All joking aside, the truth is I’m terrified of contracting COVID-19. I have good reason, but it’s a long explanation, so buckle up and prepare for the ride.

Cal and I got married in November 2001. Three months later, February 2002, I admitted that I couldn’t climb the stairs to our 3rd floor rented apartment. I’d had problems for quite some time–shortness of breath, weight gain, fatigue, weakness, etc. and I thought I just wasn’t exercising enough. I had a desk job and sat around all day–everyone gains weight and has trouble doing things, right?

As it turned out, wrong. We lived in a small rural town outside of San Jose and went to the urgent care there. The doctor was a pompous ass. I couldn’t breathe, so he said I probably had asthma or something. I was convinced I had pneumonia so I insisted on a chest x-ray. The doctor said I could have one “if you want.” Yes, I do want. Good news! No pneumonia! Bad news, the doctor says “your heart is slightly enlarged. You could see the cardiologist if you want. He’s open on Monday.” Well, that day was Thursday so Monday was 3 days away. Also the radiologist who actually reads the x-ray will be in tomorrow. Yay for rural healthcare!

Narrator: her heart was not slightly enlarged. It was very enlarged.

Now it’s late Thursday afternoon and Cal is like “Cardiologist? Monday? Fuck that shit!” and he goes online, looks up our insurance, and starts calling every cardiologist on the list. He finds one that can see me first thing the next morning. Yay!

We had quite an adventure that day but as an aside, when Cal finally came home, he found 3 messages on the machine, from the urgent care radiologist. Message one says please call back as soon as possible. Message two says there is an urgent concern that needs to be addressed, please call back. Message three says please call 911 and take Paige to the hospital immediately.

Of course, I was already in the hospital at that point. Anyway, so Friday morning we go to the open cardiologist. He does an ultrasound. We wait in the room for an answer. We wait for an extremely long time. Like really long. The doctor finally comes in and we can tell from his face that this is not good news. He says “You have cardiomyopathy. I’ve called my colleague at Stanford Medical Center and they are waiting for you. Would you like to drive, or should I call an ambulance?” Also, WTF is cardiomyopathy? Oh man, we would find out soon.

Oh shit.

To shorten the story, it turned out that I was in severe congestive heart failure (CHF). I was put in the cardiac critical care unit. The medicines weren’t working. I spent a lot of time in the hospital. My heart function number qualified me for a heart transplant. I started the transplant process, ended up on the transplant list. And then my doctor, who was absolutely amazing, decided to try an older medicine. It only worked for 15% of CHF patients but what did I have to lose? And guess what? I was one of the 15%. Came off the transplant list. And over the course of the next two years, I slowly recovered.

That was the first two years of our marriage. It was very stressful.

And how did I, an otherwise healthy 28 year old, get this condition? A virus. Mononucleosis, to be specific. I’d had Mono when I was 25. Unbeknownst to me, the virus went to my heart and killed off a bunch of heart muscle. My heart compensated for the damage for 3 years until it couldn’t hold out anymore. My heart was extremely enlarged. It couldn’t pump fully and wasn’t supplying all my organs with the blood it needed. CHF is often fatal.

But yay, I got better! My heart “remodeled” and shrunk back down to a mostly-normal size. The function improved within the margin of error of typical. And it stayed that way for quite some time. In 2008 I talked to a doctor who was both a cardiologist and an obstetrician. She said the odds for a relapse from pregnancy was very low. Gave us the thumbs-up. So we had Thaddeus. My heart was fine throughout the pregnancy but then, at delivery, it all fell apart. The big problem was having a baby over Christmas. Thaddeus was born Christmas Eve and let’s just say the A team wasn’t at the hospital that week. The problem was a 3-day long induction that was completely botched, and negligent post-natal care. To make a long story short, my heart crashed again. For the second time. And luckily, I fought my way back to a typical function. Yay!

Enter coronavirus. I’m reading the evidence. I’m reading the studies. And according to studies, 20% of COVID-19 patients had COVID-19-caused cardiac involvement. Myocarditis. Pericarditis. Congestive Heart Failure. Long-term cardiac damage. In one very small study out of China, 51% of COVID-19 patients with cardiac involvement died compared to the death rate of patients without cardiac involvement, 4.5%. The guidelines posted by the American College of Cardiology indicated a death rate of 10% for people who have cardiac involvement.

The biggest risk factor for COVID-19 cardiac involvement? Pre-existing cardiac disease.

So here’s the thing. What if I do get COVID-19? I still have a 90% chance of survival, which are good odds, but can I really expect my heart to fully recover a third time? Now that I’m 46 and dealing with other problems? And can my body protect my heart while it’s fighting a severe respiratory disease? In an overtaxed hospital surrounded by other COVID-19 patients and probably not getting the individual attention needed to follow this and doctors and nurses do everything they can to save as many lives as possible as quickly as possible? I have a bad feeling about this.

So here I sit, in the cabin. I’d love to go to the store, but then I remember the statistics. I’m holed up like a hibernating bear (and eating like a bear preparing for hibernation), avoiding everything and everyone. I can’t take any chances. It’s so stressful. So that’s where I’m at.