In It for the Long Haul

By Jon Douglas

Before 2021, Jon Douglas led a vibrant life, running daily, building tech connections, and playing with his children. However, a mild COVID-19 case left him in constant pain, making everyday tasks feel foreign and exhausting. He had to adapt to a body that no longer felt like his own. This is the reality of Long COVID, a new chronic illness affe

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jon Douglas
• Release date: Mar 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9798218390815

Jon Douglas

Jon Douglas is a food writer and avid traveler and eater based in Seattle. He was previously an editor for SmarterTravel, MSN Travel and Bing Travel, and has written for USA Today and Frommers Travel.

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For my little lion.

1 - CHEATING DEATH TWICE

IT STARTS WITH a cough. Imagine a virus spreading like tendrils of smoke in an enclosed space, unseen but all-encompassing. You inhale it, and soon after, a nagging soreness takes hold in your throat, your nose becomes a faucet of discomfort, and a sporadic cough joins the chorus. It's a minor inconvenience, not enough to disrupt your daily routine, or so it seems. Stepping into the shower, there's a hint of annoyance at the timing of this illness, its potential to upset your plans for the coming week.

Yet, unbeknownst to you, a dramatic saga is unfolding within. It's the onset of an unseen battle, a struggle for supremacy within your body. This isn't a fleeting skirmish but a prolonged campaign, one that will play out silently over the years. As you go about your day, your body's defenses are mobilizing, preparing to engage in a long-term war against this microscopic invader, a war that will be fought in the shadows, unknown to you.

Imagine the body as a bustling metropolis, and at its borders, a new visitor approaches — a virus, cunning and elusive. This isn't just any intruder; it carries a master key, a ‘spike protein’, intricately shaped to fit the city's lock — the receptors on the surface of certain cells called ACE2 (angiotensin-converting enzyme 2) and TfR (transferrin receptor). Like a skilled locksmith, the virus uses this key to gain entry, duping the cellular sentinels guarding the city gates.

Once past the city walls, the virus embarks on a covert operation. It injects its own genetic blueprint into the city's factories — the cells. These blueprints are devious instructions that repurpose the factories, turning them from peaceful production to the manufacturing of an army of viral clones. The factories work tirelessly, unknowing participants in the virus's scheme, until they are filled to the brim and burst, releasing a torrent of new viral particles, reminiscent of a dramatic, explosive scene from a sci-fi epic.

As these viral newcomers embark on their conquest, the metropolis starts to feel the strain, a signal that all is not well. Here the city's defenders, the immune system's elite forces, spring into action. They are a sophisticated army, trained to recognize and neutralize these foreign invaders. The battlefield is set within the body, a clash between the relentless viral onslaught and the determined immune defense.

The tide of battle hinges on the strength and strategy of the immune forces. If they are strong and cunning, they can repel the invasion, restoring peace and order to the metropolis. The city, although battered, begins to heal, and normalcy returns. But if the defenders are outmaneuvered, the virus continues its relentless march, plunging the city into prolonged turmoil, a struggle that could stretch over months or even years, leaving a lasting imprint on the landscape of the body.

Throughout this epic saga, the city otherwise known as the body bears the signs of this invisible war. The feeling of illness is the echo of this great battle, a testament to the body's resilience and its perpetual fight against the microscopic invaders that dare to challenge its sovereignty.

Welcome to the hell that is known as Long COVID, the wrong side of heaven. A journey through all nine circles of the righteous side of hell, descending deeper and deeper while witnessing all the punishments and horrors along the way. Come along for the ride of a dead man in this war through the lens of my divine comedy. Reaching the inferno’s depths, redemption is in the air. But you have to visit the innermost circle before you can even find your salvation.

