The art of losing isn't hard to master;

so many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

- Elizabeth Bishop

Throughout the pandemic I've tried to ignore, deny, and minimize the impact that it has had on me. I've been relatively lucky, but it doesn't come without losing everything that defined my life, my self. We tell ourselves over and over that this will be fine, this will get better, this IS fine, dammit, all evidence to the contrary.

We deny the disaster that is occurring because it hurts too much to confront all of the difficulties that this brought into our lives, compounding the pre-existing pains we had been fighting through before. The "things" being lost are myriad yet individually tailored, and the majority of the world is dealing with this. Losing is the new black. But sometimes it's okay, and necessary, to face this in all it's ugliness. At least we're not alone.

I've officially had my first real Covid scare. I woke up Thursday morning with chills, a 100.4 fever, sore throat and headache, and while I didn't have any respiratory issues I know Covid can present with pretty much any possible symptom. So it was off to CityMD (I used to frequent the one on 86th St. near me in NYC and they recently took over the one here in South Jersey) where I gave my name, drove the half hour back home, and got called back about a half hour later. After more waiting it was into the exam room, rapid test (negative), chest X-ray since my left lung "sounded coarse", and a PCR test was sent off for a more definitive answer. Total time: about 4 hours.

After two days the result came back negative again, thank god.

Of course, things being what they are with my family, my sister FREAKED OUT. She's a hypochondriac at the best of times and even in pre-pandemic times when I got sick with something as simple as a cold I wasn't allowed to be near her, touch serving utensils, etc. She also was planning to leave that Friday for her birthday trip to Seattle, pandemic be damned, because her annual astrology chart indicated that was where she should be (don't ask, that's a whole other part of her craziness), so the thought of getting infected pre-flight and then being across the country pushed her anxiety into overdrive. She rescheduled for sometime this week, since apparently airlines are so desperate for bodies in seats that they will let you change flights without charging fees, but it was a tense few days to say the least.

I hate that my sister, who has the least reason to worry about having severe Covid, is the one who dictates the household's reactions. That she has the temerity to take a trip including flights which will expose her more than anything she could catch three rooms away from me with the windows cracked, then treats me like a pariah. She still won't eat in the same room, or use the bathroom we normally share. 

However, my parents have the first vaccine shot, I'm still looking for an appointment, and with a little luck this can be my last scare. I can handle the uncertainty of waiting for a test if I have to do this all over again, even if my family makes me feel like Typhoid Mary, but at times like this I miss my apartment and my privacy more than ever.

For most of my life it's been an ongoing struggle to manage my health, both physical and mental. It stretched beyond anything considered even close to normal on both fronts, ending up with multiple hospitalizations for the physical.

Within my short 41 years, if there was a genetic inclination toward a problem I seemed to collect all that were possible. Appendicitis - check. Arthritis in joints - check. Hernias - check. Weak immune system - check. Ovarian cysts - check. Strabismus (esotropia), nearsightedness, and astigmatism in my eyes - check.

I now have a new permanent health failure, hyperthyroidism. I knew it ran in the family since my dad had a flare-up of Graves disease when he was in his late 30s, and is now on thyroid medication because the treatment killed too much of his thyroid, but it looks like I'm just entering my own phase. I've always asked for the usual TSH tests when I went for my annual physicals since I know I have the potential, and now, after a test of 0 in October and a recommended repeat in 3 months in January also showing 0, it's definite. I would guess I've been running 0 for about a year, so it probably happened just about the time my entire life fell apart. Perhaps it's appropriate to throw another problem on the pile.

As it turns out I have to wait 2 more months to see an endocrinologist since availability is not what it would be in NYC. There seem to be three decent endos within half an hour of here but they're all booked solid in the near term. So I get to deal with exacerbated fatigue, random thirst, irritability, hair loss, internal temperature fluctuations, and a few other fun symptoms until that time. Luckily I'm already on a beta blocker and medication for anxiety so palpitations are already fairly well-controlled.

I guess the only silver lining here is that this was hereditary. Perhaps for the first time in a while I can present as a case without the baggage caused once the doctor hears about my history of substance abuse and the health problems it has caused. Maybe I won't see that dismissive look that I'm no longer worthy of treatment because I brought it on myself. Maybe.