A week ago, I started home IV antibiotics for yet another pneumonia. Two days later, I tested positive for COVID.

It was inevitable.

It’s an equation that has had me on edge since I was told I had a terminal illness. I thought catching COVID would be the end of me. We all did. I was told I could not survive a ventilator, so I changed my health care directive to “do not resuscitate.”

After learning of the COVID test, my physician sent me for a monoclonal antibody infusion to help minimize COVID symptoms. We all took a wait-and-see stance. 

 

I have conquered COVID! 

 

I’m feeling really good, to the surprise of everyone! Exhausted, but really good. 

 

My doctor is concerned, however, that I only made it two weeks on my own before getting pneumonia again and restarting the antibiotics (which I’ll take for three more weeks). This disease is quickly growing resistant to the last antibiotic that can treat it successfully.

I will fill these three weeks with visits from friends and family. With laughter and Bach and Tom Waits and films noir and long, happy evenings with my amazing husband. The time I have while on antibiotics is all I’m promised. I’ll use it joyously!

 

With the time in between pneumonias growing shorter, and my breathing not getting as strong with antibiotics as it has in the past, I fear getting closer to hospice. 

 

But for now: I am standing! And I feel fierce. I’m still up for the fight.