Getting sick just isn't what it used to be...

Last Saturday—nine days ago now—I woke up not feeling well. I had swollen glands, an elevated temperature (nothing concerning—still under 100), and some intestinal upset. The intestinal upset passed in 24 hours, but the fever stayed—a regular tidal surge up and down from 99 - 101 over the past nine days—and though I never had symptoms in my throat, nose, or head, whatever-it-was moved quickly into my chest and I have had chest congestion and a worsening dry cough since. The most pronounced symptom is fatigue and my sleep itinerary has read like a hobbit's ideal eating plan: breakfast, elevensy's, first lunch, second lunch, etc. Given that I am not a champion sleeper most of the time, I'm pretty sure I have slept more in the past week than I have in the month prior.

All that said, I have honestly never felt "terrible." I have had colds that were more painful, and this has mostly just required constant rest. During the tiny percentage of the day when I wasn't sleeping I still felt mentally alert, and worked a lot on my editing project (since it was something I could do in bed, where I could prepare for my next nap.) I kept my regular work schedule and enjoyed my calls with clients.

Now, though, nine days into this, I must say it is starting to feel old. I am improving, or at least things are progressing, but it is slow going, and I don't see an end to this anytime soon. And this got me thinking about my response to getting sick. I chose at first not to talk about it. I didn't want my friends and family to worry. And I honestly didn't have a lot of extra energy, and needed to pull in and focus on healing. These kinds of small ailments that come when I am feeling run-down have always been an invitation to myself to get rejuvenated energetically. I could see that I was not centered and a lot of my abilities were offline. It felt good to have my very own personal retreat to address these things—and just getting reams of deep sleep certainly didn't hurt. I feel more whole now, more intact. And that feels good.

But I also think that my initial reluctance to talk about this is no longer helpful. Now it feels like hiding. The parts of me that want to continue to keep this under wraps are just that—parts. There's the part that doesn't want to deal with the weight of public opinion and anxiety that comes along with being sick these days. Or the part that doesn't want to feel like a failure for getting sick—that I must not have taken proper precautions. Or the part that feels ashamed for being dirty and contagious and a danger to its friends and neighbors. Or the part that just doesn't want to be told what to do.

I am not listing these parts because there is any truth to them, or because they are the mature way to handle things. I am listing them because they exist. And I am guessing that if they exist in me, they also probably exist in other people. What I can acknowledge in myself softens me, makes me more able to hear other people's experiences with compassion.

I don't know what I have. The Figure-it-Out part of me wants to go into all the details, but suffice it to say that when I got sick I had not been to town for 17 days, and we take good precautions out here. I don't know anyone else who is sick, and so far Tom has not gotten sick either, all of which seems to make COVID-19 unlikely. That said, I can't rule it out, and will proceed as if I did have it until I can get tested. Which is a whole other subject! When I tried last week I was too sick to be eligible for the drive-thru testing at Walgreens in Tucson and not sick enough to go into the hospital. There is no regular testing facility in Benson, and even if there had been one, driving an hour on a bumpy dirt road (and possibly exposing more people) wasn't what I felt like doing. So I took another nap instead. Hopefully I can get tested next weekend at the testing event at the community clinic.

It seems more likely that I have Valley Fever, a fungal infection of the lungs which is quite common here, and which is not passed between people. You get it from breathing the spores from dust or the soil, and I ride my bike regularly on the dusty road, work in the community garden, and hand weed in the pastures. Regardless if I have Valley Fever, COVID-19, or just some run-of-the-mill ailment, the treatment is still the same. Stay home. Rest. I've got that down.

Mostly I am writing about this because I think these are questions and feelings that many of us will face in the months ahead, as we get "something" that feels serious, but not THAT serious. What do I do? Who do I tell? What is my responsibility? Do I get tested? How do I take care of myself? I don't have answers, but it seems like just acknowledging my experience might help us all know that we are not alone in these feelings.

For me, it felt good to take time to myself at first—to not take on the additional weight of the inevitable group anxiety of trying times. But now it also feels important to reach out. To find connections, acknowledge my vulnerability, just be real.

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p.s. This week was my first test of my 15-minute-a-day commitment to anti-racism work. Up until this week I was reading and studying avidly for much longer than that, but once I got sick it would have gone by the wayside if I had not set that intention. Last week saw the first day when I realized I had not thought about it all day and it was almost time for bed—but I can always make time for 15 minutes. Intention worked.

I recognized early on that the other thing I need in addition to a daily commitment is support from other people. So Tom and I have been talking together daily, I have been engaging in conversations with people who are interested, and I have been able to ask some girlfriends from grad school for specific support. Questioning the "white frame" I have always lived in, naturally creates a feeling of not belonging—so I am purposefully increasing my feelings of belonging with people who are also doing this work.

More on that later.....