After almost two full years of riding the Corona-coaster of hope and hopelessness, I came face to face with a positive COVID test at a mobile testing site on the streets of Manhattan.

I had woken up that same morning with a sore throat and a dull headache. It was the onset of Omicron season, (a rather sadistic twist on the 2021 holiday season, in my opinion.) As a 24 year old digital nomad, I had recently made the move to New York City. With vaccination rates on the rise, COVID case rates had been on the decline and restrictions were slowly being lifted. It seemed like an opportunistic time to break free from the pandemania. I was making the most of my time in the Big Apple, exploring holiday markets, art museums, and cozy wine bars in the West Village; but as fate would have it, my Christmas in New York City dream would not turn out to be so dreamy afterall.

Yes, I was vaccinated. I’d received two Pfizer jabs in April and May of 2021. I was just past due for a booster shot, but I was waiting until I had a long weekend to spare for any lingering side effects. That moment came too late.

I spent ten days quarantining in my 17th floor apartment. The first few days were rough. I ran a 103 degree fever at its peak. My dull headache turned into a throbbing head-pound. My joints ached and I was too weak to get out of bed. Tylenol and grocery delivery services proved to be my saving grace. I slept 14 hours a day, drank lots of turmeric and ginger tea, sat by my window for fresh air, and dialed my global support system — many of whom had also gotten caught by the Omicron tsunami.

After day three or four, the intensity of my symptoms seemed to be improving. What lingered was mostly extreme fatigue and brain fog. Some upper respiratory symptoms developed late, including a dry cough that I wouldn’t completely shake until the end of January 2022. Otherwise, by day ten, I almost felt like myself again. Actually, I was quite optimistic and rejuvenated. I had survived the big scary thing I’d been hiding from for so long. I celebrated with an oat milk latte and a long walk to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

I wish I could say that this is where my COVID story ends.

As NYC lockdowns loomed again, I came to the conclusion that winter in the city probably wasn’t the best medicine for my seasonal depression. Something about being sick and alone in a highrise studio for over a week puts you on the fast-track to realizing your own values. With the strength of my new natural immunity, I booked my next adventure to a small surf town in Costa Rica.

I spent two months in Costa Rica just living, free from the fear of health scares and immersed in a conscious community. By February, I had built back my stamina. I was running three to five miles a day, teaching yoga, swimming in the sea, and salsa dancing with friends at the bar. Life was finally returning to “normal” and I was healing in more ways than one.

The month of March would mark the beginning of my slow trek back to the US. I would spend one week in Guatemala, two weeks in Mexico, and then return stateside by April to begin working with some summer yoga festivals in Colorado.

During my week in Guatemala, I began to feel some unfamiliar chest discomfort. It would mostly bother me at night as I tried to fall asleep on my right side, and shortly after physical exertion. I was in great shape, hiking ten miles at elevation. I’d been an athlete since I was 6 years old and never dealt with any heart issues. I tried to convince myself it must be a pulled chest muscle or just pure exhaustion, but a deeper part of me knew something was seriously wrong.

Then I flew to Mexico City.

My day of travel from Guatemala to Mexico was hell. I woke up at 5AM after a mere four hours of poor-quality sleep to board an hour-long boat ride through the choppy waters of Lake Atitlan. Then, I hopped into a shuttle for several hours of driving along winding mountain roads to the Guatemala City Airport; waited three hours before boarding my two hour flight to Mexico City; and ended the journey with a thirty minute Uber ride to my Airbnb where I finally arrived around 9PM. All the while, I continued to try to ignore the worsening discomfort in my chest that could now only be described as the sensation of sandpaper grating against my heart.

I slept for 9 hours the night I arrived in Mexico City. I woke up the next morning feeling less tired but still a bit off. I tried to ignore it, got dressed, and picked up a coffee on my way to my first day of a week-long Spanish immersion course.

Spoiler: I did NOT make it through the course. I hardly made it through Day 1.

As the teacher taught us the difference between “ser rico” and “estar rico”, I couldn’t seem to stay focused. I was shaky, dizzy, and confused. Maybe my thyroid hormone levels are too high? I do have a pre-existing condition called Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, an autoimmune disease that attacks your thyroid and requires me to take daily thyroid hormone replacement. Usually my levels are low. I had been taking thyroid hormone for over four years now, and my dosage had been stable for two. I didn’t know what could have thrown it off, but after struggling to walk home from class that afternoon, I decided it was time to seek medical attention.

