I RECEIVED a diagnosis last week that I’ve been dreading for quite some time. In fact, I dreaded it long before it’s symptoms became a reality for me.

I read up on the effects of Long Covid long before I became unwell with it – and throughout the pandemic, developing it became my biggest worry. As someone with a health condition that made me particularly vulnerable to the virus, I had a horrible feeling it wouldn’t let me off lightly. I wasn’t wrong.

I, with thanks to my partner who took the strictest measures to ensure my safety throughout lockdowns, managed to avoid it in the midst of the pandemic. Despite working in the mass vaccination effort at the heart of lockdown, I thankfully didn’t get sick.

After two years, it eventually got me in 2022 – the week before I was due to fly to New York for a UN conference no less. Despite three vaccinations, I was more unwell than I’d expected and had a stint in hospital. It was bad, but I recovered and eventually made it to New York.

Over the next few months, I noticed no changes in my health and thought I’d managed to escape Long Covid. Until July 2022 when I caught it again filming Make Me Prime Minister. This time, the infection itself wasn’t bad. I was unwell for a day or two, and that was the end of it. What followed after was a different story.

It started with noticeable heart palpitations, particularly when I went from sitting to standing or vice versa. My heart would feel like it was beating out of my chest and I’d often get chest pains and breathlessness even without doing physical exercise.

It was weird and a bit disconcerting, but didn’t affect my quality of life to a great extent and was easy enough to ignore after reassurance from doctors.

Then December came and everything started to slow down. My brain stopped functioning as normal, and everyday life felt insurmountable to the point I struggled to leave the house. I couldn’t bribe my brain with dopamine in the same way I’d learned to after 25 years of living with ADHD. It was simply unresponsive – no matter what the task or environment and no matter how much I wanted to do whatever it was I was trying to.

I retreated from life almost entirely and struggled with basic daily living to an extent I’d never experienced. Luckily, it didn’t last very long and I got back to life. The heart problems persisted, and worsened – but at least my body was functioning.

Until this summer. The palpitations intensified to the point that my heart was beating irregularly more often than not, the brain fog became so severe at points that I lost my word recall and would stop speaking in the middle of a sentence. I couldn’t think. I stuttered in most conversations. Walking up stairs would cause my legs to seize up as though I could physically feel them running out of oxygen and shrivelling up with exhaustion. I could sleep for two days, and still wake up fatigued and like there was a permanent mist clouding my every move.

After finally being diagnosed with ADHD and spending two years finding the right medicine – all of a sudden, the medicine wasn’t even scratching the surface. My brain wasn’t interested in a single thing I wanted to do. I could have a lunch scheduled with Beyonce and my brain still wouldn’t find the motivation to attend it.

ALTHOUGH life isn’t like this all of the time, I have nowhere near the physical capabilities that I had a year ago and my life looks a lot different to what it did. Even outwith episodes, I struggle every day with memory loss, forgetfulness, fatigue, and an inability to move my body freely and without consequence.

A year ago I was a 25-year-old avid gym goer, who practised yoga every day and was more committed to her 10,000 daily steps than she was to most other things.

Now I spend most of my time indoors, even when I make it abroad to visit family. Just walking up the stairs to my flat requires recovery time and most physical exercise is out of the question. The neurological symptoms though, are by far the worst and most frustrating.

There is no timescale for recovery. I could never fully recover, or these symptoms might only be temporary. So little is known about the virus and its long-term effects that truthfully no one really knows how this might pan out, but I am preparing to accept this new version of me.

Studies show that between 10-20% of Covid infections will result in Long Covid – but those of us suffering its very real consequences are still swimming in uncertain waters, unsure how to carry on as normal, with a condition that fluctuates sometimes on a daily basis. A reality even more sobering for the young people who have been robbed of their bodily autonomy by a virus now being irresponsibly peddled as a common flu.

Life post-Covid has resumed as normal for most.

I can see why it might be easy to brush the virus off as a flu, and pretend that those hellish two years never happened. I can see why society never wants to look at a mask again, or have a violent swab taken. The height of the pandemic featured some of the darkest days the world has witnessed in decades.

It’s a deeply human and understandable response to want to move on from it entirely. But some simply don’t have that luxury – and society desperately needs to grasp a better understanding of that experience.

Covid has not magically disappeared. It’s still infecting people in the UK every day, and it’s here to stay whether we acknowledge it or not. The more careless and ignorant we become to it, the more people are going to be stuck in Long Covid quicksand, feeling like an iPhone that won’t charge no matter how many times you change the position of the charger.

With the help of a team of specialist consultants, and now equipped with a diagnosis, I am hopeful. I try to push myself a little every day, even if it is just a walk up the stairs or to the shop. It might be a different reality for me, but I am getting used to it and I have faith that I’ll rebuild my health to what it once was.

In the words of my favourite TV character of all time: “Have a little faith. And if that doesn’t work – have a lot of mimosas.”