March 23, 2020
I’m 26. I don’t have any prior autoimmune or respiratory conditions. I work out six times a week, and abstain from cigarettes. I thought my role in the current health crisis would be as an ally to the elderly and compromised. Then, I was hospitalized for Covid-19.
On Friday, March 13, only a few hours after deciding I would begin to socially distance for the well-being of others, I developed a fever and headache. I tried not to assume the worst, but just in case, my partner and I decided to sleep in separate bedrooms. By the next morning, I had a cough. On Sunday, I started to feel better and my fever was gone. I felt thankful that even if this was coronavirus, I’d most likely be able to ride it out at home, as I’d heard people like myself had little to worry about. I began planning the work I’d catch up on the next day, and the much-needed shower I’d take.
That night I woke up in the middle of the night with chills, vomiting, and shortness of breath. By Monday, I could barely speak more than a few words without feeling like I was gasping for air. I couldn’t walk to the bathroom without panting as if I’d run a mile. On Monday evening, I tried to eat, but found I couldn’t get enough oxygen while doing so. Any task that was at all anxiety-producing — even resetting my MyChart password to communicate with my doctor — left me desperate for oxygen.
I will of course leave the analysis to experts, but many young people are coming down with the virus, they may not die but apparently, they are still burdening the system needing hospital beds and the like, respirators and so on. This is problematic, it’s not like they totally skate on this issue.
A bit of a similar story in today’s news: