Kat Bostick, Pacific Northwest, U.S.

It was a beautiful August day and I was watching it pass from the 23rd floor in a medical building as I waited for an echocardiogram. An hour away, my oldest son was playing with his grandmother. My youngest—just three months old—was crying himself to sleep because I wasn’t there to feed him and he wouldn’t take a bottle.

I had never expected that he would need one. Just as I had never expected to be the youngest person in the cardiologist office by about 30 years. I’ve always been that annoying person who asked if something was organic before I agreed to try it. I lifted weights and hiked miles and miles—even when I was heavily pregnant with my second child earlier that year. My diet consisted of vegetables I grew in my own garden and I hadn’t eaten at a fast food restaurant since I was seventeen.

I couldn’t make sense of it.

This was the second heart specialist I had seen in so many weeks and after an echocardiogram, heart monitor, and sixteen other tests I can hardly remember, I was sent home with a prescription for beta blockers to help with heart palpitations and the reassurance that my condition was, “benign.”

I suppose I should have been relieved. I didn’t need open-heart surgery and I wasn’t having my first heart attack at 28 years old. Those were the fears my mind had conjured up when I began having chest pains and shortness of breath. Still, it was impossible not to feel discouraged.

Another doctor without any answers.

Those answers finally came when my mother sent the link to a Facebook group for COVID long haulers. I had COVID the previous year over thanksgiving and recovered easily. It hadn’t crossed my mind since.

But as I pored over that page, I quickly realized that my symptoms were the same. My experiences with doctors and emergency rooms were the same.

That was when everything took a turn.

Suddenly I had a diagnosis. Unofficial, but I would take what I could get. I understood where my symptoms came from and thus understood how to manage them.

I sought every holistic health specialist I could think of. There was cranial sacral and aromatherapy. My chiropractor probably saw me more often than my husband during those early weeks of treatment. I began retraining my brain with the Gupta program.

By my son’s second birthday in October, I felt good enough to bake a cake and throw a party with family. By Thanksgiving, I was able to travel over three hours to see family. On Christmas Day I chased both my children around my grandma’s garden without worrying about feeling dizzy afterwards.

Recovering from long COVID took a lot of commitment. I had to truly believe I would get well. I had to show up for myself every single day.

The result of this journey is that now I show up for myself whether I’m feeling unwell or not. I’ve come to realize how important it is to slow down and take my life—or even little moments throughout my day—one breath at a time. 

You can learn more about Kat’s journey of recovery and health on Instagram: @longcovidhealed