My year of COVID recovery and my hope for you in 2022

IN THE YEAR AFTER I HAD COVID

On New Years’ Day 2021

I was taken by ambulance to Sparrow hospital. My oxygen saturation had fallen stupid low. I was admitted to the COVID ward.

I’d been in the ER 36 hours earlier for IV fluids. A chest X-ray showed COVID pneumonia. I’d missed the 10-day window for antibody treatment. It had been nine days since I was well enough to brush my own hair.

A doctor came into the ER with an oxygen tank on his back and a helmet over his head and neck. He closed the door and stood by my gurney. He said kindly that I should be prepared for a long hospital stay. He said that the dangerous period would come when I began to improve. I may continue to improve at that point, or I may crash. They’d monitor me carefully for a crash. He said the hospital needed a record of my wishes should my heart stop. Did I want to be resuscitated?

“No,” I told him. “If my heart stops, just let me go.”

My decision rested easily with me. I was good with God. I had no regrets that I could fix. I was not depressed.

On my second night, the night nurse came barreling into my room, woke me brusquely, and increased my oxygen. He watched the monitors for a few minutes and said he’d keep a close eye on my oxygen saturation from the nurses’ station. He patted my foot as he left the room. I wondered if that might be my last night breathing on my own.

I did continue to breathe on my own. I did improve, and after five days I was released.

My recovery was slow, until it wasn’t.

I had my first cigar on the summer night that we threw a wild game shishkabob party.

It was not my last! I received a humidor for Christmas.

I delved into whiskey, bourbon, and rye. As a friend once advised: “Try everything twice. Three times if you don’t like it just to make sure it’s not an acquired taste and you’re not missing out.”

I have a new motto: I am a grown-ass lady. I make my own decisions but I do not pour my own whiskey.

Hallelujah, it’s raining men.


In the spring, we started a refresh on the house.

We bought these four foot Gregorian chimes to memorialize our cat Bethesda

I hung curtains and solar fairy lights on the front porch and we enjoyed breakfast out there this summer to watch the sunrises

We got the house painted and blessed my study with a dropped teal ceiling and cut glass lamp

The study is now warm with wood and a pop of color in the rug

I ramped up my consulting business, Plum Librarian LLC, and on October 3, I submitted my resignation to the Library of Michigan.

Since January, I’ve also lost 73 pounds without surgery or radical dieting.

This autumn, I found a quote by Louise Bourgeois, an American artist, and hung it over my desk.

Leave it to an artist to say exactly what you were thinking when you didn’t know yet that you were trying to find those words.

My 2022 hope is that you, too, can live like you are dying.

Published by Sonya Schryer Norris

Librarian :: Instructional Designer :: Blogger

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