Editor's note: This column is part of a series by Lakeshore residents about their experiences living through the COVID-19 pandemic.

Waking up with a sore throat was nothing to be concerned about. A dry house, sleeping with my mouth open, the occasional cigarette — all these things played havoc on my throat.

But when it’s late March of 2020, waking up with a sore throat immediately spreads panic through your body. An ordinarily harmless sign of a cold or bad habit becomes a huge light-up sign in front of you that reads “out of time.”

I had already been under the governor’s stay-at-home directive due to the COVID-19 pandemic for about a week when I first started getting sick. The sore throat alone was worrisome, but when the symptoms really came for me the next day is when I realized that maybe I wasn’t invincible.

Immediately, I had a horrifying vision of struggling to breathe in a hospital bed and dying in front of my parents, leaving them with immense medical debt.

Telling my parents

At first, I tried to keep it to myself. I was scared of what my parents would do, which was selfish. But I also knew how much they would worry and wanted to shield them from that.

On the second morning of symptoms, after a restless night of sleep, I awoke to a headache and general feelings of misery. At that point, I decided to tell my parents. I remember the sort of sideways, nervous glance that my mother gave me. Like many moms, she has never really believed me when I say I don’t feel well.
Baruch de Carvalho with his parents.

But after she saw my 99.2-degree temperature, her demeanor changed completely.

Though ordinarily not a terrible fever, I had to take into account these were not ordinary times.

I was issued a cup, a plate, and a set of silverware that would be the only ones I could use. My mom also told me it would probably be best if I spent as much time as possible in my room in the basement.

I hid from reality by playing video games and watching my latest Netflix obsession: “Ozark.” But every time I took a step back, I remembered the reason I was shut away in my room.

It felt like I was a quarter being used for a coin toss, suspended in the air, knowing there are only two options: Either I had COVID-19 or I didn’t.

Sickness and anxiety

It was that night that I had even more trouble sleeping due to my sore throat and the unraveling thread in my mind.

What were the chances I would actually die? I wasn’t sure. I tried to go over it in my head. I was fit and in shape, with no pre-existing conditions, but I did smoke and, like so many other college students, vape.

I concluded that maybe I wouldn’t die. But maybe I would. What then? What about all the stuff I had left to do? I wouldn’t even graduate from college.

I tried to calm myself down. Sure, I felt sick and had a bit of a fever, but I was missing one key symptom: the dry cough. I had not coughed once since I had gotten sick.

Feeling better, but ...

On the third day, I awoke feeling much better. I could tell I was not fully recovered, but I knew it was getting better. In fact, I decided I didn’t need to take any ibuprofen, which I had been taking like clockwork to keep the inflammation in my throat down.

So, I emerged from the basement just before noon to give my parents the good news.

As I sat at the counter, talking to my mom, the radio caught my attention. NPR was interviewing a health care professional from Alabama or Georgia, who had contracted the coronavirus, the virus that causes COVID-19, and recovered.

Then he said, “I started to feel better, and then the next day I was hit with misery, bedridden for eight days.”

I couldn’t believe it. My little flicker of hope had been snuffed out so fast that I hardly even remembered I was feeling better.

For the next several hours, I couldn’t get my mind off what the man on the radio had said. It began to make me feel sick, which in turn only made everything worse.

I couldn’t distinguish the difference between real symptoms and the ones my anxiety was causing. How many people in the world were in the same position, I wondered? 

Full recovery

As the day progressed, I continued to feel better. By the time I had turned off Netflix for the night, I felt almost fully recovered, save a little pain when swallowing. And yet, I was fully convinced that I would wake up in the middle of the night unable to breathe, or whatever other horrific thing COVID-19 would cause.

But it never happened.

By the fifth day, I was completely recovered, as if nothing had ever happened.

The only thing that stuck around was the fear.

Though I may not have gotten the virus and neither of my parents did, that moment of realization will stick with me forever.

Holland resident Baruch de Carvalho is a 2017 graduate of Black River High School and a junior at the University of Iowa, studying journalism.  He is currently a reporting intern with The Lakeshore. 

This article is part of The Lakeshore, a new featured section of Rapid Growth focused on West Michigan's Lakeshore region. Over the coming months, Rapid Growth will be expanding to cover the complex challenges in this community by focusing on the organizations, projects, programs, and individuals working to improve conditions and solve problems for their region. As the coverage continues, look for The Lakeshore publication, coming in 2020.