that there is a lot more to someone than just their physical appearance?  Absolutely.  Because, last I checked, just being overweight and out of shape has never stopped me from living my best life.  

Losing My Identity

 It's been over two months since my last blog.  I've written many in my head, but that's where they've stayed.  I've been writing this one for a while now, but it's been hard to actually type it out.  I'm not sure why.  I love to write, to share, to possibly relate to others who might benefit from reading my words.  But, this one has been much harder to write. probably because writing it makes it seem much more real.

After 23 years, because of my continuing health issues from Long Covid, I submitted my letter of resignation from my job, my career; honestly, the biggest part of my identity.  Teaching is who I was. Regardless of how insecure I have felt my entire life, worried about what people thought of me, my looks, my weight, my clothes, if I was GOOD ENOUGH, I was absolutely, 100 percent confident in being a teacher.  As soon as I had a classroom full of kids looking up at me, I was in teacher mode.  Any thoughts of my appearance or weight or clothes or hair were gone, didn't even cross my mind.  I was in my element.  I was who I was meant to be.  I WAS good enough.

Not a day goes by that I don't still think about teaching.  I will see something on TV, hear something on the radio, read something in the news, and I'm immediately thinking, "I want to share that with my kids." My brain goes into "auto-teacher", and I'm planning out how to implement it into the next day's lesson.  Then I remember...I don't have a "lesson" for the next day because I'm not going to be there with them the next day. Or the day after that...or the day after that.  

I'm not sure what the future holds.  Right now my full-time "job" is focusing on my health and doing my best to advocate for myself while dealing with an illness that most doctors know no more about than I do.  I've definitely done much more research than some.  Covid and its after-effects have changed my life in a devastating way.  But I keep reminding myself that everything happens for a reason, and that, though it may take a while to discover what that reason is, I just have to TRUST THE PROCESS.