The difficulty with seeking medical assistance while traveling abroad is tri-fold.

First off, one almost always ends up at the hospital. Mexico, for example, doesn’t have an “urgent care” system and visits to a specialist are something you typically book in advance. The hospital becomes your only choice. The second issue is health insurance. My US health insurance plan is not an international plan, (as most aren’t). I had purchased a separate traveler’s insurance plan, but travel insurance is not something that covers the costs of medical care upfront. Instead, you retroactively submit your medical bills with the hopes of getting reimbursed, (and many insurance companies are notorious for finding loopholes to reject your claim.) Thirdly, there could very well be a language barrier. My spanish vocabulary is limited and it was definitely not going to cut it in a medical setting. I did some quick research on Mexico City hospitals and decided on MedicaSur, one of the top-rated private health clinics for international patients with a handful of Google reviews that mentioned english-speaking doctors.

I called an Uber to the hospital. Little did I know, this would only be my first of three visits that week.

On this first visit, I was able to see an endocrinologist who ran some blood tests which showed that my Thyroid Stimulating Hormone (TSH) was very low. He told me to stop my thyroid medication for four days and then restart with a lower dose. On that advice, he sent me home.

After three days of no medication and abundant rest, I was not improving. In fact, my symptoms seemed to be getting worse. One afternoon when I was feeling particularly unwell, I attempted to walk up one flight of stairs to the rooftop of my AirBnB for some sunshine… only to find that I was practically unable to walk up a flight of stairs. Half way up, I took a seat to catch my breath before I collapsed. The dull ache in my chest intensified, the stairwell spun around me, and my legs appeared swollen. This is the same girl that was hiking ten miles last week, and now I can’t even get up a flight of stairs?

Something is not right.

I called my second Uber to the hospital. This time, as I complained of chest pain and breathlessness, I was immediately put in a wheelchair and rushed in through the cardiac unit for an electrocardiogram (EKG.) It came back abnormal with my resting heart rate over 100 beats per minute (also known as Tachycardia), but I was assured by the nurses that I was not having a heart attack. Whew.

Over the next several hours, I was put under the care of a cardiologist who ran some more blood tests. These tests showed elevated D-Dimer levels, high neutrophils, and low lymphocytes — all indicative of inflammation and/or some sort of infection. In response, the doctor ordered a chest X-Ray which presumably showed nothing. At that point, I had a nurse try to tell me that they were going to send me home because I was “not having a heart attack”. Hell no, not again. We’re getting to the bottom of this, this time. With a little pushback, the doctor decided that an echocardiogram, (ultrasound of the heart) could be useful. It was this echo that confirmed my diagnosis.

“Have you been sick recently?” the doctor asked as he glided the transducer across the gel that covered my chest and held it steady on a spot just below my left breast.

I had to think about it. I had been feeling good for a while. The last time I was sick was with…

“I had COVID at the end of December, but all my symptoms seemed to go away by the end of January.”

“Ah, you’re not the first patient I’ve seen with this.”

He pulled the transducer away. I assumed the echo was complete. He looked away from the screen and directed his attention towards me.

“Sometimes when people get COVID, it causes inflammation in the body that can resurface months after all other symptoms have subsided. It’s more common in people that have autoimmune issues, like you. You have Pericarditis, which is inflammation of the pericardial sac. This sac acts as a barrier to protect your heart from rubbing against other organs and things. When it’s inflamed, the friction of rubbing causes this pain and discomfort you’re feeling. Of course, we can’t be certain yours is from COVID, but you say you haven’t been sick since then…”

“I’ve heard of Myocarditis. Does this have anything to do with that?” I asked. I had recently read an article about a young twenty-something year old travel influencer who suffered sudden cardiac death due to undiagnosed chronic myocarditis. My head was spinning.

“Myocarditis is inflammation of the actual heart muscle. We haven’t seen anything that suggests that’s the case for you, but you could get an MRI of the heart to be sure. I recommend you follow-up with a cardiologist when you are back home. For now, we’ll put you on something called Colchicine, which is a powerful anti-inflammatory. You’ll take this for 3 months to decrease the inflammation and prevent scar tissue from building up. You’ll also take a high-dose of ibuprofen for 2 weeks. Do you have any other questions?”

