Favorite Reads of 2023

Listen, I know that everyone posted their favorite books of 2023 already. I wanted to as well, but my recovery from breast cancer surgery took longer than I anticipated, and now I’m getting radiation treatment. However, I still really want to share the books I loved last year, and since it’s still January, I think this is valid.

I’ve gotten more intentional about reading in the last few years. I used to just pick whatever book I felt like reading, without trying to hit a reading goal or focus on a specific list. I didn’t keep a book journal, so I tended to forget not only what happened in books I’ve read but even whether I had read them. Goodreads was great because at least I had a record of what books I read, but I deleted my account a couple years ago after one of the many review-bombing controversies.

I was inspired by the Reading Glasses podcast to try new ways of tracking my reading, and I ended up creating a personal database to help me manage my TBR (To Be Read) list and keep notes on what I loved (or didn’t). Don’t worry, I won’t inflict my nerdiness on you. All this is just to say that now I make more thoughtful choices about what to read. I don’t set specific goals or challenges for myself, but I don’t just choose books at random either.

I read fifty-six books in 2023, about the same as 2022. Interestingly, more of my 2023 favorites were fiction (unlike last year), and some of them were big chunky books. You’ll notice that I’m not into cozy mysteries or romance, but maybe there will be something in my list that appeals to you too.

Non-Fiction

Run Towards the Danger by Sarah Polley: I received this book as a gift, and I was skeptical at first because what did I have to learn from an Academy Award winning actor/screenwriter/director? I was wrong. Polley is a gifted writer, and this essay collection blew me away. The most compelling part to me was Polley’s description of her suffering and eventual recovery from a severe concussion. This book is inspirational without being glib, and Polley’s sincerity makes her writing feel like a personal conversation. I loved it.

Some of Us Just Fall by Polly Atkin: This memoir was published in the UK last year, but it looks like it will be available in the US in March. Atkin has Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome and hemachromatosis, although it took many years for her to be properly diagnosed and treated. This memoir interweaves the experiences of being chronically ill with being in nature. Atkin lives in Grasmere, in England’s Lake District, the home of literary greats such as William Wordsworth, and still a place of incredible natural beauty. She brings us along on her walks and swims in a landscape that can heal some things but not everything, and shares her journey of learning to live well with her diagnoses.

Fiction

Six Deaths of the Saint by Alix Harrow: This is a short story, and I generally don’t read short stories, but this one is brilliant. I don’t even want to tell you anything about it and risk spoiling it for you. I will only say that when I got to the moment when the pieces of the story came together, I put my hand on my heart and gasped. Just trust me and read this.

Ordinary Monsters by J. M. Miro: This is a honker, and it is worth every minute it takes to read. If you like reading about dark academia, the grime of the Victorian era, magical mystery, and/or remarkable children, this book is for you. It’s the story of a shining boy, the people who love him, the people who want to use him, and the strength of found family. I got it from the library and ended up buying a copy because it is that good.

Yellowface by R.F. Kuang: I love everything by R.F. Kuang, and her novel Babel was one of my favorites last year. Yellowface is a completely different kind of book but equally amazing. The narrator steals her friend’s just finished manuscript and passes it off as her own work. As the story hurtles along, the characters grapple with racism, diversity, cultural appropriation, social media, and fame–or utterly fail to do so. Kuang is such a skillful writer that I found myself caring deeply for the narrator, despite the fact she’s a complete trainwreck who makes some very bad choices.

Starling House by Alix Harrow: Read this book if you like gothic mansions, small town secrets, a young woman discovering her strength, true love and sacrifice, and/or supernatural mysteries. Harrow’s first novel, The Ten Thousand Doors of January, is one of my favorite books of all time, and Starling House is pretty high on the list now, too.

The Last House on Needless Street by Catriona Ward: This is the first book I’ve read by Ward, and her entire backlist is now on my TBR. It’s described as a mystery/thriller, but it’s horror as well. Something very odd is going on in the creepy house on Needless Street, and a new neighbor wants to find the truth. The suspense kept yanking me forward, and there’s a solid twist that I did not see coming. Don’t read this if you are easily creeped out, but if you love psychological thrillers then definitely check it out.

Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke: Most of my 2023 favorites were new releases, but this one is almost twenty years old. I read it around the time it came out and liked it, but I read it again in 2023 and LOVED it. The premise is that magic once existed in England, and now in the Napoleonic era, Strange and Norrell are trying to bring it back. They get more than they bargained for, with terrible consequences. Read this if you love the Regency period, myths and magic, faeries, and/or books with footnotes. Clarke is a quietly brilliant writer, and that didn’t really hit me until I finished the book.

Right now, I’m reading Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver, another chunky book by another brilliant author. I hope you’re reading something great, too!

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Enough

I’ve been waiting until I felt well enough to post about my breast cancer surgery and recovery, about the treatment I will begin in January. I have words to say about experiencing the healthcare system as a person with cancer versus a person with ME. And maybe I will write those words at some point.

But none of that matters to me tonight because my friend Beth Mazur is dead. Beth was a co-founder of #MEAction, a data scientist turned advocate by necessity. She was also a shining example of the very best, the best ME advocates and the most wonderful people. To me, Beth was always rock steady, a woman who protected her limits when necessary and who was fiercely committed to our community. And she was a good friend, to me and to so many others.

So very many people are hurting right now, mourning Beth. I’m sending my love and strength to everyone in our community, whether you had the good fortune to know Beth or not. If you are experiencing trauma, grief, or suicidal thoughts from this news, please reach out. Some resources are collected here, and in the United States you can call 988 to connect with someone who can help.

The only words I have tonight are that I want this disease to stop killing any of us.

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“I have cancer”

Hand drawn get well cards with stickers and rainbows from my niece and nephew.

I told my husband last week, “It’s just as hard to tell people you have cancer as it is to find out you have cancer in the first place.” So, let me take a deep breath and say:

I have breast cancer.

Everyone reacts with some degree of shock and sadness when I tell them the news. I feel like I’m hurting their feelings by saying it, like I’m responsible for upsetting them, even though having cancer is not my fault.

In an attempt to soften the blow, I focus on the good part of the bad news. I have Stage 0 breast cancer: ductal carcinoma in situ (DCIS). This means that the cancer cells are still confined to the milk duct and have not yet invaded surrounding tissue and become potentially lethal. Stage 0 breast cancer is not life-threatening and it does not have the ability to spread around the body. It’s a gray area between normal cells and invasive cancer cells.

One of my doctors described my cancer as “very curable.”

Still, DCIS has the potential to become invasive cancer and there is no way to tell whether it will or not, so DCIS is treated as if it is already invasive. I will have surgery to remove the cancer, and then I will have radiation therapy and endocrine therapy to destroy any remaining cancer cells. Layering these treatments together significantly reduces my risk of cancer recurrence.

My treatment for breast cancer will be complicated by my ME. I’m worried about crashing after surgery, and worried about how I’ll manage daily radiation appointments for several weeks. I haven’t found any published information about ME and breast cancer, although plenty about cancer-related fatigue (not helpful). Except for informal input from a few friends with ME, I’ll be making this up as I go.

I am very lucky that the cancer was caught at such an early stage, and I am also lucky to have an excellent medical team. My surgeon has recently treated two other people with ME-like illnesses, so she and her staff understand my concerns about surgery causing a crash. I’ll get extra IV saline at surgery, and I’m taking in extra hydration and protein to try and support my body.

But to be perfectly honest, breast cancer is a lot to carry. Even though all my doctors have reassured me that I will be ok, I still have moments of fear. My mother died of breast cancer in 2015 and following in her footsteps this way makes me sad. I try to gently remind myself that all these feelings just come with the territory.

I considered not saying anything publicly about this diagnosis. It feels more personal and private than ME, although I don’t know why. Ultimately, I decided that sharing my experiences might be helpful to someone else, and so it was worth doing. In that way, I guess, this is exactly like my approach to ME.

My surgery is this coming week. If you are so inclined, send me good thoughts and healing vibes. I’ll be back to let you know how it went.

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29

I got sick on October 6, 1994. Writing a memoir that spans almost three decades requires a lot of self-reflection, not only about what I’ve been through but about the choices I made, what I got wrong, and what I could have done differently. Sometimes, looking back feels like looking at a different person.

I feel such compassion for the young woman who got sick twenty-nine years ago. She was building her career, and was newly in love. It makes sense that she trusted the doctor who said she had a virus and would feel better in a few weeks.

Twenty-four years ago, her doctor said that people with ME do not get better after five years, and she thought her life was over. I wish I could tell her: Not yet, my dear.

Seventeen years ago, she began to invest all of her energy and effort in advocacy because she was trying to make something good from her pain. Yet I wish that she had held some energy back for herself. She didn’t see it at the time, but she could have experienced so much more happiness if she had approached life with more balance.

Ten years ago, this woman was bending beneath the weight of her suffering. She had no idea that she had not reached the bottom, that things were going to get much worse. It would have done no good to warn her.

Eight years ago, she thought she had triumphed–not over illness, but over grief. She was so certain that survival was enough, even akin to winning. I wouldn’t tell her otherwise, even now.

I have felt every possible way on my sickaversary, from numb to content. Now here I am, looking back over twenty-nine years of illness. Doctors were wrong. I was wrong. Sometimes, what looked like the right thing to do was more harmful than I realized. It has taken me this long to learn that we cannot predict the future, and that we can take nothing–absolutely nothing–for granted.

For a long time, I have struggled with the impermanence of existence, the reality that everything changes. Impermanence can feel like a liability or a gift, but it is a fact regardless of how we feel about it. The challenge is what we do in the face of change. Things go right or wrong, and all we can control is how we respond.

If I could reach through some crack in time to give my younger self advice, I wouldn’t warn her about what was coming or try to direct her path. I would simply tell her what I have learned:

There are times of great hardship and times of great joy, and there are all the choices you make along the way. It’s the choices that matter.

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Ed Yong Made Me Cry

There I was, reading Ed Yong’s latest newsletter, and wondering if I had the energy to go downstairs for a cup of coffee. Near the end, Yong listed his upcoming appearances along with an invitation:

Come say hi; please wear a mask.

And I burst into tears.

It’s such a simple request, “please wear a mask,” yet no one is saying it anymore. Most of the healthcare personnel I interact with no longer mask, and neither do many of my beloved family and friends. The general public in suburban Philadelphia gave it up long ago. And who can blame them, when this is the message being trumpeted by our government. Even President Biden flaunted mask guidelines recently.

It’s tempting to “get back to normal,” to go along with everyone else. It would be so easy to follow the crowd, give up the mask and take my chances. But I haven’t because, as Yong wrote in the same newsletter, “it’s still worth avoiding infection.”

I’ve lived with physical and cognitive disability for 29 years. At my worst, I was bedridden. While I’m doing better right now, I know my situation is precarious and can be taken away from me at any time. And I know firsthand that COVID is a big risk. My husband’s brain fog, a problem since his stroke in 2015, has been markedly worse since he had COVID one year ago. The ranks of people with Long COVID continue to swell, and I keep hearing about people critically ill or dying from vascular issues after COVID.

For awhile, early in the pandemic, it felt like we were all on the same page about flattening the curve and protecting the vulnerable. We accepted collective responsibility for individual welfare. Now, though, I mostly feel left behind.

Yong won a Pulitzer Prize for his reporting during the pandemic, but this time he wasn’t explaining the science or commenting on public policy. This was a simple request, made in the midst of a pandemic, person to person. We still need to protect one another, so please wear a mask.

I cried, because I felt less alone.

In that moment, I felt like someone else understood that a small inconvenience for one person could make all the difference for another. We can’t know for certain how our actions affect others, yet our small, individual choices matter. Maybe wearing a mask will prevent an infection, save someone’s life, or protect someone from Long COVID. And even if we never know for sure, it’s still worth it to try.

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Lightning Book Review: Crip Up The Kitchen

I’ve loved to cook since I was a kid. I wanted to grow up to throw fancy dinner parties like my aunt, complete with appetizers and an elaborate dessert. And I did give some pretty awesome dinner parties, with menus and coordinated table decorations and so on.

Then I got sick with ME. I still love to cook, but now it’s a Chore. Some days I’m too sick. Some days I have the energy to cook, but I have to make a choice between expending my energy there or something more fulfilling. I’ve tried batch cooking and freezing meals ahead. I’ve tried eating the same meal three nights in a row. I’ve tried to make convenience foods a little bit healthy (Tip: add broccoli.) But I’ve always felt like I was figuring it all out on my own, and I was never satisfied with the energy/nutrition balance.

Crip Up the Kitchen: Tools, Tips, and Recipes for the Disabled Cook - Sherred, Jules

Enter Crip Up The Kitchen by Jules Sherred. Sherred writes the blog Disabled Kitchen and Garden, and describes himself as “a gender noncomforming autistic disabled trans man,” with multiple health issues. He was frustrated that there were no resources about cooking and gardening with disabilities that were actually written by disabled people, so he started the blog to fill the gap. Crip Up The Kitchen is his first cookbook.

I pre-ordered Crip Up The Kitchen for the subtitle alone: “Tools, Tips and Recipes for the Disabled Cook.” I was hoping for some hints on how to cook more efficiently, or maybe some new recipes for stocking my freezer.

Y’all. This book is so much more than that.

Sherred writes, “The kitchen is the worst room in the house if you are disabled. I’m about to change that and make life easier for everyone.” *praise hands*

This book explains it all: what you need for your kitchen, how to organize it, how to meal plan and meal prep, how to cook safely, how to store food, and how to right-size your cooking to the amount of energy you have. The advice is customizable based on an individual’s disabilities and food requirements.

An electric pressure cooker, like the Instant Pot, is the foundation of the methods in this book, along with an air fryer and bread machine. That’s the only downside to the book, as all the recipes rely on one of those appliances. I only have an Instant Pot, but there were plenty of tempting recipes for that equipment alone.

The recipes in the book tend towards Asian cuisines, including Thai and Panjabi. There are also dishes that will be familiar from Western cultures, including chicken stew and matzoh balls. All of the recipes rely on strong spices and flavors.

I tried the Effin’ Good Chili recipe, and it was fantastic. There are some foods, like chili or pot roast, that really benefit from a long, slow cooking time (like in a crockpot), but the Instant Pot offers the advantage of much faster cooking. I thought I had to choose between the best tasting chili and fast/convenient chili, and I was never happy with either choice. However, Sherred’s chili recipe splits the different by incorporating strong flavors to overcome the impact of the faster cook time, and it came out great.

