I’m Cursed (But Also Surrounded By Love)
Spoiler alert: this one has a "special thanks" section.
Last we left off, I was recovering from covid. I’d love to tell you things are better now.
Unfortunately, they got so, SO much worse.
After covid, I got a case of strep so bad it sent me to the ER. I’d woken up a week after catching covid with lymph nodes so swollen you could see them from the outside. I couldn’t talk. Breathing was even more difficult. I made a virtual care appointment, during which my girlfriend Rowan read notes I typed aloud to a very nice midwestern doctor who kept saying “okay, okay” in an adorable accent. She said, less cutely, “ER. Now.”
I’d love to tell you I recovered from strep, but that’s not entirely true, either. I’m done with antibiotics, but I’m far from healthy.
Two days after my first ER trip, I collapsed on my kitchen floor while trying to make a sandwich and couldn’t breathe. My heart rate dropped severely and wouldn’t get back up. Rowan took me back to the ER. We were worried it was heart failure. Luckily, it was just dehydration and malnutrition, but dehydration so severe that my blood looked and moved like black sludge as the nurse drew it for testing. My shit was like the goo from Venom. Spooky and gross and fascinating. Rowan held my hand and roasted the unhelpful ER doctor with me, who we pretty much had to beg to prescribe me an inhaler.
Then I got home from the hospital. Then an important (unrelated) medical test I waited weeks for the results of simply got lost. Then I got rejected for the only job I’ve made it through multiple rounds of interviews for in a year. Then my childhood dog got cancer. Then what was supposed to be one fairly quick dental procedure became 3 extremely painful procedures, all uninsured. Then the back door of a truck flew off directly in front of Rowan’s car while we were an hour into a long drive. She swerved out of the way just in time to avoid it hitting my side of the windshield, which is like the third or fourth time she’s saved my life this month.
I can’t tell if I’m cursed or simply cannot be killed. Maybe both. Ever since covid, I randomly feel like I’ve been dunked underwater and can’t breathe for minutes at a time. A month since testing positive, my life and health are still in ruins. I’ve watched other people’s lives move on and progress without me, while I fall deeper and deeper into the quicksand of chronic illness. I feel stuck. I feel like a failure. But as sick and sad as I’ve been, I have also felt so incredibly loved.
I would literally not be alive without Rowan. I’m sure when she met me at an open mic three years ago, she didn’t think, “this is the man whose foamy vomit I want to clean up forever.” But she’s the person I want to laugh with in ERs forever. She’s the person whose smile makes it all brighter. I love her in ways so cheesy it would make a more cynical version of me throw up, as if I haven’t done enough throwing up recently.
I can never repay her for what she’s done to take care of me, though I’ll certainly try with back rubs and cooking. I feel more like a sick dog than a boyfriend some days. People talk about age gap or wealth gap relationships, but I don’t really see anyone talk about the strange gap that forms when one of you is constantly almost dying and the other one is constantly afraid they’ll have to keep surviving alone. Being sick is hard for me, obviously, but sometimes I worry it’s harder for her.
We work hard to bridge this gap together. We talk about it as much as feels helpful. We love each other as much as we can while we can. On the bright side, it makes it easy to avoid petty arguments. Who cares if one of us brought home the wrong thing from the grocery store? We’re both alive to eat it.
My girlfriend is not the only person whose love has sustained me in what is easily one of the top five hardest months of my life. I could never expect one romantic partner to handle all the ups and downs that come with me, so I don’t. Community fills in those gaps, and I have more people to thank than I could possibly fit in one Substack.
A non-exhaustive list of the people I’d like to thank:
Rowan, duh
My roommate Charlie continually made sure I was alive, even when he was out of town, and brought me every form and flavor of Gatorade under the sun. And did laundry for me, and went up and down the stairs to get stuff for me. He’s gone so above and beyond what a roommate should have to do, and I’m lucky I live with such a good friend.
Micah Facetimed me to read me bedtime stories and brought me many a bodega grilled cheese. Falling asleep on top of my phone to the sound of his voice was such an important comfort in a very scary time. It’s rare to find a friend that becomes a brother, but I have, and I couldn’t be more thankful.
Motti sent me snacks, even when I said I didn’t need it (I definitely did need it. I was just trying to be chill, but luckily Motti is far more kind and insightful than I am chill.)
Carson trekked all the way across Brooklyn just to hang out on my couch when that was all I could do for friend hangs.
Higgins went out of his way to make sure I still felt socially included whenever friends hung out without me.
Marissa offered to let me use her account for a laundry service.
Shannon offered to help me get an Uber one of the few times I left my house.
Virginia picked up a bunch of stuff from my house I’d been meaning to donate and helped me find extra Paxlovid.
Lukas sent me a (very good) bagel.
Mav delivered me an incredible homemade chicken soup.
My parents mailed me every helpful thing they could think of, and now I have the world’s largest water bottle, a variety of electrolyte powders, and a special lozenge my mom had shipped all the way from Ireland.
Rowan’s parents checked on me sweetly and often. As a guy who’s not super in touch with his extended family, it’s incredible to have more family again.
Countless other real life comedy friends and internet friends checked on me and kept me company in the DMs in ways that matter more to me than they’ll ever know.
.The second I hit “publish” on this, I’m sure I’ll think of a dozen more people I forgot to thank. That, for sure, is a blessing— how lucky am I to have so many people to thank that I can’t even remember them all at once?
There is no “in sickness and in health” for anyone who chooses to be with me, whether that’s as a partner or a friend. There is “in sickness and in mildly less sickness.” I’m no stranger to being sick— that’s kind of how chronic illness works— but every time there’s a period of increased illness, I worry no one will want to be around me anymore. I worry I’m too depressing. I used to call the self-imposed isolation that followed these feelings “quarantining” until that took on a very different meaning in 2020.
I’ve never been more sick. I really do think I’m cursed, and if anyone has been holding a cursed amulet on my behalf, please do something about that. I need bad things to stop happening, or at the very least I need a job so I can keep up with the mounting financial horrors.
I’ve never been more sick, but I’ve also never been more loved. Thank you for reading my rambles. Thank you for caring about me, if that’s not a stretch to say.
Maybe someday this Substack will go back to its original purpose. Maybe someday I’ll be able to breathe again. Even if I do physically recover, I don’t think I’ll emotionally ever be the same again. I’m trying to find ways that that can be good. I miss the outside world. I hope it misses me a little too.