Nadine Sander-Green in The Globe and Mail.
By the time I reached my early thirties, I had climbed one of the world’s highest volcanoes in Ecuador, won an arm-wrestling contest in Dawson City and trekked through the Himalayas for a month straight. All I had to do was ask my body to do something, and with a little training, time and guts, it would perform.
Right before my 33rd birthday last November, and just months before COVID-19 hit North America, I was struck with a high fever, the kind where I confused my bed for a life raft and my floor for the Atlantic Ocean. This strange virus kept me locked in my apartment for weeks. I waited patiently to feel better, but I never fully recovered.
It took me a month to admit that something was very wrong with my body. When I went to the doctor, he seemed perplexed and amused by my smorgasbord of symptoms. He gave me a prescription for antacids. “I’ve never seen anything like this!” he said. I didn’t fill the prescription.
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