If you follow Sherred’s methods for prepping and freezing ingredients, cooking will get even faster. This is a cookbook worth reading from cover to cover for all the suggestions on how to manage cooking with disabilities. My copy is now full of bookmarks for all the recipes I want to try. I highly recommend this book!

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Favorite Reads of 2022

Books are one of my favorite things, and I love to talk about them. Every reader is unique, of course, and we each have a wheelhouse–characteristics that will make us love (or hate) a book. Maybe you love stories about magical portals (I recommend The Ten Thousand Doors of January) or LGBTQ romance (definitely read Red, White and Royal Blue). Maybe you can’t stand purple prose, or you can’t focus well enough to read non-fiction.

What I want most in a book is to fall through the page. I want to forget I’m reading and just be in the story or the author’s thoughts. Yet I also read for craft. Why did one author present her memoir in a non-linear way, jumping back and forth in time seemingly at random, while another chose straight factual chronology? What makes a thriller so compelling that I can’t stop reading it? What can I learn from this book to help me improve my own thinking and writing?

Of all the books I read in 2022, these are my favorites. These stories moved me, impressed me, and stuck with me. I’m presenting them in no particular order, and I recommend them all equally. I hope whatever you read this year meant as much to you as these books did to me.

Non-Fiction

The Invisible Kingdom: Reimagining Chronic Illness by Meghan O’Rourke: Finalist for the National Book Award, New York Times best seller, and hitting many Top Books of 2022 lists, this book should be required reading for all med students, as well as anyone affected by chronic illness. O’Rourke seamlessly blends her personal journey with chronic illness with superb reporting on the medical, scientific and social issues that chronic illness presents to us. This book will make you feel seen, and it will make you think.

Long Covid Survival Guide, edited by Fiona Lowenstein: This book is an instruction manual for dealing with Long Covid, and is relevant to many other chronic illnesses as well. The contributing authors share much needed, diverse perspectives on how to manage the practical, medical, and emotional challenges of living with serious chronic illness.

What Doesn’t Kill You: A Life with Chronic Illness by Tessa Miller: I wish I had this book when I got sick. Miller has Crohn’s disease, but the lessons she shares in this book apply to anyone with chronic illness. From identifying good doctors to managing relationships to coping with trauma, this book covers it all with detail and compassion.

About Alice by Calvin Trillin: I listened to the audiobook, read by the author, which made Trillin’s portrait of his late wife feel even more intimate. Trillin shares what Alice meant to him and their family, how she helped him be a better writer, and how sharp and incisive her own writing was. It’s sad and amusing, and left me wishing I could have known Alice myself.

In Love: A Memoir of Love and Loss by Amy Bloom: This book is a New York Times best seller and is on many Best Of lists for 2022. Bloom’s husband developed early Alzheimer’s and eventually chose to end his life at Dignitas. In this memoir, Bloom shares her husband’s life and his death with heartbreaking love and grace.

These Precious Days: Essays by Ann Patchett: This is the first Patchett book I have read, and I immediately put all her other books on my TBR list. These essays are somehow entertaining and poignant all at the same time, and Patchett’s delightful personality shines through.

Fatigue by Jennifer Acker: This Kindle exclusive packs an enormous experience into a small package. Acker became sick with ME, and then her husband became disabled with a frozen shoulder. She describes how their dual challenges required them to care for each other in new ways and how it changed their marriage. I learned so much from this that I am applying to my own memoir of disability and marriage.

Fiction

Babel by R.F. Kuang: Sometimes I read a book and am destroyed by how good it is. Babel wrecked me. Set in an alternate Victorian world where the British Empire is the seat of power and magical silver-working, this book examines class, language translation, colonialism, and revolution, and somehow makes you care so deeply about it all that the ending breaks your heart. I have been a fan of Kuang since her very first book, but this is a master work.

My Best Friend’s Exorcism by Grady Hendrix: The title is the premise of this horror novel. Abby, the narrator, is a high school student in 1988 (and the cultural references throughout warmed my Gen X heart) when her best friend begins acting strangely. Events snowball to a terrifying conclusion, but this is a book about friendship and I loved it.

The Golden Enclaves by Naomi Novik: This conclusion of the Scholomance Trilogy was one of my most anticipated books of the year, and I was not disappointed. Like the first two books in the series, this was a combination of teenage angst, magic, monsters, and a love story, and manages to be suspenseful, funny, and touching. That’s a lot to pack into one book and Novik does it with ease.

The Violin Conspiracy by Brendan Slocumb: Ostensibly a thriller about a stolen Stradivarius (and it’s a great thriller), what I really loved about this book was the inside look at racism in classical music. Slocumb is a professional violinist and educator, and he drew upon his own experiences to portray the main character’s challenges as a Black classical musician.

The Travel Guide to the Dimension of Lost Things by Effie Seiberg: This one is a short story, not a novel, and I don’t read many short stories, but this one stuck with me. It’s about depression, and losing yourself, and maybe finding yourself again, but told with just the right amount of snark.

