My Journey To A Long COVID Diagnosis & How I'm Starting To Heal

Before February 2020, I was thriving. I was teaching at a school I loved, with students who made me feel more fulfilled in my career and passionate about what i do than I could have imagined. I was active, both physically and socially. Safe to say, life was good. 

In February, before COVID-19 was declared a pandemic by the World Health Organization1, I experienced extreme fatigue, headache, and a sore throat, which led me to believe I had a run-of-the-mill cold or flu. That is, until the more severe symptoms hit. 

I woke up one day with a feeling of acid dripping down my spine. While trying to grapple with the excruciating back pain and sit in bed with a book, I noticed I could hardly process the words I was reading. My vision, for the first time ever, was blurry, going in and out of focus.

I did my best to keep up with my responsibilities—as a teacher, as a partner—and visited a doctor the first chance I got. 

“It’s allergies,” they said. Because I didn’t have a fever and the hospital didn’t have the ability to test anyone without every single COVID symptom at the time, they sent me on my way and told me to use allergy medication for relief—as if an antihistamine would soothe the crippling back pain and blurry vision I was experiencing.

I knew it was something more than allergies. With the news about COVID spreading as quickly as the disease, I had a feeling that COVID was the answer. After all, most of my symptoms matched the preliminary list, and it had been more than a few weeks at that point–far longer than a cold should last. 

During this time, my mental health plummeted alongside my physical health. I could barely get out of bed without pain, and my relationship with my partner was simultaneously deteriorating. 

During March of 2020, as plenty of people remember, there was 90% unknown and about 10% known. The world was slowly figuring out what this disease was, how it presented in different people, how accurate tests were, how long it would last, and attempting to tie up so many other loose ends. Because of this, getting a diagnosis was practically impossible.

To be honest, those were the hardest two years of my entire life. Every day was a battle as I faced multi-level distress, lost my job due to school shutdowns, left an emotionally abusive partner, and struggled to manage my physical health and advocate for treatment at the same time.

I believe New York City handles COVID the best because doctors here experienced it firsthand on a severe scale. Living here, I’ve met some of the most well-educated and passionate doctors, ready to help me manage my symptoms.

I’ve connected with a handful of specialists to help me heal my body holistically—a nutritionist to fine-tune my diet for immune and gut support, a neuroscientist to help with persistent brain fog, and more.

While the medications, despite their side effects, have been life-changing, I still don’t feel 100%, and I’m not sure I ever will. However, this journey has rekindled my love for life—the contrast of such a dark period has shown me the light, even amidst ongoing health struggles.

It’s not easy to talk about the positives, but there are so many I'm grateful for. I’ve rediscovered lost passions and realized that my commitment to teaching and advocacy is stronger than ever, well-trained by two years of advocating for myself and my health.

My journey has ignited a fire within me to tell my story—one shared by countless others. The pervasive gaslighting, questioning, and maltreatment of patients, especially Latin and Black Americans, must stop.