I Wrote This At 4am Sick With Covid Instant

You found it.

I don’t know you. But at this precise, frozen moment in the night, we are the same. Your throat hurts? Mine too. You just coughed so hard you saw a brief flash of your ancestors? Welcome to the club. You’re wondering if the third rapid test you took was a false negative, or if this is just the new variant that feels like a hangover from a wedding you never attended? I’m right there with you. By now you’ve read the CDC guidelines. You know to call a doctor if you have trouble breathing. You know about Paxlovid and pulse oximeters. You know the difference between Tylenol and Advil.

At 3:45 AM, you were freezing. You piled on two hoodies, wool socks, and the weighted blanket. You were shivering so hard your teeth chattered a rhythm into the silence. i wrote this at 4am sick with covid

If you are reading this because you typed those seven words into a search bar— "I wrote this at 4am sick with covid" —let me first say: I see you. I am you. My phone screen is the only light in a dark room. My throat feels like I swallowed broken glass and chased it with sandpaper. My pillow is a warzone of sweat and chills. And my brain? My brain is a dial-up modem from 1998, trying to connect to reality but instead picking up strange, philosophical signals from the fever dream dimension.

You are just a fragile animal in the dark, trying to breathe. If you searched for “i wrote this at 4am sick with covid” , you weren’t looking for medical advice. You were looking for company. You found it

You will read what you wrote, and you will cringe. You will delete most of it. You will swear you were temporarily insane. The intensity of the 4 AM panic will feel distant, like a bad dream.

This is the COVID tango. Step forward: dry cough. Step back: sinus pressure that makes your eyeballs feel too big for their sockets. Dip your partner: nausea that comes out of nowhere, just to keep you humble. Your throat hurts

Now, at 4:12 AM, the fever breaks. You are suddenly, violently sweating. The hoodies become a wet straitjacket. You tear them off. You lie starfished on the cool side of the mattress, which feels like the most luxurious spa treatment in history for exactly ninety seconds.