Casey O'Connor
Even as a young person, recovery from COVID-19 is not always easy and it's not always linear.
When my COVID-19 symptoms began in early March I scheduled a telehealth appointment immediately to confirm what I already suspected - I wouldn’t be tested for the virus because I was 25 and otherwise healthy. That made sense to me at the time, based on what we all thought we knew about its effects. So, I crawled back into bed and waited to feel normal. Like many others, I’m still waiting.
I’ve become used to telling anyone who asks how I’m doing, “I’m hanging in there,” when I mean, “after six months, my senses of taste and smell are still defective, my resting heart rate hovers consistently around 120 BPM, I’m exhausted, I’m experiencing memory loss, and I don’t know if any of it’s even real, but I’m hanging in there.” I’m extremely thankful not to have more serious complications. What’s been most difficult for me is having these symptoms written off as stress, because I have an anxiety disorder and clinical depression. I know my body, and I know this is more than stress.
Since March, I have felt extremely lucky to not need hospitalization, to have steady employment, shelter, and for my loved ones to be safe. That gratitude kept me uncharacteristically optimistic from the beginning. Years of managing the aforementioned anxiety and depression trained me well for isolation, except now I stayed home without guilt. For a while, I wasn’t physically recovered, but I felt hopeful, grounded, and in control.
I lost a bit of that control when I began experiencing parosmia. Everything tasted/smelled rotten, burnt, or like chemicals, because the virus damaged my olfactory nerve. I survived the anosmia (complete loss of smell), but this was somehow more distressing. The nausea was unbearable, and I felt like I was going insane trying to explain what was happening. Since June, I’ve stopped eating most of the foods that trigger the worst response (anything with meat, eggs, onions, and garlic, among others) and avoid going outside in case a random street smell from outdoor diners makes me queasy. That’s the thing about this condition — I can control what I eat, and that’s hard enough, but I have no way to control the environment around me. I won’t lie to you — I’ve been having recurring dreams about McDonald’s chicken nuggets.