And one last note from me: support your local libraries! Libraries are key to an educated citizenry and functioning democracy, and knowledge should be free to all. Do what you can to use and support the libraries near you!

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New York Magazine Article Biased and Riddled with Errors

Today I sent the following email to the Editor of New York Magazine:

As a reader of New York Magazine, I have come to expect your articles to be accurate, well-researched, and fair. Unfortunately your recent piece, “Has Long COVID Always Existed?” by Jeff Wise is none of these things. As someone familiar with the topics covered, I can tell you that the article is misleading, biased, and riddled with errors. Worse, it exacerbates longstanding misconceptions that people with ME/CFS and Long COVID must overcome when seeking effective care, and it risks reviving myths about this condition that I and many others have worked for decades to dispel.

I have personal experience with ME/CFS and its consequences. I was an Ivy League-educated attorney when I got sick with ME/CFS almost thirty years ago, and I have spent more than two decades advocating for scientific research into the disease. For the past ten years, I have covered issues and developments in the ME/CFS community on my blog, Occupy ME. My work has also been published by the Philadelphia Inquirer, STATNews, and on Psychology Today.

I find the bias and inaccuracies in Mr. Wise’s article especially surprising and discouraging given that his previous reporting, including on Paxlovid and Omicron, has been accurate, balanced, and reasonable. Those articles relied on solid research and experts in the field and fulfilled the journalistic goal of helping readers understand complex topics.

Sadly, Mr. Wise’s most recent article stands in sharp contrast to those previous pieces in terms of both quality and accuracy. Instead of investigating the science of Long COVID and seeking to help readers understand the possible origins and nature of the condition, Mr. Wise seems to simply promote his own views of the illness. Time and again, he reinforces the myth that Long COVID is a psychiatric disorder treatable with exercise and therapy. He presents a biased view of the state of the science on Long COVID and ME/CFS that is not supported by the evidence, as many journalists and experts have already pointed out. (See Putrino, Davenport, O’Rourke, Tufecki, #MEAction, Tuller)

Throughout the article, Mr. Wise used selective quotation, vague or inaccurate descriptions, incomplete or misleading statements, and biased sources to convince readers of his conclusion that Long COVID is merely “the latest manifestation of an endemic psychiatric condition.” I wish to draw your attention to three specific instances where Mr. Wise misused source material in support of his argument.

1.Mr. Wise grossly mischaracterized the finding of a Harvard University study into the relationship between psychological distress and the risk of developing Long COVID.

Building on previous studies suggesting that mental distress can be associated with longer and more severe respiratory infections, the Harvard researchers sought to examine associations between psychological distress and Long COVID. They surveyed participants for self-reported psychological distress at the beginning of the study, and then monitored them for over a year to determine how many reported having COVID and/or post-COVID symptoms. Analysis of the data showed that people who reported pre-infection symptoms of depression, anxiety, worry about COVID, loneliness and perceived stress were more likely to report Long COVID symptoms, and those with high levels of two or more types of distress were at nearly 50% greater risk of Long COVID symptoms.

Mr. Wise reported this factual finding of the paper, but he then remarked that some patients might reject idea that Long COVID is a psychiatric condition, implying that the paper’s results prove that this is the case. Indeed, his interpretation of this research is so wrong that it is almost as if he read the abstract but not the full text of the paper.

Most perplexing is Mr. Wise’s failure to mention that the study authors stated explicitly that Long COVID is not a psychiatric condition. The authors wrote, “Our results should not be misinterpreted as supporting a hypothesis that post-COVID-19 conditions are psychosomatic.” More than 40% of participants with Long COVID reported no pre-infection emotional distress. Symptoms of Long COVID differ substantially from symptoms of mental illness, and the correlation between pre-infection distress and Long COVID remained even when people reporting only psychiatric, cognitive, or neurological symptoms were excluded from the analysis.

Notably, the authors cite several papers that found, “more than 50% of patients with post-COVID-19 conditions report relapses triggered by physical activity. In contrast, physical activity is protective against relapse of mental illness.” This acknowledgement that patients did not improve with exercise but, in fact, worsened their condition is especially relevant given Mr. Wise’s contention that exercise is an effective treatment for the disease. Finally, the authors identified multiple biological factors that could explain why pre-infection emotional distress might increase the risk of developing Long COVID. They cite, for example, the link between distress and chronic systemic inflammation.

Ultimately, Mr. Wise took research that adds an important if nuanced dimension to our understanding of risk factors for Long COVID and distorted the finding to match his own conclusion that Long COVID is a psychiatric condition. The truth is that the authors of the study expressly rejected that conclusion in the discussion section of the paper. Mr. Wise fails to acknowledge any of that in his article, and as a result misleads the reader.

2.Mr. Wise selectively edited a quote from a paper in SN Comprehensive Clinical Medicine to overstate the authors’ conclusion.

