COVID Changed the World. It Changed Me Too…

#covid #chronicillness #moldwarrior #hyperbaricoxygentherapy

COVID Changed the World. It Changed Me Too.

For years, I thought I knew what had broken me.

I thought it was the toxic apartment.

I thought it was the toxic relationship.

I thought it was selling the home I loved to pursue a different career path.

I thought it was the stress of building a clinic, carrying impossible patient loads, and trying to save people who had been told there was no hope.

Those things mattered. They all took a toll.

But lately I have been forced to ask a harder question.

What if those weren't the primary reasons?

What if something else happened around the same time that changed not only my physical health, but my spirit?

What if COVID changed more than the world around us?

What if it changed us?

Before

Anyone who has known me for a long time knows that I have always been an extraordinarily social person.

I love people.

I love hearing their stories.

I love connecting.

I love helping.

In many ways my greatest strength has always been empathy.

Sometimes too much empathy.

I could sit with suffering all day long and still somehow find enough emotional energy to show up for friends, family, community, and life.

Being around people energized me.

Then something changed.

The Years of Disappearing

At first it was subtle.

I began feeling tired.

Not ordinary tired.

Not "I need a vacation" tired.

A soul-crushing fatigue that seemed to settle into every cell of my body.

I remember driving to Fond du Lac and struggling to stay awake behind the wheel.

I remember wondering why eight hours of sleep never felt like enough.

I remember thinking that if I could just get through the workday, maybe tomorrow would be better.

Tomorrow never came.

I could still perform.

I could still show up.

I could still take care of patients.

But there was nothing left afterward.

Nothing.

At the end of the day I would walk home, climb the stairs, shower, and collapse into bed.

Weekends became recovery missions.

Hyperbaric oxygen.

IV therapy.

Skin treatments.

Walks with my husband.

Sleep.

More sleep.

Anything that might help me survive another week.

The thought of socializing felt impossible.

The thought of spending time with people—even people I loved—felt overwhelming.

I wasn't depressed.

I wasn't antisocial.

I was empty.

The tank was dry.

The Part That Hurt the Most

The fatigue was terrible.

But it wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was feeling disconnected from myself.

I still cared about people.

I still loved my patients.

But the effortless overflow of compassion that had always characterized my life became something I had to consciously manufacture.

Empathy became work.

Connection became work.

Everything became work.

I had enough energy to heal others.

I had no energy left to be myself.

Looking back, I realize that was perhaps the greatest loss of all.

A New Question

Recently, as I have continued my own healing journey, I have begun asking different questions.

Questions about chronic inflammation.

Questions about immune dysregulation.

Questions about mold.

Questions about Lyme disease, Bartonella, Babesia, and the countless burdens that can accumulate within the human body.

And questions about spike protein.

I do not claim to have all the answers.

I do not believe science has fully answered these questions either.

But I know what I experienced.

And I know that as I have pursued therapies aimed at reducing inflammation and addressing the biological burdens I carry, something remarkable has happened.

I feel like I am returning.

Coming Back Online

The fatigue is lifting.

Not overnight.

Not dramatically.

But steadily.

The changes are undeniable.

I want to be around people again.

I have energy left after a long day of seeing patients.

I can sit with six heartbreaking new patient stories and still have enough emotional reserve to be present afterward.

The work isn't easier.

Running a clinic isn't easier.

Building a healing center isn't easier.

Being a supportive wife isn't easier.

The responsibilities haven't changed.

I have changed.

Or perhaps I am becoming myself again.

For the first time in years, I feel like there is fuel left in the tank.

For the first time in years, I can imagine a future that isn't centered around recovery.

What Happened to Us?

As my own mind has become clearer, I have found myself asking a larger question.

What happened to society?

Something feels different.

The anger.

The division.

The isolation.

The inability to see one another as human beings.

The loneliness.

The despair.

The violence.

The loss of community.

The loss of trust.

The loss of grace.

COVID changed more than public health.

It changed relationships.

It changed families.

It changed churches.

It changed schools.

It changed communities.

Whether those changes came from fear, isolation, biological factors, trauma, stress, inflammation, economic uncertainty, or some combination we do not yet understand, the result has been devastating.

People seem more disconnected than ever.

And disconnected people suffer.

The Patients Who Carry the Cost

Every day I sit across from people whose lives have been shattered.

People who have lost homes.

Lost marriages.

Lost careers.

Lost health.

Lost hope.

Many are fighting mold illness.

Many are fighting tick-borne disease.

Many are fighting invisible battles that the world cannot see.

And increasingly, many are fighting the belief that life is no longer worth living.

That is the crisis that keeps me awake at night.

Not simply illness.

Not simply inflammation.

Not simply chronic infection.

But the loss of hope.

The loss of connection.

The loss of purpose.

Why I Keep Searching

I do not know all the answers.

But I know we need them.

I know that people are suffering.

I know that something has changed.

And I know that healing is possible because I am living it.

Every month I discover another layer.

Another clue.

Another piece of the puzzle.

And every step forward strengthens my conviction that the human body wants to heal if we can identify and remove the obstacles standing in its way.

My hope is that we find those answers quickly.

Before another mother buries a child.

Before another person loses hope.

Before another warrior decides the fight is no longer worth fighting.

Because beneath the inflammation, beneath the illness, beneath the exhaustion, I believe something beautiful still exists.

I believe our capacity to love each other is still there.

I believe our empathy is still there.

I believe our humanity is still there.

And I believe it is worth fighting for.

Stay tuned for the next episode where I go even deeper.