The Horror of Coronavirus Nights
On Friday a week ago I started feeling odd. Nothing major, just a feeling of disorientation and fog. I attributed it to allergies, which always get me this time of year in NYC when the blooming trees suddenly put on a spectacular show.
I wasn’t thrilled on Saturday when a dry cough grew in strength along with the fuzziness. I again attributed the symptoms to allergies, because I had taken my temperature four times and it was reading normal, or slightly low. But I felt unusually lethargic, and my ambitious plan to run downscaled into a long walk instead.
Strict requirements to maintain social distance had been in place for a week, and all bars, restaurants, gyms, and non-essential business were shuttering. Spring had served up a spectacularly crisp, blue sky, and I wanted exercise now that I was mostly trapped in my Manhattan apartment.
But unwelcome and unsettling chills sent shivers Sunday. My temperature was again below normal, and I held out hope that whatever symptoms I had couldn’t be Coronavirus in the absence of high fever. I started taking cough syrup. My mood soured as the day progressed and I couldn’t ignore I was feeling increasingly miserable. When I took my temperature at 9 p.m. it read 101. A fear gripped me. I knew I had it. Sometimes you just know. (My doctor on Monday agreed with my self-diagnosis, though I am not allowed a test because I am not hospitalized.)
I tried to sleep but my mind was racing. What if this spirals out of control? Will I wake up at 3 a.m. with 103, gasping for breath? I took a Lorazepam to relax because I knew otherwise I wouldn’t sleep at all. I was entering uncharted territory.
I awoke every two hours, unable to distinguish dream from reality. I was freezing, yet sweating. I frequently got up to pee, somewhat reassured that my breathing was stable. This night, there wouldn’t be a trip to ER.
Many illnesses bring uncertainty with them. How long will this last? Am I am on the other side? But the Coronavirus is unique in that so little is known about it. There are remarkable variances in severity. And it carries some strange characteristics: there are plenty of cases of fever suddenly spiking after a week of progress, and then decline.
During the days, I feel the virus churning away, and rest to help my body’s immune system fight it. That’s all anyone has against it. No medicines will kill it. I warily eye my bed and dread nighttime, because fever dreams await and I wake up every two hours with the sheets soaked. I sleep on a towel.
The horror of Coronavirus is that your body basically gets a week to kill it. 80% of those infected will overcome it in 7-10 days. But 20% won’t. Then, the second week becomes increasingly dire and terrifying. The clock is ticking while the virus embeds itself in lung tissue, and serious cases spiral into multiple weeks.
My symptoms remain relatively mild as I approach the 7 day mark. I am hopeful to beat this next week. My heart goes out to those stricken with this disease whose immune system can’t kill it in time.
Here’s a very helpful link to the New York Times.
Update April 4: The day after I published this, my fever spiked badly for six consecutive days, a typical course of Coronavirus, according to my doctor. I am now on Day 2 of no fever, and no pain reliever. Weakness, night sweats, and occasional shortness of breath persist, but no hospital will be necessary and I am in recovery.
