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Yesterday was a hard #COVID19 day. I woke up at 4am with the uncomfortable awareness that it was getting harder to breathe. My O2 sats had reached the ‘ambulance/A&E’ level I’d agreed with the Doc on Monday. I retested multiple times, but they refused to budge.
Making the decision to go to A&E felt like I was passing a threshold - entering into an unknown space where I could not say with any certainty that I’d be OK. I put a brave face on it, but was mentally rehearsing a letter I’d wrote for Thea (my toddler) for her to keep if I died.
I cried. The enormity of this bloody uncertainty hit me. I was full of pain and horror at what legacy this might leave for Thea. It took every ounce of my Mad Skills to let that version of reality sit there without pulling at its threads and unravelling myself further.
A&E was bizarre & unfamiliar. I walked, in alone, was flagged as ‘Red Majors 2’ in screening was allowed to enter A&E proper. I was assessed by quickly - this wasn’t their first rodeo. Tachy, low sats, lung crackles. Cannula, blood tests, chest X-Ray & entry to my own glass room
The Dr was a strange mix of reassuring and disturbing. Thankfully my system is holding up well to the Covid on my lungs. But I’m in the critical phase. I’m either going to get better or dramatically worse. We can’t predict which way it will go (tho I’m betting on team recovery).
I left with a new set of o2 targets & the directive to come back in if I hit them. She was clear I should expect a long & slow recovery - that I wouldn’t be able to work for some time. That hit me hard. Strange how my mind railed against that rather than my chances of needing ICU
I was so glad to be able to come home yesterday. It really is where I’m happiest. Thea was especially snuggly and, aided and abetted by our pets, I was confined to the sofa as they wrestled to find space on my lap.
Things are feeling relatively stable. My sats are just the right side of the a&e limit, not as much headroom as I’d like - but enough. My lungs feel shot to pieces, but my fever has finally gone (I’m taking that as a good sign).
In amongst all this, I’ve been reading some of the arguments critical of vaccinations. The most painful of these have been written by people I ordinarily respect claiming they are speaking objectively, using ‘the science’ to break things down for others.
Whilst I value informed choice, there’s something really worrying about how these arguments seem to other and dismiss those of us with ‘pre-existing conditions’.
By pushing this narrative they are strengthening the idea that those who get very sick were already unwell ... a small step away from going ‘oh well .. it’s tragic, but what do you expect? If Covid didn’t get them then flu would have done’. They consign us to the rubbish heap.
In othering us, these writers manage to further reify the healthy status of the majority - ignoring that many may have undiagnosed conditions only revealed on catching #covid, and that healthy people DO get very sick (both with the acute respiratory failure and Long Covid)
To me, Covid feels like a bad card game. Some of us have been dealt more crappy hands but - at the end of the day - the house always wins. We have no real control over the outcome of the game. It makes sense that some of us would find solace in sidestepping its scarier aspects.
Many of us have good reasons to not trust governments, big pharma & medics. However, this #COVID19 is NOT THE FLU. Thankfully most people don’t get the worst of it, but there are no guarantees. It’s silent hypoxia makes it hard to know how severely you’re affected.
Anyone committed to informed choice really needs to be open about the risks of Covid and what that looks/feels like - rather than making it (and us) sound irrelevant.
As for me, I’m doing OK. In a few days I can be reasonably sure that I’ve lucked out and escaped the severest end of the spectrum. I’m acting as if that is already the case, and doing what I can to keep busy (between the naps).
I’m sharing how hard this bug has hit me in the hope of showing how little control we have over it’s impact on us - and how much it sucks when you’re the one it has it’s teeth into. This has been a tough few days for me and my family(and we are just one network amongst many)
I wish all of you the very best health - I’m currently chilling under the careful watch of Maynard. He is a good sentry :) Don’t worry. I’m as stubborn as a cat & am fully intending to keep breathing 