For this study, doctors at the Mayo Clinic Florida reviewed and summarized published research on the characteristics and clinical management of Long COVID. The authors did not attempt a meta-analysis to quantitatively analyze the pooled data from the included papers. Rather, they synthesized and summarized the “narrative evidence” from 117 articles covering dozens of treatments across fifteen broad categories of symptoms and signs, including respiratory, cardiovascular, and neurologic complications.

Mr. Wise cited this paper as support for the use of CBT and exercise therapy as treatments at Long COVID clinics, writing, “This approach has been endorsed by researchers: Mayo Clinic researchers published a study in April that recommends treating chronic fatigue patients with ‘Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT)…graded exercise, mindfulness, and sleep hygiene.’” However, the discussion of treating chronic fatigue is limited to four sentences in the Specialty Care section of the paper and one bullet point in Table 1. Mr. Wise edited the text from Table 1 to make it sound like a clear recommendation. A review of the full quote, however, shows that this is not the case. Here is the full quote with the deleted material italicized:

Chronic fatigue: There is potential role for Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) and Health & Wellness Coaching (HWC) programs focused nutritional status, graded exercise, mindfulness, and sleep hygiene, with the goal of improved quality of life.”

This study did not “endorse” CBT and graded exercise as a treatment for Long COVID; it merely suggests a “potential role” for CBT and Health & Wellness coaching to “improve quality of life.” What’s more, Mr. Wise did not acknowledge, as the study authors did in the body of the paper, that, “There is a paucity of information on the management of patients with fatigue, myalgias, and exercise intolerance.”

Because of how Mr. Wise selectively edited that quote and failed to accurately describe the full context of the study, readers are led to the erroneous conclusion that the paper firmly established CBT and/or exercise as effective treatments for Long COVID. This false narrative can do real harm to people with Long COVID because, as the previous paper noted, the majority of them experience relapse after physical activity.

3.Finally, Mr. Wise unfairly and inaccurately portrayed the ME/CFS patient community as spiteful and extremist.

Throughout his article, Mr. Wise quoted blogs and blog comments without naming, citing, or linking to the comments themselves. As I reviewed and fact-checked his assertions, I was surprised to discover that one of those comments had been cherry-picked from my website (without attribution). Indeed, Mr. Wise omitted the context that contradicts the point he was making—that ME/CFS advocates are extremists who have undue influence on medical guidelines. 

To help paint this picture of advocates consumed by vitriol, Mr. Wise devoted an entire paragraph to the conflict between the ME/CFS community and Dr. William Reeves from the Centers for Disease Control, even though that conflict ended with Dr. Reeves’ death more than ten years ago. This section of Mr. Wise’s article jumps around in time from 2015 to 2021, then back to 2012 for the Reeves discussion, before going forward again to 2013-2015, which must be confusing to readers not already familiar with the history. After stating that patients were “enraged” by Dr. Reeves’ claim that people with ME/CFS were mostly suffering from personality disorders, Mr. Wise wrote that Dr. Reeves’ death in 2012 “did little to assuage the community’s enmity.” He then quoted “one blog commenter” in support of that statement. In fact, the quote came from a comment someone posted on a blog post I wrote when Dr. Reeves died, but Mr. Wise took it out of context and misrepresented it as indicative of the opinion of the entire community.

When Dr. Reeves passed away, I wrote about some of his history with ME/CFS and my own impression from meeting him in person in 2006. I concluded with this statement: “And in the end, he was a man and not a caricature. He has often been viewed as disdainful of the suffering of people with CFS; we should not make the same mistake and be disdainful of the pain his family and friends must feel at his passing.” But obviously, my statement doesn’t match the impression Mr. Wise is trying to create, so he didn’t quote me. Instead, he presented as representative of the whole ME/CFS community a single comment posted on the blog by someone who “can not bring myself to have one ounce of any sympathy” because of all the suffering caused by Dr. Reeves’ influence on ME/CFS research.

Mr. Wise advances the idea that the community hated Dr. Reeves because that would support his portrait of advocates as self-absorbed extremists. He presented without context a single comment made on a blog post ten years ago, as if it reflected the views of millions of people in the ME/CFS community. It does not. There was disagreement, expressed on my blog and in the community as a whole, about the legacy of Dr. Reeves and how we should move forward. This is always the case in a community as large and diverse as people affected by ME/CFS.

Unfortunately, the complexity and nuance of the community does not appear to interest Mr. Wise. He presented only material that supports his view that advocates are extremists, and the misleading and selective way Mr. Wise quoted from my blog is just one example.

To be honest, I am surprised that the New York Magazine Intelligencer published this article in its current state. It reads more like a hit piece than journalism. I do not speculate as to Mr. Wise’s intentions. I can only say that this article is biased, misleading, and inflammatory. Mr. Wise misrepresented the state of the science on both ME/CFS and Long COVID, omitting all the evidence that contradicts his views. By publishing it, you have contributed to the misinformation about these diseases, and many people face potential harm as a result.

