My grandmother is feisty and full of opinions. One of her opinions—as ironclad as her will—is that barefootedness is bad. As a child, if I dared to emerge from my room barefoot, my nimble and tenacious little grandmother would follow me about, stepping repeatedly on my toes, and insisting that I put on socks, lest I fall ill from cold feet. Now that I’m an adult, she doesn’t assault my toes anymore when she catches me barefoot. Instead, she tactfully offers me a pair of hand-knit stockings. She smiles sweetly with the offer, but I can see the icy flecks of “or else” glinting in her blue eyes. It turns out, though, that Grandma knows best. My POTS symptoms and general long-Covid weirdness flared this past week, brought on by . . . barefootedness.
Prior to this relapse, I had a stretch of several surreally asymptomatic weeks. Sure, I had occasional headaches, mild fatigue, and intermittent shortness of breath. But I was walking two or three miles most days, playing with my kids, running errands, cooking, writing, and practicing yoga—all without collapsing at the end of the day. And so I did something bold, daring, and (in hindsight) regrettable . . . .
I removed my compressions socks during a Zoom meeting. Scandalous, I know! It gets worse, though—after removing my socks, I stretched out my legs and planted my bare feet on the ground. If, like me, you’ve developed POTS post-Covid, then you probably see where this is heading. With my decompressed feet situated audaciously below the level of my torso, my heart struggled to pump blood up to my brain. I was so engrossed in the Zoom call that I didn’t notice my heart rate increasing and my adrenaline surging. I probably sat like that for five to ten minutes, oblivious to the goings-on in my body until quite suddenly, I realized that the room was spinning, I was struggling to stay upright, and my head was hot with fever.
Five minutes of sockless sitting resulted in five days (and counting) of low-grade fever, extreme fatigue, and other unpleasantness. All I can do is throw my hands up in the air and laugh. Because really? Really?
Possible futures stretch out before me. Me, explaining to a supervisor that I simply must sit criss-cross applesauce, professional appearances be damned. Me, strutting into a corner office in a sleek pencil skirt—and knee-high compression socks. Me, to a new lover—“you don’t mind if I keep my socks on, do you?”
It’s a tragicomedy. Some days, of course, I only see the tragedy. Other days, I’m all lightheartedness and laughter. Most days are a grab-bag—an up and down mix of highs, lows, grief, gratitude, tears, and guffaws. It turns out that there is enough space within me to hold more than one truth, more than one possibility, and more than one feeling at a time.
And at least I have this to hold to in my ceaselessly-socked future: Grandma will be proud.
How do you find humor in the horror show? What Covid quirks, movies, memes, authors, or ideas have moved you to laughter lately?
P.S. I’m still hoping to host a Zoom chat this Sunday at 1:00 PM EST. Before joining the call, check the comments on this post. If I need to cancel last minute (due to ongoing relapsiness), then I’ll post that here in the comments. Here’s the Zoom link: https://us02web.zoom.us/j/85857850266?pwd=VUgyRW1meGluZ1dFS01qd1h2dzhkZz09. I hope to see you there!
My grandma read this newsletter and texted me, “I told you so.” 😂😂😂
So sorry to hear of your relapse Lisa. Hopefully you will come out of it soon. It's like a cruel joke when our body is doing so well, then bam! knocked back down. A tragicomedy like you say. Sorry I don't have any comedy to contribute at this time. Not that I can't laugh it off, but just not creative enough I guess. What I've been doing lately is trying my best to avoid perfectionism. I always want to do everything I do the best, most efficient, complete way, when for some tasks, that's just not necessary. Letting some things go has been helping me lately. FWIW: I am always barefoot! I keep flip flops by the door for outside, but like to kick them off to walk in the grass sometimes. Perhaps you could cut the fee out of a pair of your compression sock? I guess that might defeat the purpose, but not sure. Wishing improvement for you!