"You can dot your t's and cross your i's, but steady yourself for the big surprise..."

You hear a lot of people say that the COVID-19 pandemic is "over". While this may be strictly true in that infections and deaths have decreased since the advent of the vaccine, it's not to say COVID-19 has stopped having an impact on our lives entirely.

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The first half of this academic year, for me, was defined by my uphill battle with a worryingly common yet misunderstood condition: long COVID.

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Long COVID is defined by the CDC as signs, symptoms, or conditions that develop or persist after an initial COVID-19 infection. These symptoms can vary in type, cause, severity, and duration. For me, my persistent systems were cognitive impairments: memory loss and inability to create new memories, confusion, disorientation, constant incurable fatigue, and complete inability to concentrate. These symptoms are often collectively described as "brain fog", but the term doesn't adequately describe how debilitating the condition can be. As one survivor puts it, "This isn't a fog. This is life under an ice sheet. The term brain fog has everyone I meet expecting I'll be better any day now."

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I find this description very apt and relevant to my own experience. For me, it was like being trapped behind a glass door I could see through but not open. People, even doctors, would make suggestions: have you tried pushing the door? Pulling it? Did you put the key in? Have you tried jiggling the knob? ... but nothing worked. Then they would become frustrated-- why am I being so dramatic? Everyone's come across a heavy door before, but they still opened it. Maybe I'm just not working hard enough. The longer I stayed trapped, the more intense the shame became, and the more I blamed myself. Surely it can't be this difficult to open a door. I used to open doors all the time, and my fellow students, even ones who had COVID, are doing it every day. If nobody's solutions are working, maybe I'm the problem.

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I lost about four months to long COVID, and I am still one of the lucky ones. My mind has finally recovered. I was able to open the door and rejoin my life. Unfortunately, many others can't say the same. My experience has only reaffirmed my commitment to bridging the gap between physical medical care, mental healthcare, and patient self-advocacy. I know firsthand what it's like to struggle with a condition nobody can diagnose, to not be believed, and to be so ashamed that you feel unable to ask for help. Nobody should have to experience this-- especially not children, who are among our society's most seldom-believed and vulnerable.