I understand that calls for corrections and even a retraction have been sent your way, and it is indeed important to correct the record. Beyond that, however, it’s clear that the issues of Long COVID and chronic illness are a growing concern for Americans, one that New York Magazine could play a leading role in addressing. As such, I would like to propose writing an article for your publication that would contribute to the public’s understanding of Long COVID, ME/CFS and other poorly understood chronic disease. If you are interested, I would be happy to share a summary of points I would cover.

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How to Avoid Covid

For the first time in three weeks, I live in a Covid-free house.

Day 0: My husband was the first to get sick. He woke up with severe congestion and a headache, but tested negative for Covid on an antigen test. In an abundance of caution, I put on an N95 and he began isolating in our bedroom. Two relatives staying with us chose not to mask. I set up a table in the hallway so that I could deliver meals and medication to him contact-free. We all expected him to test negative the next day and then he would be able to rejoin us.

The next morning he had a fever and tested positive.

Day 1: He called his doctor, who prescribed Paxlovid. My relatives masked up, and I pulled out the supplies I had accumulated for this very situation–hand sanitizer, latex gloves, bleach wipes, over-the-counter decongestants, cough drops, surgical masks to put over my N95, thermometers, a pulse oximeter–and staged them around the house. He started the Paxlovid, but his fever kept going up. That evening, it got to 103 degrees and I started packing a bag for the emergency room. Several hours later, the fever began to go down.

Day 2: I was certain that I would get sick next. In the meantime, I carried meals upstairs and brought dirty dishes down. My husband felt ghastly–headache, fever, congestion, coughing, sore throat, brain fog, and intense fatigue. At least four times a day, he texted me his vitals (temperature, oxygen saturation, blood pressure, heart rate) and I recorded them on a log sheet. I worried about his temperature and his saturation rate. A low sat rate is among the problems that send many people to the hospital with Covid.

Where did he get it? My husband and I have had our Covid vaccines and two boosters. We were holding off on getting the bivalent booster until closer to the holidays when we are likely to be in more high-risk environments. We have worn masks in public since April 2020, and socially distanced to an extreme until recently. Our best guess is that he caught Covid at an indoor concert we attended three days before his symptoms began. I wore an N95 for the entire event. He wore a triple layer cloth mask because it seemed to give him a tighter seal and prevented his glasses from fogging.

Day 4: Both of the relatives who had been staying with us tested positive. One was mildly congested, and the other was asymptomatic. We lived with the windows open in every room, and fans and air filters running on both floors, to keep fresh air circulating through the house. I wore my N95 around the clock, except when I was eating outside or using my CPAP machine while sleeping.

Day 5: My husband finished Paxlovid and felt much better. He was still coughing, but otherwise felt ok. However, he tested positive again. Yes, CDC guidance said he could end isolation because he had no fever and his symptoms were resolving. CDC does not require people to test to end isolation. But given that I am very high-risk and was still testing negative, we decided to err on the side of caution. My husband stayed in the bedroom. I continued to sleep on the couch. We decided to wait until he had two sequential negative tests before letting him out.

Day 6: For most of our marriage, my husband has been my caregiver. Seven years ago, he had a disabling stroke and I became a caregiver too. Over time, we reconfigured our relationship to take care of each other in the ways we each need. Now with him confined to our room, I was back in crisis mode like when he first had the stroke–taking care of him and everything in the house. My body went through the motions, doing what was necessary, while my brain stopped participating. Instead of reading or listening to podcasts or watching tv, I did a lot of sitting and staring into space, worrying about how we would cope when I inevitably tested positive too.

Day 10: For several days, my husband was feeling better. The most annoying thing was a spell of feverishness and slightly elevated temperature every afternoon. But on Day 10, Covid seemed to come roaring back. His headache, congestion, brain fog, and fatigue were almost as bad as when he first got sick, with some nausea added in for good measure. The rebound was upon him.

Rebound: I know people say that it’s Paxlovid rebound, as if the drugs cause the virus to resurge. It turns out that many Covid cases have a rebound, even without Paxlovid. The rebound may be caused by a robust immune response, not an increase in virus. CDC guidance says that anyone with rebound needs to isolate for another five days, whether they took Paxlovid or not, so it was just as well that we kept him isolated.

Day 15: His CDC-recommended additional five days of isolation ended, but he continued to test positive. At this point, he felt much better, with only lingering congestion and slight headache. And he was bored. He had tried to keep himself occupied with different interests each day, but as everyone with ME knows, being confined to a single room for weeks is very difficult to take.

Ending Isolation: When is it truly safe for someone to come out of isolation? According to Dr. Daniel Griffin of This Week in Virology, transmission has not been seen after Day 10 except in severely immune-compromised patients. The rapid antigen test is not a reliable measure of infectivity. I guess my husband could have ended isolation after Day 5 or 10 (or 15), depending on which part of CDC guidance we chose to follow, but we don’t regret waiting longer.

Day 19: At long last, my husband tested negative twice (on two tests 48 hours apart) and came out of isolation! And I tested negative throughout the entire time–the only person in the house not to catch Covid.

So how did I avoid Covid? Here is what I think protected me.

