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My dear friends,
Last Thursday, a telemedicine doctor from a New York City emergency room confirmed to me and my partner, Stacy, what we already knew: I almost absolutely have COVID-19. When I listed off my symptoms to her, day-by-day for the previous five days, she nodded along and then immediately told Stacy and I to get away from each other, and to plan to spend the next few weeks totally isolated. I was doing okay, she said, because I was able to breathe well enough to finish my sentences. The coming days were going to be tough and she'd send in a prescription for an inhaler to help, but testing in NYC is reserved for patients who are admitted into an emergency room, and that isn't even my next stop. If I feel like an elephant is sitting on my lungs, or if I'm gasping for air, I should try to go to a standalone urgent care center and get a chest x-ray. They can prescribe antibiotics if it's pneumonia.
These last several days have been the most terrifying of my life. Walking ten steps from my bedroom to the bathroom, the only place I'm allowed to go, leaves me winded. Taking a shower means I'll need at least half an hour of lying down in bed to recover my breath. Nights are the hardest. My symptoms flare up when the sun goes down, and so does my body's panic response. I lie in bed with my eyes closed to ease the light-headedness and breathe the way I learned to meditate. Inhale, one; exhale, two. Inhale, three; exhale, four. To ten. And then again. I won't let myself cry because it would scare Stacy worse than she already is, and anyway, crying almost always gives me a migraine. My head is already pounding. Hyperventilating would be a complete catastrophe. When I feel the tears forcing their way out of my clamped-closed eyes, I thank my body for them, thank my body for fighting, thank it for all the things it's done for me these last 41 years, thank the universe for my family and my friends who are thinking of me and praying for me and reaching out to tell me they love me and are holding me in their hearts. I'm grateful. My body is battling. And I'm grateful.
My gratitude also extends to the one thing I'm not afraid of, something so many other people fighting COVID-19 right now spend their nights fearing in addition to the ways the virus is ravaging their bodies — I'm not afraid of losing my job or my income.
When Riese hired me to work for Autostradde in 2014, she brought me on as a contract employee, the way all the other full-time editors were also being paid. These were the earliest days of A+ and the industry was already showing warning signs of the freefall that was coming. I was, frankly, lucky to have full-time employment writing and editing on the internet. But the employment trajectory at Autostraddle has been the exact opposite of basically every other online media company. As indie publications folded and venture capital-funded publications began mass layoffs and found new ways to push formerly full-time employees to contract employees, Riese made the decision to bring all of our full-timers onto Autostraddle's payroll, and in doing so absorbing each of our federal and state tax burdens. No more self-employment tax and if something did happen to Autostraddle, we'd be able to at least file for unemployment benefits in our individual states. The following year Riese added 70% company-funded health insurance, and made sure the doctors I was already seeing were included on the plans that were offered. And then, with last year's fundraiser, our full-time employees received raises and the option to participate in a company-matching 401K. This along with paid sick leave and unlimited vacation, which have always been true about working for Autostraddle.
The totality of those things, over these last six years, is quite literally unheard of in this industry.
As I've read stories of other people going through their own COVID-19 battles in recent weeks, I've been sickened by the number of companies, even online media companies, requiring "proof" of their employees having the virus — when basically no one can get tested without being in critical condition — and asking people to estimate what percentage of their work they think they'll be able to get done when not even doctors know how the virus will manifest and progress in different people. And that’s if they even have jobs left. Stories abound of surprise layoffs, of being fired en masse on pre-recorded Zoom call-ins.
When the telemedicine ER doctor told me I almost surely have COVID-19, a zillion thoughts flooded my mind. Did we have enough food to keep me and Stacy fed without her having to leave the house while I recovered? Should I pack a bag for the ER with the daily medicines I need to manage my other health conditions just in case? Was my phone charged enough so that if I had to leave for the hospital in a hurry, I could keep Stacy informed about what was happening (since no visitors are allowed into the hospital right now)? Had all of my disinfecting been moot and now Stacy was going to get it anyway? How much should I tell my family? Stacy and I aren't married; would they let her make decisions about my healthcare if I was unable to make them myself? I was only on day four or five, and symptoms seem to get the worst on days seven through ten; what was my body going to do? Could it fight it off? Would my comorbid conditions make it impossible? And on and on, and on and on.
Losing my job didn't cross my mind. Having to "prove" I was symptomatic didn't cross my mind. I conveyed the information to the editorial team, and they sprang into action on my behalf. The way they did when I had endometriosis surgery that had me out of work for two weeks in 2017. The way they did when I had a breast cancer scare and was diagnosed with a degenerative spinal condition after weeks of being unable to carry a full-time workload in 2019.
It has taken me three days to summon enough energy to finish writing this letter. Tomorrow, I might have more energy. Or I might have less. The path to healing from COVID-19 apparently isn't linear. I might be here to help participate in Autostraddle's most crucial fundraiser ever. Or I might not. I truly don't know what tomorrow, or even the next four hours, hold. But I know when I'm ready, my job will be waiting for me. I am overpowered with gratitude for that — and for you, my community, who make that impossibly lucky fact my reality.
It's really hard to ask for money right now, when we're already going through so much, but if you can, and you have not already, please consider making a contribution to Autostraddle or joining A+ to help us be here in the future — for you, for us, for the next person who needs to find us.
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