I'm your typical dad, 32 years old, balancing a hectic nine-to-five job, and up until recently, I was in good health. My greatest hope is to have the chance to watch my children grow up; I yearn for the simple joy of growing old with them. Life took an unexpected turn for me around January 2021. Back then, my biggest fear was contracting COVID, and as fate would have it, I did, right around the time I turned 29. Despite taking every precaution known at the time during the pandemic, having kids in daycare still meant they brought home a variety of extra germs. Consequently, I found myself mildly ill for a few days.

During one night of that illness, I experienced severe shortness of breath. It was similar to an exercise they used to demonstrate in Drug Abuse Resistance Education (D.A.R.E.) classes back in elementary school, where you'd breathe through a drinking straw to simulate the effects of smoking cigarettes and deter you from ever starting.

This sensation caused my heart to race wildly, triggering a brief moment of panic. I was overwhelmed by the thought that I might suddenly pass away, especially with all the uncertainty and alarming news constantly circulating at the time.

After a few minutes of confronting the reality of my own mortality, I succumbed to exhaustion and blacked out. The next morning, I awoke with just a slight soreness in my lungs. Over the following week, I felt a physical weakness akin to what one might experience with a common cold or flu, but I was slowly regaining strength each day, seemingly on the path back to full health. Or at least, that's what I believed at the time.

Not long after, I attempted to resume my usual routine of early morning runs, as part of my training for my first marathon. However, when I started running again, I encountered something unusual. My lungs seemed to burn with just a light jog, and my mile time had slowed down by more than two minutes. I found myself wondering, had I really become this out of shape from just a couple of weeks off?

Determined like anyone else who might not fully grasp the situation, I persisted. I had committed to participating in a Spartan race with a few close friends a few months down the line, an event that combines a series of heroic obstacle challenges with a run close to half-marathon length. On the morning of the race, I encountered some new symptoms, ones I had never experienced before in my life.

I experienced waves of nausea, a foggy head, gastrointestinal distress, and ongoing chest pain. Describing the experience, it was akin to living through a fisheye lens — I could sense and observe the significant distortion my body was undergoing, almost as if from a distance.

At the outset of the race, my discomfort intensified, likely a cocktail of first-time nerves and my body's vocal protest against my symptoms. Yet, as we broke free from the dense throng of runners about a mile in, my focus sharpened, dedicated to the singular goal of finishing the race. This shift, coupled with the rush of adrenaline, seemed to momentarily alleviate my symptoms. Two and a half hours later, I crossed the finish line, a personal victory against the odds. However, barely thirty minutes post-race, those all-too-familiar symptoms resurfaced, undeniably reminding me of their presence.

The symptoms persisted, lingering like unwelcome shadows long after the race had ended. Then, in the fall of 2021, around Thanksgiving, I found myself in an alarming situation. Out of nowhere, I experienced sensations akin to a heart attack and stroke — an abrupt onset of weakness, slurred speech, and a numbing sensation in half of my body. Confusion set in, prompting me to reach out to my wife for assistance. Following her advice, we contacted a nurse hotline. After describing my alarming symptoms, they advised us to seek emergency medical care without delay.

Upon arriving at the emergency room, my symptoms fluctuated, sometimes intensifying, other times receding. The attending physician promptly conducted a thorough examination, which included checking my vital signs, performing an electrocardiogram (EKG), and conducting urgent laboratory tests to eliminate any immediate life-threatening conditions. Despite these comprehensive measures, they found no clear cause, yet I couldn't shake the feeling that I was facing a grave health crisis.

Countless visits to specialists and family doctors have brought minimal insight. Despite being labeled as a healthy 32-year-old on paper, I'm still battling with lingering post-COVID symptoms. It feels as though my biological system has been irrevocably altered. Symptoms like nerve tingling, heart palpitations, fatigue, and breathlessness fluctuate in intensity but never fully disappear. This disconcerting journey through health issues has now extended over three years. It's perplexing how a virus that resulted in mild symptoms for some could become so devastating for others.

I found myself caught in a cycle of hope, continually anticipating that my condition would improve — tomorrow, next week, next month, even optimistically looking