Covid-19: Aftermath · 12:36pm Feb 13th, 2021

Three months.

Three months since I had been diagnosed with the infamous Covid-19, two weeks later I would be released on the premise that "studies show that after two weeks of having the illness and the symptoms greatly improve" I am no longer contagious; therefore, I count as recovered.

Despite this, the doctor recommended me that, once I get released, I shall stay isolated at home for another week just to be safe.

"Wait," you ask, "but shouldn't you have been tested a second time to confirm you are indeed Covid-19 free?"

Apparently, the Sars-CoV-2 tests that they did to me cannot tell whether the virus is still active or not, just if it is in my body (dead or not). So that means that I couldn't have known for sure whether I was indeed not contagious. And, of course, I self-isolated for another week someplace else, because I live with my 71 years old grandpa, who is in the high risk category due to hypertension. I was at my grandma's place, while she went to live with my aunt during that period. I know, I know. Again, I was fortunate enough to manage to find somewhere to isolate myself and not risk others to contract the disease from me.

Fast-forward that week, I no longer showed any symptoms at all; therefore, confident that I no longer pose a threat to my old relatives, I returned home. And, indeed, nobody got infected even to this day!

Did Covid-19 leave any damage behind?

Yes, or so I'm inclined to believe right now. When they radiographed my lungs, the results showed that my lungs were suffering from something called interstitial pneumonia, I don't know what type, but I read that the damage done is irreversible (mild as it may be, it still sucks). Despite this, I worry not, for my oxygen levels were always at or above 96%.

Yet it seems I cough more often than before, especially when I wake up, and before I fall asleep.

*Sigh*

It is what it is, I guess.

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