The COVID Aftermath
![Image](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlwihFlqNOcSdR2KFAK4kTI1hzyxXBdC_DI_dC77U5RnO62lB-LH_jWsG1Iri8laUhiko9jDOUwWzTnKSUZeKY5u0H-Uxcd0NZDqpTBbWCB9c5zQO7pOpO40cblGm3Nb5zQm9XFvFE56B2dv7OiFPludj9gGcy7NTydI9K3Ut8QoIh0Ajz6AUXnTORUtU/w400-h300/COVID%20Seed.jpg)
Estimated Reading Time: 7 minutes Back in mid-September, my COVID ticket finally got punched--2.5 years was a good run. It was inevitable. Not because it had to happen but because it had been a long time since my partner, I, my place of employment, my family--nearly everyone--decided to give up on navigating a world where we took care to remember the most vulnerable are left to have to do all the extra labor of caring and protecting. It's a very common and unfortunate way we exist and something that lots of folks with disabilities of all sorts know all too well. And COVID knocked me on my ass. I started to really notice symptoms on a Thursday, but in hindsight realized there were symptoms 2-3 days before that I hadn't realized or just assumed were other things. As Thursday turned into Friday, it was evident that I was sick but the first and second tests I took showed negative results. By the end of Friday, I was full chills, aches, brain fog/headaches, and just utterly mise