Oh, do I.

“Other than the medications… What should I be doing? Like, I couldn’t walk up the stairs today. How long will I need to rest for? And, I’m supposed to fly this weekend. To Cozumel. And then back to the US from there. And then drive 1700 miles to Colorado for work in two weeks. I travel a lot. I’m kind of a nomad. Will I be able to fly? I had COVID in December. Why did this just happen now?”

My stream of consciousness seemed never-ending.

The doctor chuckled, but his eyes showed empathy. “I think you should just rest for a few days and then reevaluate. Decide then if you think you’re ready to fly. I would suggest moving your flight. Just rest as much as you can.”

At that moment, I knew I was going to be in this thing for the long haul.

I would end up spending the next week resting in Mexico City. One of my incredible friends would fly in to CDMX from Colorado just so I wouldn’t have to be alone. I would make one more trip to the hospital 5 days later with a high fever and severe stomach cramps — this time, hospitalized overnight with an unfortunate and seemingly unrelated bout of viral gastritis. Then, still very weak and in pain, I would finally board my flight back to the US and arrive home to North Carolina on March 25th, 2022.

The day I’m writing this is May 24th, 2022.

It’s been about two months since I returned to North Carolina, which initiated a whole new chapter of doctors visits, medical testing, insurance claims, ongoing symptoms, and mental breakdowns on my nonlinear healing journey from “long COVID”. From the near impossibility of scheduling timely doctors appointments in the US these days, (No, I will not wait 3 months to see a cardiologist for my debilitating chest pain); to the onset of new symptoms, including a burning pain that radiates down my left arm, into my shoulder and jaw… you could say “long COVID” has been a long journey.

“Long COVID” isn’t an actual medical diagnosis; it’s an umbrella term for a long list of medical issues that seem to continue or spontaneously occur in higher frequency months after contracting the COVID-19 virus with no other presumable cause. On my “long COVID” journey here in the US, I’ve seen four different doctors over the course of six separate visits; doubled my Pericarditis medication dosage; had ten tubes of blood drawn; received three EKGs; underwent one cardiac MRI; and discovered that I also likely suffered a covid-related mild Pulmonary Embolism in Mexico, signified by my high D-Dimer levels, enlarged right atrium (displayed on the MRI), and presence of risk factors (notably, air travel and living at high altitude).

As you can probably imagine, my lifestyle has done a complete 180. Just a few months ago, I was a 24-year-old, highly active, healthy and ambitious digital nomad, teaching yoga and traveling the world since graduating from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill in 2018. Now, I’m a sedentary shadow of my former self, who’s been living with my parents because, on my worst days, I can’t even get myself fed.

All of that being said, I’m finally starting to feel like I’ve turned a corner in my recovery. My daily pain level averages around a 2 on the subjective pain scale. I’ve come off the ibuprofen and transitioned onto a high-dose turmeric regime. I’ve been loosely following an anti-inflammatory diet, (I was already plant-based). I’m slowly regaining some energy and stamina, too. I’ve reintroduced slow walking and gentle yoga back into my routine, I sat through a Sylvan Esso concert last week, and I’m even beginning to plan my next work trip out to Colorado in June — just a few months later than planned.

The fear lingers that my Pericarditis pain could return in the same unforseen fashion as its original onset. Pericarditis is a rare, misunderstood, and often misdiagnosed condition whose instance seems to be on the rise. The Global Pericarditis Support Facebook group is currently home to 6,300 members, a 2,000+ member increase since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020, and many share similar stories of chronic pain that persists for months or even years after all formal medical tests suggest the condition is cured.

Still, I’m hopeful for a full recovery.

This journey has also been a huge reminder not to take my health for granted. I could have never anticipated anything like this happening, let alone in my mid-twenties. I’m grateful for the help of my friends and family, the doctors that have listened to me, and warm, sunny days that remind me: spring always follows winter.

When fully healed, I plan to hike the 500-mile-long El Camino de Santiago in Spain to commemorate my recovery and raise money for long COVID research.

Learn more about the campaign here.

To continue following my journey, find me @ericaisevolving on Instagram and TikTok.