I just knew the virus had hit me. Everyone at home began yelling at me for repeating the same thing over and over again, but the symptoms were there. I couldn’t pretend otherwise, and it definitely wasn’t psychosomatic. I was showing off the day my sister fell ill (just a day before I realised I’d contracted the virus), piggybacking on my strong immune system. I thought I’d be impervious to the virus, considering I’d built a regular yoga practice over the last six years. I spoke too soon. Here’s the funny bit: I was the worst affected in my family.
Within a week, I was showing most of the symptoms. I spent two uncomfortable days lying on the floor of my bedroom, not being able to go to the rest room. I had a dry cough and was also contending with fatigue, fever and a raised heart rate. On some days I felt perfectly fine, like nothing had happened, while on the others, I was unbelievably sick. I hadn’t been unwell in over six years, so to suddenly be this weak was terribly scary, exhausting and challenging
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