Tag: long covid recovery

At nature’s pace

Written 31st March 2024:

I measure my progress by nature’s timescales now.  When I first got sick I stayed in the realms of human time.   Will I be back at work tomorrow?  No?  Next week?  No?  End of the month? After Christmas?

From my bed I watched the beech tree slowly turn from green to yellow to orange and then reluctantly give up brown shrivelled leaves to the wind.  I saw a few stubborn leaves hang on into winter storms and wondered if I would still be in bed when the buds burst.

I heard the geese arrive, unseen.

Now, downstairs at last, through the window I see the buds on the apple tree that I can not yet reach. How far will I be able to walk when the apples ripen?  Will I have got to the end of the drive by then?

The chiffchaffs call incessantly, reminding me that they have been to Africa and back while I remained within these four walls.

The swifts were departing last summer when I fell ill. How will I be when they return?  And when they leave?  And next year, and the next?

I move at a slower pace now, life turning with the seasons, healing with forces that cannot be rushed.

Today’s update….on a good day I can now walk to the apple tree and the end of the drive. The swifts aren’t back yet (at least, I’ve not seen or heard any).

The light and the dark

Living with long covid is a journey of emotional ups and downs.  Here are two examples:

The Light

11th March 2024

This was the second doodle that I was able to do.  Playing with 3 bright, light colours, reflecting the fact that I was able to get up, go downstairs, sit on the sofa and draw. Finding joy in the process.  I set a timer for 10 mins to make sure I didn’t overdo it, then rested lying down before doing a bit more.  It’s only small, but because I could only work on it for 10 minutes at a time it took 3 days to finish.

The Dark

13th January 2024. 

Still pretty much bedbound.  I wrote in my diary

‘Just getting worse, not better.  This illness just takes and takes, life shrinks, joy is leached away’. 

Followed by:

Again and again
I hit rock bottom,
only to find
the ground gives way
and I
keep
falling.

Immediately after I wrote this I felt emotional, and then I felt a bit better. I realised it was only half the story, so I wrote another verse.

Again and again
I hit rock bottom,
only to find
the ground gives way
and I
keep
falling.

And yet
each time I fall,
something tenacious in me
reaches out,
takes my hand,
eases me gently
back
towards
the light.