  1. I began wearing an N95 as soon as he showed symptoms, and I kept wearing it 24/7 for three weeks. Putting on the N95 immediately was key, because the other people in the house did not mask that first day and they both caught Covid.
  2. He isolated at the first symptoms, despite a negative test, and stayed isolated for three weeks.
  3. We used a table in the hallways to pass items to each other, and we stood at least 10 feet apart when speaking to each other (both of us double masked).
  4. I wore gloves when I handled dishes and trash, and I washed and sanitized my hands constantly.
  5. We kept windows open throughout the house except when it rained. We already had air filters on each floor of the house, and my husband kept a fan running in a bedroom window to increase air circulation.

Minimizing Covid severity. We are vaccinated and boosted, which is the most important thing you can do to prevent severe Covid disease. My husband’s doctor prescribed Paxlovid as soon as he tested positive. Tracking my husband’s vital signs helped us monitor his condition, and would have told us if he was getting worse (like if his sat rate dropped).

Good fortune. This experience was awful, but it was mitigated by many things. We could afford to stockpile the supplies that got us through these three weeks: rapid antigen tests, masks, gloves, hand sanitizer, over-the-counter medications, thermometers, a pulse oximeter, and a freezer full of food. We live in a house that is big enough for him to comfortably isolate in our bedroom and have his own bathroom, and I could stay in my own space on the first floor. Multiple friends and relatives came to our rescue, practically and emotionally. We knew enough about the science that we reached out for Paxlovid, and that drug is free (for now). My husband’s doctor was easily accessible whenever we had questions or concerns. We’re both disabled, so we weren’t being pressured to come back to work too soon and we know how to cope with isolation.

It’s also true that we could have done everything right and I could still have caught Covid. I know I probably will, at some point.

All we can do is prepare as best as we can. Get vaccinated and boosted. Wear an N95 (seriously, where one everywhere you go). If you can afford it, purchase supplies that will help get you through illness and isolation. Know if you are eligible for Covid medications (Paxlovid, Evusheld, remdesivir, molnupiravir) and make a plan with your doctor in case you test positive.

Avoiding Covid is possible, but it is not guaranteed. In the current “the pandemic is over” environment, it’s up to us to protect ourselves and each other. Winter is coming.

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In The World

I have spent more time in public in the last month than I have in two-and-a-half years. We were having some work done on the house, and I could not stay there in the midst of the noise, dust, and chemical smells. So, I relocated to a hotel in a nearby community for a few days, but I may as well have been on a different planet.

For the entirety of the pandemic, I have taken safety precautions very seriously. I am at high risk for severe complications if I catch COVID-19. My doctor said that my biggest risk is a worsening of my ME and disability. Friends, I am disabled enough. I’m willing to make a lot of sacrifices to avoid losing even more functionality.

Now that the vast majority of people have decided to live as if the pandemic is over, I knew that very few people in this nearby community would be masked. But I was not really prepared for what I saw and how I felt during my stay at the hotel.

No one in the hotel–including hotel staff–wore masks. No one on the street wore masks. No one in restaurants or coffee shops wore masks, including staff. All the restaurants were busy. Some had outdoor seating, but we were in a heat wave so not many of those tables were occupied. Inside the restaurants and coffee shops, there was no social distancing. In other words, it looked very much like the summer of 2019.

And here I was, wearing an N95 every single time I left my room. I had packed my own breakfast and lunch for each day, but I had to go out to retrieve dinner each night. When I walked into a restaurant to pick up my takeout order, the twenty-something hosts looked at me with a mixture of surprise, bemusement, and pity.

I’ve lived with ME for twenty-eight years, and I’ve gotten used to looking different. On good days, I walk with a cane, but other times I need a wheelchair. I’m used to pitying glances and inappropriate questions. But being the only masked person in an entire community in the midst of this ongoing pandemic made me feel extremely conspicuous and vulnerable. I felt unvoiced social pressure to blend in, to take off the mask, to relax.

I would love to ditch my masks, put on some lipstick, and go back to normal (which admittedly still doesn’t look like everyone else’s normal). To blissfully sit in a coffee shop for an hour. To enjoy a meal without checking how close together the tables are. My life was pretty sedate and simple before the pandemic, but during the pandemic it has been downright monastic. It would be a luxury to return to how I navigated the world in 2019.

Will this ever be possible? Will I build up enough immunity with enough booster shots so that eventually, catching COVID will be like catching a cold? Or will I have to wait until there are better treatments, and (hopefully) a way to prevent long COVID and the other long-term risks of COVID?

As I wrote for the Philadelphia Inquirer on August 22nd, I believe there is a smarter way to move forward collectively, and that it is to approach COVID as a community. After all, we take care of each other in all sorts of ways during rough weather conditions. Why can’t we do the same with COVID?

Maybe a day will come when I decide to give up on masks and take my chances. But not yet. If saving my life means being the odd one out and enduring funny looks, so be it. My life is still worth it.

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